My fellow-passenger gave me a look made up of reproach and indignation, and asked me why I should come to that particular seat.

I assured him, in the gentlest manner, that of all others this was the seat for me.

Finding that I was actually about to sit down, he sang out, "O! stop, stop! and let me get out!" Suiting the action to the word, up the agitated man got, and sauntered to the other end of the car, and was compelled to stand for most of the way thereafter.

Halfway to New Bedford, or more, Col.

Clifford, recognizing me, left his seat, and not having seen me before since I had ceased to wait on him (in everything except hard arguments against his pro-slavery position), apparently forgetful of his rank, manifested, in greeting me, something of the feeling of an old friend.