82 THE MARK ON THE HAND. "I'm perfectly dumbfoundered with your boldness!" said Mr. Wilson to come right here to the nearest tavern!" "Mr. Wilson, it is so bold, and this tavern is so near, that they will never think of it; they will look for me on ahead, and you yourself wouldn't know me. Jim's master don't live in this county; he isn't known in these parts. Besides, he is given up; nobody is looking after lim, and nobody will take me up from the advertisement, I think.” "But the mark in your hand?" George drew off his glove, and showed a newly-healed scar in his hand. "That is a parting proof of Mr. Harris' regard," he said, scornfully. "A fortnight ago he took it into his head to give it to me, because, he said, he believed I should try to get away one of these days. Looks interesting, doesn't it?" he said, drawing his glove on again. "I declare, my very blood runs cold when I think of it—your condition and your risks!" said Mr. Wilson. "Mine has run cold a good many years, Mr. Wilson; at present, it's about up to the boiling point," said George. "Well, my good sir," continued George, after a few moments' silence, "I saw you knew me; I thought I'd just have this talk with you, lest your surprised looks should bring me out. I leave early tomorrow morning, before daylight; by to-morrow night I hope to sleep safe in Ohio. I shall travel by daylight, stop at the best hotels, go to the dinner-tables with the lords of the land. So, good-bye, sir; if you hear that I'm taken, you may know that I'm dead!" George stood up like a rock, and put out his hand with the air of a prince. The friendly little old man shook it heartily, and after a little shower of caution he took his umbrella, and fumbled his way out of the room. George stood thoughtfully looking at the door as the old man closed it. A thought seemed to flash across his mind. He hastily stepped to it, and opening it said "Mr. Wilson, one word more." The old gentleman entered again, and George, as before, locked the door, and then stood for a few moments looking on the floor irresolutely. At last, raising his head with a sudden effort "Mr. Wilson, you have shown yourself a Christian in your treatment of me--I want to ask one last deed of Christian kindness of you." Well, George." 66 "Well, sir, what you said was true. I am running a dreadful risk There isn't on earth a living soul to care if I die," he added, drawing his breath hard, and speaking with a great effort. "I shall be kicked out and buried like a dog, and nobody 'll think of it a day after-only my poor wife! Poor soul! she'll mourn and grieve; and if you'd only contrive, Mr. Wilson, to send this little pin to her. She gave it to me for a Christmas present, poor child! Give it to her, and tell her I loved her to the last. Will you? Will you?" he added earnestly. "Yes, certainly; poor fellow!" said the old gentleman, taking the pin, with watery eyes, and a melancholy quiver in his voice. "Tell her one thing," said George, "it's my last wish, if she can get to Canada, to go there. No matter how kind her mistress is-no matter how much she loves her home; beg her not to go back-for MR. HALEY'S REFLECTIONS. 83 slavery always crds in misery. Tell her to bring up our boy a free man, and then he won't suffer as I have. Tell her this, Mr. Wilson, will you?" 66 Yes, George, I'll tell her; but I trust you won't die. Take heart, you're a brave fellow. Trust in the Lord, George. I wish in my heart you were safe through, though--that's what I do.' "Is there a God to trust in?" said George, in such a tone of bitter despair as arrested the old gentleman's words. "Oh, I've seen things all my life that have made me feel that there can't be a God. You Christians don't know how these things look to us. There is a God for you, but is there any for us?" "Oh, now, don't-don't, my boy!" said the old man, almost sobbing as he spoke; "don't feel so. There is-there is; clouds and darkness are round about Him, but righteousness and judgment are the habitation of his throne. There's a God, George-believe it; trust in Him, and I'm sure He'll help you. Everything will be set right—if not in this life, in another." The real piety and benevolence of the simple old man invested him with a temporary dignity and authority as he spoke. George stopped his distracted walk up and down the room, stood thoughtfully a moment, and then said quietly "Thank you for saying that, my good friend; I'll think of that." CH. XII.