"
* The recent conduct of Mr. Livingstone renders him unworthy of my
notice. His disgusting praise of Belle Boyd, and complete ignoring
of my claims, show the artfulness of some females and puppyism of
some men. M. McG.
CHAPTER VI.
Released at last from durance vile and placed on board of an Erie
canal-boat, on my way to Canada, I for a moment breathed the sweets
of liberty. Perhaps the interval gave me opportunity to indulge in
certain reveries which I had hitherto sternly dismissed. Henry
Breckinridge Folair, a consistent copperhead, captain of the canal-
boat, again and again pressed that suit I had so often rejected.
It was a lovely moonlight night. We sat on the deck of the gliding
craft. The moonbeam and the lash of the driver fell softly on the
flanks of the off horse, and only the surging of the tow-rope broke
the silence. Folair's arm clasped my waist. I suffered it to
remain. Placing in my lap a small but not ungrateful roll of
checkerberry lozenges, he took the occasion to repeat softly in my
ear the words of a motto he had just unwrapped--with its graceful
covering of the tissue paper--from a sugar almond. The heart of
the wicked little rebel, Mary McGillup, was won!
The story of Mary McGillup is done.
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