"No matter with what solemnities he may have been devoted upon the altarof slavery, the moment he touches the sacred soil of Britain, thealtar and the God sink together in the dust, and he stands redeemed,regenerated, and disenthralled, by the irresistible genius of universalemancipation." CURRAN.*

* John Philpot Curran (1750-1817), Irish orator and judge who worked for Catholic emancipation.

A while we must leave Tom in the hands of his persecutors, while we turnto pursue the fortunes of George and his wife, whom we left in friendlyhands, in a farmhouse on the road-side.

Tom Loker we left groaning and touzling in a most immaculately cleanQuaker bed, under the motherly supervision of Aunt Dorcas, who found himto the full as tractable a patient as a sick bison.

Imagine a tall, dignified, spiritual woman, whose clear muslin capshades waves of silvery hair, parted on a broad, clear forehead, whichoverarches thoughtful gray eyes. A snowy handkerchief of lisse crapeis folded neatly across her bosom; her glossy brown silk dress rustlespeacefully, as she glides up and down the chamber.

"The devil!" says Tom Loker, giving a great throw to the bedclothes.

"I must request thee, Thomas, not to use such language," says AuntDorcas, as she quietly rearranged the bed.

"Well, I won't, granny, if I can help it," says Tom; "but it is enoughto make a fellow swear,--so cursedly hot!"

Dorcas removed a comforter from the bed, straightened the clothesagain, and tucked them in till Tom looked something like a chrysalis;remarking, as she did so,

"I wish, friend, thee would leave off cursing and swearing, and thinkupon thy ways."

"What the devil," said Tom, "should I think of _them_ for? Lastthing ever _I_ want to think of--hang it all!" And Tom flounced over,untucking and disarranging everything, in a manner frightful to behold.

"That fellow and gal are here, I s'pose," said he, sullenly, after apause.

"They are so," said Dorcas.

"They'd better be off up to the lake," said Tom; "the quicker thebetter."

"Probably they will do so," said Aunt Dorcas, knitting peacefully.

"And hark ye," said Tom; "we've got correspondents in Sandusky, thatwatch the boats for us. I don't care if I tell, now. I hope they _will_get away, just to spite Marks,--the cursed puppy!--d--n him!"

"Thomas!" said Dorcas.

"I tell you, granny, if you bottle a fellow up too tight, I shallsplit," said Tom. "But about the gal,--tell 'em to dress her up someway, so's to alter her. Her description's out in Sandusky."

"We will attend to that matter," said Dorcas, with characteristiccomposure.

As we at this place take leave of Tom Loker, we may as well say, that,having lain three weeks at the Quaker dwelling, sick with a rheumaticfever, which set in, in company with his other afflictions, Tomarose from his bed a somewhat sadder and wiser man; and, in place ofslave-catching, betook himself to life in one of the new settlements,where his talents developed themselves more happily in trapping bears,wolves, and other inhabitants of the forest, in which he made himselfquite a name in the land. Tom always spoke reverently of the Quakers."Nice people," he would say; "wanted to convert me, but couldn't comeit, exactly. But, tell ye what, stranger, they do fix up a sick fellowfirst rate,--no mistake. Make jist the tallest kind o' broth andknicknacks."

As Tom had informed them that their party would be looked for inSandusky, it was thought prudent to divide them. Jim, with his oldmother, was forwarded separately; and a night or two after, George andEliza, with their child, were driven privately into Sandusky, and lodgedbeneath a hospital roof, preparatory to taking their last passage on thelake.

Their night was now far spent, and the morning star of liberty rose fairbefore them!--electric word! What is it? Is there anything more in itthan a name--a rhetorical flourish? Why, men and women of America, doesyour heart's blood thrill at that word, for which your fathers bled, andyour braver mothers were willing that their noblest and best should die?

