the cares of the day evaporate with the incense of the weed, whose cultivation is a source of his wealth, and furnishes employment to a portion of his slaves.

"I am astonished," said Mr. Bellamy, continuing the conversation, now audible in the stillness of the apartment, "I am astonished that a man of your natural and cultivated powers of mind can settle down in this obscure spot, lost to mankind and lost to himself. Pardon me if I speak too plainly, but I cannot help it. A man is never lost while conscious of his degenerate condition. If not for your own sake, for the sake of your children, rouse yourself and be a man again. Why, this boy of yours is the finest child I ever saw in my life. To put him in a ferry-boat, and throw all his energies into that long pole he grasps with such a princely air, when by education he might be made such an ornament to the world, is a crime in the sight of God and man."

"Alas! what else can I do with him now? I have wasted the property that might have been his. I have forfeited the confidence and respect of society. I have made myself a byword and a reproach among men. I came here that I might hide myself from every eye that knew me in the days that were mine, before the tempter found this burning plague-spot in my heart, and blew upon it with his breath of flame."

"You have but to make a solemn resolution never to taste another drop of the poison;-to do as thousands have done before you, and been saved," cried Mr. Bellamy, rapping the ashes from his pipe in an energetic manner. "You are still in the prime and vigour of your days. You can resume your station in society. You can give your children the blessings of civilized and social life."

"Look at this tremulous hand," said Mr. Warland, holding up the half-palsied member, "and see what a wreck my nervous system now is. I might have reformed years ago, but L`w it is too late. Every energy of body and mind is fast wasting away I cannot live without the excitement of drink. I must

drink to appease the gnawing of remorse-to drown the scorpions of avenging conscience:-drink to forget that I broke the heart of my wife, beggared my children, sold and scattered my poor slaves-drink to forget that I have sold myself, body and soul, to the arch-tempter of mankind."

“Well, drink as much as you please, but let it be cold water-pure, crystal water from the spring. Promise me, if you have one remnant of manhood left, that you will not taste another drop of alcohol. If you will, I will do something for that boy of yours. If I had such a son, I would not take a million ingots of gold for him. He must be educated. How you can sit down and give yourself up to perdition, without one spark of pride for your children, or one feeling of respect for yourself, is astonishing-astounding-incomprehensible. By heaven, the maniac, chained to his dungeon walls, is a sane man to you !"

"I know it-I feel it," cried the wretched man, "but I've made so many resolutions and broken them all, I'm afraid to promise. I have tried-God knows I have-but it is all in vain. You think I don't love my children. I would throw myself into these flames this moment if it would do them any good. I would be torn into atoms by wild beasts to save them one pang. And yet”

"You cannot give up the suicidal habit of drinking," interrupted Mr. Bellamy.

"Alas! no-some demon stands at my elbow and urges me on, though I know that every step brings me nearer to the burning billows of hell."

Here he leaned his head on his hand, and wept and sobbed in the impotence of unavailing remorse.

"God help you, poor man, and God help your poor children," exclaimed Mr. Bellamy, too much moved to remain still in his chair, and rising, he walked the room with troubled steps. His heart yearned over the sleeping children, doomed to an orphanage more sad than that created by death itself. It

yearned too over the helpless man, who seemed wrapped in the tightening coils of a hydra, whose blood is gall, and whose breath is fire. He stopped at the side of the slumbering boy, on whose placid brow a heaven-born smile was lingering, as if it had been fanned by an angel's wing. "And this boy must live under this doom," cried he, bitterly. "Oh! miserable infatuation-unparalleled madness!"

"I will try once more," cried the weeping inebriate. "I will try for the sake of that boy and my poor, little, motherless Katy. Ithank you for the interest you have taken in a doomed wretch. If I had known you a little sooner, I might perhaps have been saved. But friends looked coldly on me, neighbours passed by me on the other side-even my wife turned from me in loathing. Poor soul, she could not help it—no, she could not. I thought I was lost, and plunged deeper and deeper, trying to annihilate myself. But there is something here that is undying," cried he, smiting his breast with his hand. "There is a fire that is unquenchable. The word of God is true. Yea, let God be true, though every man be a liar."