-SELECT INCIDENT OF LAWFUL TRADE. "In Ramah there was a voice heard,-weeping, and lamentation, and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children, and would not be comforted." MR. HALEY and Tom jogged onward in their wagon, each for a time absorbed in his own reflections. Now, the reflections of two men sitting side by side are a curious thing-seated on the same seat, having the same eyes, ears, hands, and organs of all sorts, and having pass before their eyes the same objects: it is wonderful what a variety we shall find in these same reflections! As, for example, Mr. Haley: he thought first of Tom's length, and breadth, and height, and what he would sell for if he was kept fat and in good case till he got him into market. He thought of how he should make out his gang; he thought of the respective market value of certain supposititious men and women and children who were to compose it, and other kindred topics of the business; then he thought of himself, and how humane he was, that, whereas other men chained their "niggers" hand and foot both, he only put fetters on the feet, and left Tom the use of his hands as long as he behaved well: and he sighed to think how ungrateful human nature was, so that there was even room to doubt whether Tom appreciated his mercies. He had been taken in so by "niggers" whom he had favoured; but still he was astonished to consider how good-natured he yet remained! As to Tom, he was thinking over some words of an unfashionable old book, which kept running through his head, again and again, as follows: "We have here no continuing city, but we seek one to come: wherefore God himself is not ashamed to be called our God; for He G hath prepared for us a city." These words of an ancient volume, got up principally by "ignorant and unlearned men," have, through all time, kept up somehow a strange sort of power over the minds of poor simple fellows like Tom. They stir up the soul from its depths, and rouse, as with trumpet call, courage, energy, and enthusiasm, where before was only the blackness of despair. Mr. Haley pulled out of his pocket sundry newspapers, and began looking over their advertisements with absorbed interest. He was not a remarkably fluent reader, and was in the habit of reading in a sort of recitative, half aloud, by way of calling in his ears to verify the deductions of his eyes. In this tone he slowly recited the following paragraph: "EXECUTORS' SALE.-NEGROES!-Agreeably to order of Court, will be sold, on Tuesday, February 20, before the Court-house door, in the town of Washington, Kentucky, the following negroes:-Hagar, aged 60; John, aged 30; Ben, aged 21; Saul, aged 25; Albert, aged 14. Sold for the benefit of the creditors and heirs of the estate of Jesse Blutchford, Esq. "SAMUEL MORRIS, Executors." "This yer I must look at," said he to Tom, for want of somebody else to talk to. "Ye see I am going to get up a prime gang to take down with ye, Tom; it'll make it sociable and pleasant like-good company will, ye know. We must drive right to Washington first and foremost, and then I'll clap you into jail while I does the business." Tom received this agreeable intelligence quite meekly; simply wonlering, in his own heart, how many of these doomed men had wives and children, and whether they would feel as he did about leaving them. It is to be confessed, too, that the naïve, off-hand information that he was to be thrown into jail, by no means produced an agreeable impression on a poor fellow who had always prided himself on a strictly honest and upright course of life. Yes, Tom, we must confess it, was rather proud of his honesty, poor fellow!-not having very much else to be proud of; if he had belonged to some of the higher walks of society, he perhaps would never have been reduced to such straits. However, the day wore on, and the evening saw Haley and Tom comfortably accommodated in Washington-the one in a tavern, the other in a jail. About eleven o'clock the next day a mixed throng was gathered around the court-house steps-smoking, chewing, spitting, swearing, and conversing, according to their respective tastes and turns, waiting for the auction to commence. The men and women to be sold sat in a group apart, talking in a low tone to each other. The woman who had been advertised by the name of Hagar was a regular African in feature and figure. She might have been sixty, but was older than that by hard work and disease, was partially blind, and somewhat crippled with rheumatism. By her side stood her only remaining son, Albert, a bright looking little fellow of fourteen years. The boy was the only survivor of a large family, who had been successively sold away from her to a southern market. The mother held on to him with both her shaking hands, and eyed with intense trepidation every one who walked up to examine him. "Don't be fear'd, Aunt Hagar," said the oldest of the men. "I |