Is there anything in it glorious and dear for a nation, that is not alsoglorious and dear for a man? What is freedom to a nation, but freedomto the individuals in it? What is freedom to that young man, who sitsthere, with his arms folded over his broad chest, the tint of Africanblood in his cheek, its dark fires in his eyes,--what is freedom toGeorge Harris? To your fathers, freedom was the right of a nation to bea nation. To him, it is the right of a man to be a man, and not a brute;the right to call the wife of his bosom his wife, and to protect her fromlawless violence; the right to protect and educate his child; the rightto have a home of his own, a religion of his own, a character of hisown, unsubject to the will of another. All these thoughts were rollingand seething in George's breast, as he was pensively leaning his headon his hand, watching his wife, as she was adapting to her slender andpretty form the articles of man's attire, in which it was deemed safestshe should make her escape.

"Now for it," said she, as she stood before the glass, and shook downher silky abundance of black curly hair. "I say, George, it's almost apity, isn't it," she said, as she held up some of it, playfully,--"pityit's all got to come off?"

George smiled sadly, and made no answer.

Eliza turned to the glass, and the scissors glittered as one long lockafter another was detached from her head.

"There, now, that'll do," she said, taking up a hair-brush; "now for afew fancy touches."

"There, an't I a pretty young fellow?" she said, turning around to herhusband, laughing and blushing at the same time.

"You always will be pretty, do what you will," said George.

"What does make you so sober?" said Eliza, kneeling on one knee, andlaying her hand on his. "We are only within twenty-four hours of Canada,they say. Only a day and a night on the lake, and then--oh, then!--"

"O, Eliza!" said George, drawing her towards him; "that is it! Now myfate is all narrowing down to a point. To come so near, to be almost insight, and then lose all. I should never live under it, Eliza."

"Don't fear," said his wife, hopefully. "The good Lord would not havebrought us so far, if he didn't mean to carry us through. I seem to feelhim with us, George."

"You are a blessed woman, Eliza!" said George, clasping her with aconvulsive grasp. "But,--oh, tell me! can this great mercy be for us?Will these years and years of misery come to an end?--shall we be free?

"I am sure of it, George," said Eliza, looking upward, while tears ofhope and enthusiasm shone on her long, dark lashes. "I feel it in me,that God is going to bring us out of bondage, this very day."

"I will believe you, Eliza," said George, rising suddenly up, "I willbelieve,--come let's be off. Well, indeed," said he, holding her off atarm's length, and looking admiringly at her, "you _are_ a pretty littlefellow. That crop of little, short curls, is quite becoming. Put on yourcap. So--a little to one side. I never saw you look quite so pretty.But, it's almost time for the carriage;--I wonder if Mrs. Smyth has gotHarry rigged?"

The door opened, and a respectable, middle-aged woman entered, leadinglittle Harry, dressed in girl's clothes.

"What a pretty girl he makes," said Eliza, turning him round. "We callhim Harriet, you see;--don't the name come nicely?"

The child stood gravely regarding his mother in her new and strangeattire, observing a profound silence, and occasionally drawing deepsighs, and peeping at her from under his dark curls.

"Does Harry know mamma?" said Eliza, stretching her hands toward him.

The child clung shyly to the woman.

"Come Eliza, why do you try to coax him, when you know that he has gotto be kept away from you?"

"I know it's foolish," said Eliza; "yet, I can't bear to have him turnaway from me. But come,--where's my cloak? Here,--how is it men put oncloaks, George?"

"You must wear it so," said her husband, throwing it over his shoulders.

"So, then," said Eliza, imitating the motion,--"and I must stamp, andtake long steps, and try to look saucy."

"Don't exert yourself," said George. "There is, now and then, amodest young man; and I think it would be easier for you to act thatcharacter."

"And these gloves! mercy upon us!" said Eliza; "why, my hands are lostin them."

"I advise you to keep them on pretty strictly," said George. "Yourslender paw might bring us all out. Now, Mrs. Smyth, you are to go underour charge, and be our aunty,--you mind."

"I've heard," said Mrs. Smyth, "that there have been men down, warningall the packet captains against a man and woman, with a little boy."

"They have!" said George. "Well, if we see any such people, we can tellthem."