"I shall be travelling this way again in about six months," said Mr. Bellamy, trying to speak calmly. "In the mean time, abstain from the poison that is consuming you, and if I then find you are trying to help yourself and family, I will see what I can do for you. I will get a respectable situation for yourself, and assist in the education of your children. But remember, it must be a sober man that I place in a responsible office. I cannot compromise my own reputation."

Mr. Warland renewed the oft-repeated and oft-broken promise of abstinence, with an earnest resolution of amendment; and Mr. Bellamy, gratified at obtaining this victory, and hoping he would have strength to keep his word inviolate, lay down on the couch, and fell into the calm slumbers of an untroubled bosom. Mr. Warland could not sleep. The stings of an awakened conscience and the terrible gnawings of un

satisfied appetite would not let him rest. Crouching by the hearth, he gazed on the little cupboard which contained the fluid that had turned his blood to fire, and for which he was craving with insane, irresistible desfre; then looking on the calm sleepers, he said to himself, he might taste, and they would never know. His bold boy would not dash the glass again from his grasping hand; his new friend's admonishing voice was silent now. Stealing darkly towards the corner, he opened the door, and laid his hand upon the bottle.

“I have promised," he said, pausing and trembling, “the breath is not yet dry upon my lips-I have promised once again, and shall I break my oath this very night-this hour -this moment? Oh! merciful Father!" he exclaimed, sinking on his knees, and holding up his trembling arms towards heaven, "Holy Spirit, whom I have insulted and abjured, forsake me not in this my extremity. Give me strength to wrestle with my indwelling sin. Take away the curse from me and my children."

Jacob wrestled with the angel of his dream till the breaking day, and won the blessing for which he fought. Warland struggled with the demon of temptation till morning light, and at last prevailed. How many more conflicts could he endure, and live?

Before the rising of the sun, all was life and bustle in the cabin. The travellers were anxious to commence their journey at the earliest possible hour, and Aunt Milly, finding that they were resolved to start before breakfast, and thus knowing that the credit of the family was safe, gave a glowing description of the luxuries that she had intended to place before them.

Little Katy gazed with surprise and alarm on the strange faces that met her waking eyes; but there was something so kind and reassuring in their countenances, she soon glided to the side of the lady, and even played with the rings that glittered on her snowy fingers. Mrs. Bellamy, who had no

children of her own, felt inexpressible tenderness for this motherless child, confided to the care of an evidently inebriate father, and a slave who, however faithful and affectionate, was incapacitated, by her darkened intellect, from bestowing that moral and mental culture her dawning years demanded. There was something peculiar in the face of Katy -peculiar for a child in any situation, but especially in hers. A pensive, even melancholy, expression, and a total absence of colour gave her a look of refinement, more interesting than mere rosy, joyous beauty. Her eyes were blue, of a darker hue than her brother's, but their lashes were of raven blackness, and her eyebrows and hair were exceedingly dark. Aunt Milly had arrayed her in her best frock and apron, and brushed her hair till it looked glossy as the wing of a bird: and when a child feels that she has her best dress on, no matter what that dress may be, whether the costliest silk or the cheapest calico, the association is the same, and all the selfrespect which external circumstances can give her elevates her spirits. It was this consciousness of looking her best, that gave her confidence to caress Mrs. Bellamy's gem-decorated hand, and peep into her pale face with those eyes, that resembled the violet in colour and their natural bending towards the earth.

"You are a very sweet little girl," said the kind-hearted lady, putting her arm caressingly round her. "Whom do you love best?"

"Marcus and Aunt Milly, and father, too," answered the child.

"Marcus is very kind to you, is he not? He is a good brother, I know."

"Oh, yes, ma'am," replied Katy, with a fervour that changed the whole expression of her features; "he is so good!—you don't know how good he is. He saves all the money he gets, and puts it in a little box with a hole in the top, where it can't come out again, for me, when I get big enough to go to