find; they will in a few days be sold for the satisfaction of her
debts. Mrs. Swiggs, it must be said, never had any very nice
appreciation of debt-paying, holding it much more legitimate that
her creditors accept her dignity in satisfaction of any demand they
chanced to have against her. As for her little old house, the last
abode of the last of the great Swiggs family,--that, like numerous
other houses of our "very first families," is mortgaged for more
than it is worth, to Mr. Staple the grocer. We must, however, turn
to Mr. Snivel.

Mr. Snivel is seen, on the night after the secret interview at the
Charleston Hotel, in a happy mood, passing down King street. A
little, ill-featured man, with a small, but florid face, a keen,
lecherous eye, leans on his arm. They are in earnest conversation.

"I think the mystery is nearly cleared up, Keepum" says Snivel.

"There seems no getting a clue to the early history of this Madame
Montford, 'tis true. Even those who introduced her to Charleston
society know nothing of her beyond a certain period. All anterior to
that is wrapped in suspicion," returns Keepum, fingering his massive
gold chain and seals, that pend from his vest, then releasing his
hold of Mr. Snivel's arm, and commencing to button closely his blue
dress coat, which is profusely decorated with large gilt buttons.
"She's the mother of the dashing harlot, or I'm no prophet,
nevertheless," he concludes, shaking his head significantly.

"You may almost swear it-a bad conscience is a horrid bore; d-n me,
if I can't see through the thing. (Mr. Snivel laughs.) Better put
our female friends on their guard, eh?"