This was the favourite haunt of Marcus, and he had baptized it by the name of the Long Moss Spring. It was here he had often indulged in his dreams of ambition, and it was here he now yielded to the deadening influences of despair. The despair of a child caused by a father's shame and perjury is enough to make angels weep.

"Marcus!" said a hoarse voice near him. He turned round, and beheld his father, whose wild and haggard countenance looked at him through the leafy curtain of the fountain. "Marcus!" repeated he, pushing aside the boughs, and coming and sitting down on the rock by his side; “will you let me sit by you a few moments? I have something I wish to say to you, and this place is so tranquil-so sweet!"

"Will I let you, father? Oh, don't speak to me in that way."

"I have no right to force my polluted presence on you, my son. After what passed last night, I cannot blame you if you refuse to own such a wretch as your father. I little thought, yesterday morning, when I left you with such presumptuous confidence, I should return like the swine, to its wallow in the mire. The man who accompanied me home must have known my besetting weakness, for he tempted me sorely before I yielded, and then taking advantage of my condition, induced me to make the bargain with him which perjured my soul, and severed the last link that binds my children to me. Marcus, you told me last night you was afraid you would kill me." "Oh! father, don't recall those dreadful words-I was distracted—I didn't know what I said. Forgive me, father ; I never can forgive myself."

"No, Marcus, reproach not yourself. Those words, and some others you uttered, may prove my saivation yet. I cannot hope that you will rely on my promises of reformation; but I never have felt as I have since I saw you and little Katy weeping on each other's necks, in the arms of that faithful negro, of whose care I was about to deprive you Your words pierced me to the heart's core. The fumes of

inebriation dispersed, and I loathed myself in dust and ashes All the livelong night I have been upon my knees, on this very rock, praying for help from on high. I make no more selfrighteous boasts. I throw myself on the mercy of God, in the humble hope that He will not cast me off. Though our sins be as scarlet, they may be made white as wool.' Alas! mine would the pure waters of this fountain incarnadine, dyeing them with the hue of blood."

"Father, I wish last night were blotted from existence. I feel as if I should never be happy again."

"Strange, that hope should spring from the very ashes of despair. But it is even so, my son. Lost, degraded as I am, unworthy to hold fellowship with my innocent children, or even with the dark African of a whiter soul, I feel a vitality that I thought annihilated before. It seems as if I had heard a revelation from heaven, making known to me that you, my son, were to lead me back to virtue and to peace. It came to me when I was grovelling on my knees at midnight. It grew clearer at breaking day. Just now, a voice seemed to sound in my ear, like a voice from heaven, 'Arise and go to thy son. Thy son on earth shall yet lead thee to thy Father in heaven.'"

"Oh, father!" exclaimed Marcus. It was all he could utter, but he took his hand and pressed it in both his own, and they thus sat mutely together, looking down into the dark heart of the fountain whence the silver rills were gushing. These waters were an emblem of regeneration. Marcus, with the transilient spirit of youth, bounded from despair to hope, and the whole aspect of nature was changed. The thought of his lovely benefactress came like a rainbow of promise, spanning the spray of the fountain, and reminding him of the covenant he had made with his own soul, when she bade him farewell. It inspired him to make a new covenant, that he would fulfil the glorious mission Heaven had committed into his hands, of reclaiming his father; and if it required the filial devotion of his whole life, he would no think it too dear a price to pay for such a blessing. He had previously been

incited by the desire of lifting himself from obscurity and poverty, of providing for his little sister the means of education; but now a higher, holier motive was added to these. He had been looking forward to the struggle of life as one who was to go on unaided and alone, stemming a counter-current, that threatened to sweep away in its stronger tide the frail bark of his hopes. Now, he must turn that strong, dark current in a different direction; he must make it flow along with the pure, rippling stream on which he himself was borne; he must purify and gild it, by mingling the once opposing waves. Не upbraided himself for ever looking on his father with loathing and scorn, when under the influence of his fatal passion; for the lofty tone he had often assumed, when entreaties and supplications had been in vain. He would henceforth regard him in sorrow, rather than indignation, and by treating him with constant deference and tenderness, restore him to his own self-respect. Conforming to these noble resolutions, he induced him to accompany him in all his hunting and fishing expeditions, never leaving him for his own amusement, but convincing him that his fellowship was indispensable for his enjoyment.

