delays, but difficulties that arose on the part of the negroes themselves. A few of them did not want the old state of things, with its familiar associations, and close attachments, broken up. Some of them, who were anxious to be free, had wives and children, or husbands, upon some neighbouring plantation, and so were held bound by their affections. Nay, indeed, often a mere fraternal love was sufficient to produce this effect. This class of negroes, proved to be a great trial and vexation to Mark, not only by throwing nearly insurmountable obstacles in the way of their own emancipation, but also affording his opponents much material for laughter. It was in vain their benefactor told these men, that, after a few years of labour and saving, they would be able to purchase their wives or children. They shook their headsthey feared-their spirits were too faint. As far as his means would go, Mr. Sutherland purchased these wives or children, and sent them off with their husbands and fathers.

At length, it was all over-the slaves were emancipated and gone, each with a sum of money to pay their transport, and provide their immediate necessities, until they should find work. Many misgivings troubled the head of Mr. Sutherland, as to whether they would do well with the liberty, so unaccustomed, and so newly given; but no doubts as to the righteousness of his own act ever crossed his mind. And so he committed the result to Providence.

He had taken care to secure the homestead to his mother. For her benefit, he had also placed at interest thirty thousand dollars, which, at six per cent., would yield her an income of eighteen hundred.

Having thus wound up his business, he went over to Cashmere to seek an interview-a farewell interview -with his mother and relatives. He learned that they had, a few days before, left Cashmere for the North.

The next morning, Mark Sutherland, with only ninety dollars in his pocket-book, with his wardrobe and his law books, departed from his childhood's home.

It may be as well to state here, that when the Sutherlands returned, in the autumn, Mrs. Sutherland, with some ten or twelve slaves, her own personal property, took up her abode at Silentshades, availed herself of the income her son had secured to her, and made herself comfortable.

CHAPTER VIII.

FAREWELL.

"Fair wert thou in the dreams

Of early life, thou land of glorious flowers,
And summer winds, and low-toned silvery streams,
Dim with the shadow of thy laurel bowers.

"Fair wert thou, with the light

On thy blue hills and sleepy waters cast
From purple skies, soft deepening into night,
Yet slow as if each moment was their last
Of glory waning fast!"—Hemans.

THE sun was rising in cloudless splendour, on the morning on which Mark Sutherland paused upon an

eminence, to throw a farewell glance over the beautiful scenes of his childhood and youth-the fair valley of the Pearl. East lay the dark boundary of the pine forest, pierced by the golden, arrow-like rays of the level sun, or casting long, spear-like shadows athwart the green alluvion-south and west, belts of forest alternated with gaudy cotton-fields, and rolling green hills, interspersed with graceful groves, until in softlyblended hues they met the distant horizon. From this beautifully-variegated circumference, his eye returned to gaze upon the centre of the scene-the Pearl-the lovely river which took its name from the semi-transparent hues of clouded saffron, rose, and azure, that seemed not only caught from the glorious sky above, and the gorgeous hills, and fields, and grove, around, but flashed up from the deep channel of the stream, as if its clear waters flowed through a bed of opal.

At some distance below him, encircled by a bend of the river, lay-like some rich mosaic on the bosom of the vale-" Cashmere," the almost Oriental scene of his youthful love-dream. There was the pebbly beach, with its miniature piers and fairy boats—the lawn, with its flowering and fragrant groves, its crystal founts, its shaded walks and vine-clad arbours; and, nearer the house, the rose terrace, with its millions of odoriferous budding and blooming roses, surrounding as within a crimson glow, that white villa and its colonnade of light Ionic shafts. At this distance, he could see distinctly the bay window, with its purple curtains, of India's boudoir; and, at its sight, the image of the beautiful India arose before him. Again he saw her in that poetic harmony of form and colour

ing that had so ravished his artist soul-the slender, yet well-rounded figure-the warm, bright countenance, with its amber-hued ringlets, and clear olive complexion deepening into crimson upon cheeks and lips-a beauty in which there was no strong contrast, but all rich harmony-a form that he once had fondly thought clothed a soul as harmonious as beautiful. They were lost! all lost-home, and bride, and lovely dreams of youth! Do not despise him, or blame him, when I tell you, in the touching words of Scripture, "that he lifted up his voice and wept." He was but twenty-one, and this was the first despairing passionate sorrow of his youth.

It is very easy to talk and write of the "rewards of virtue," the comfort of a good conscience, the delights of duty. Alas! I am afraid the delights of duty are seldom believed in, and seldomer experienced. Be sure, when a great sacrifice of interest, of affection, of hope, is made, and a great sorrow is felt-nothing -nothing but a loving, Christian faith can console.

And Mark Sutherland was not a Christian man. Here, then, even a philanthropist might reasonably inquire why all this was done? Why a youth, born and brought up a slaveholder, should, against preconceived ideas, against prudence, against self-interest, against hope, with doubtful good even to the beneficiaries of his self-devotion, beggar himself for the sake of their emancipation? Why he, being no Christian, should make such an immense sacrifice of wealth, position, affection, hope-in short, of all temporal and earthly interests?

We are all able to answer, that, had a scientific phrenologist examined the moral organs of Mark

Sutherland's head, he would have found his answer in the predominant CONSCIENTIOUSNESS. It was, therefore, only a severe sense of justice that laid its iron hand upon him, obliging him to do as he had donea single sense of justice, such as might have influenced the actions of a Pagan or an Atheist-a hard, stern sense of justice, without faith, hope, or love—an uncompromising sense of justice, without self-flattery, promise, or comfort.

He is not as yet a Christian, but he may become one, he must become one, for no great sacrifice was ever made to duty, without Christ claiming that redeemed soul as his own.

After all, perhaps, there is but one sin and sorrow in the world-IDOLATRY-and all forms of evil are compromised within it. It includes all shades of sin, from the lightest error that clouds the conscience, to the darkest crime that brings endless night upon the soul; and all degrees of suffering, from the discontent that disturbs the passing hour, to the anguish and despair that overwhelms and swallows up all the hopes of life. We are all idolaters. Some god-passion of the heart is ever the deity we worship. Ambition, avarice, love-" the world, the flesh, or the devil," in some form, is always the idol. Perhaps, love; the first, the most disinterested, self-devoted, of all the forms of idolatry, comes nearest to the true worship. But it is not the true worship-by all the anguish that it brings, it is not the true worship.

Oh! if but for a moment we could raise our souls to God, in the self-surrender wherewith, in passionate devotion, we throw our hearts beneath the feet of some weak and perishable form of clay-that were