As the resisting tree, shaken by the whirlwind, but not uprooted, only clings more firmly to its native soil, Aunt Milly was more deeply implanted in the affections and interests of the household since the night of her threatened removal. It cannot be said that Aunt Milly forgot the ingratitude of her master to her fidelity, or his perjury to her departed mistress; but her overmastering love for the children enabled her to forgive the wrongs inflicted by the father; and she knew, too, that her duty as a Christian required her to return good for evil. While injuries remain cut in, deep as life, on the heart of the red child of the wilderness, they are traced on the surface of the African's, and may be effaced by the breath of kindness.

"Do not be angry with my poor father, Aunt Milly," said Mareus, with his sweet, persuading voice; "he was tempted

by that evil man. He was no more himself at the time than if he were crazy. I was crazy myself for a few moments, and knew not what I was doing."

"Oh! young master, if it hadn't been for you-Lord a marcy-if I live to the age of Methusah, I never shall forget it; you warnt a boy then, you was a sperrit; you were supernateral. It was a maracle, and nothing else; Simon says so; and he says the man couldn't hurt you, nohow he could fix it, any more than Daniel could the fiery children."

"Daniel was a prophet, and a good man, Aunt Milly. He was the one that was cast in the lion's den, and whom the Lord defended from their fury."

"That's just what I meant, exactly. I does mistake sometimes, but I means right; I does mean to put burning coals on ole master's head, for the preacher says it's our duty to do it."

"What do you understand by that, Aunt Milly? You don't believe, I hope, that you ought to take live coals from the chimney, and pour them on your master's head."

"No, Master Marcus; I know better than all that. It means to sarve one good; when they do you bad, to speak pleasant and 'cifical; when they are cross and contrary, and when they strike you on one side, to turn right round and let 'em strike t'other; that's what it means. And I knows, if I've injured anybody, and they does so to me, I feels as bad as if burning coals was sticking to the top of my head."

One evening, they were sitting under a little stoup in front of the cabin, at that twilight hour when the labours of the day are over, but the exercises of the evening not yet commenced, -that hour of sweet tranquillity and rest. The river rolled before them, reflecting in its sparkling waters the gorgeous tints of departing day; the crimson shading off into a deepening orange, the orange melting into flakes of glittering silver. Lazily the old ferry-boat lay against the bank, the long poles thrown across the wet planks, and a red handkerchief of Milly's fastened to the lantern-post, fluttering like a banner in the breeze. It was a device of Marcus, who had been giving a

pleasure trip to Milly and Katy, and who had converted the red turban of the former into a flag of triumph.

Marcus looked at his father, and exulted to see that the vacant and haggard aspect of inebriation had given place to a calm and intelligent expression. His complexion was clear of that purple hue with which the god of the grape marks the face of his votaries. He was dressed with neatness and respectability, for Milly always took great care of her master's person; and one of her greatest sorrows, during his fits of intoxication, was the personal neglect they induced. The soiled linen, the unshaven beard, and matted locks were sore afflictions to her pride, for she said, "If a man was born a gentleman, and likely looking besides, it was a crying sin to make himself into a live brute."

A gentleman was seen winding through the path that skirted the river's edge. He was mounted on horseback, and rode leisurely along, looking earnestly on the family trio.

"It is Mr. Bellamy!" exclaimed Marcus, leaping from the steps to the ground. Katy flew after him, and Warland, walking with slow steps, went forward to greet the friend who thus proved himself true to his promise. Had he been true? This self-interrogation brought a blush of shame to his cheek, as he felt the cordial grasp of Mr. Bellamy's hand, but he did not shrink from his kindly-beaming glance, for he resolved to tell him of his shameful lapse, even at the risk of forfeiting all his good-will. Mr. Bellamy seemed gratified at his reception and at the appearance of family comfort that met his eye. He pressed the hand of Marcus with parental kindness, and taking the smiling, blushing Katy in his arms, bore her in triumph to the cabin. Milly came to the door of the kitchen, dropping low and emphatic curtsies, and Uncle Simon hobbled out to take care of his horse.

"Well, my friend," said he, sitting down on the wooden bench in the stoup, "the world seems to have gone better with you since I saw you last. I am glad my little friends here have not forgotten me, for I have often thought of them."