A hack now drove to the door, and the friendly family who had receivedthe fugitives crowded around them with farewell greetings.

The disguises the party had assumed were in accordance with the hintsof Tom Loker. Mrs. Smyth, a respectable woman from the settlement inCanada, whither they were fleeing, being fortunately about crossing thelake to return thither, had consented to appear as the aunt of littleHarry; and, in order to attach him to her, he had been allowed toremain, the two last days, under her sole charge; and an extra amountof petting, jointed to an indefinite amount of seed-cakes and candy, hadcemented a very close attachment on the part of the young gentleman.

The hack drove to the wharf. The two young men, as they appeared, walkedup the plank into the boat, Eliza gallantly giving her arm to Mrs.Smyth, and George attending to their baggage.

George was standing at the captain's office, settling for his party,when he overheard two men talking by his side.

"I've watched every one that came on board," said one, "and I knowthey're not on this boat."

The voice was that of the clerk of the boat. The speaker whom headdressed was our sometime friend Marks, who, with that valuableperseverance which characterized him, had come on to Sandusky, seekingwhom he might devour.

"You would scarcely know the woman from a white one," said Marks. "Theman is a very light mulatto; he has a brand in one of his hands."

The hand with which George was taking the tickets and change trembled alittle; but he turned coolly around, fixed an unconcerned glance on theface of the speaker, and walked leisurely toward another part of theboat, where Eliza stood waiting for him.

Mrs. Smyth, with little Harry, sought the seclusion of the ladies'cabin, where the dark beauty of the supposed little girl drew manyflattering comments from the passengers.

George had the satisfaction, as the bell rang out its farewell peal,to see Marks walk down the plank to the shore; and drew a long sigh ofrelief, when the boat had put a returnless distance between them.

It was a superb day. The blue waves of Lake Erie danced, rippling andsparkling, in the sun-light. A fresh breeze blew from the shore, and thelordly boat ploughed her way right gallantly onward.

O, what an untold world there is in one human heart! Who thought, asGeorge walked calmly up and down the deck of the steamer, with his shycompanion at his side, of all that was burning in his bosom? The mightygood that seemed approaching seemed too good, too fair, even to be areality; and he felt a jealous dread, every moment of the day, thatsomething would rise to snatch it from him.

But the boat swept on. Hours fleeted, and, at last, clear and full rosethe blessed English shores; shores charmed by a mighty spell,--withone touch to dissolve every incantation of slavery, no matter in whatlanguage pronounced, or by what national power confirmed.

George and his wife stood arm in arm, as the boat neared the smalltown of Amherstberg, in Canada. His breath grew thick and short; a mistgathered before his eyes; he silently pressed the little hand that laytrembling on his arm. The bell rang; the boat stopped. Scarcely seeingwhat he did, he looked out his baggage, and gathered his little party.The little company were landed on the shore. They stood still till theboat had cleared; and then, with tears and embracings, the husband andwife, with their wondering child in their arms, knelt down and lifted uptheir hearts to God!

"'T was something like the burst from death to life; From the grave's cerements to the robes of heaven; From sin's dominion, and from passion's strife, To the pure freedom of a soul forgiven; Where all the bonds of death and hell are riven, And mortal puts on immortality, When Mercy's hand hath turned the golden key, And Mercy's voice hath said, _Rejoice, thy soul is free."_

The little party were soon guided, by Mrs. Smyth, to the hospitableabode of a good missionary, whom Christian charity has placed here asa shepherd to the outcast and wandering, who are constantly finding anasylum on this shore.

Who can speak the blessedness of that first day of freedom? Is not the_sense_ of liberty a higher and a finer one than any of the five? Tomove, speak and breathe,--go out and come in unwatched, and free fromdanger! Who can speak the blessings of that rest which comes down on thefree man's pillow, under laws which insure to him the rights that Godhas given to man? How fair and precious to that mother was thatsleeping child's face, endeared by the memory of a thousand dangers!How impossible was it to sleep, in the exuberant possession of suchblessedness! And yet, these two had not one acre of ground,--not a roofthat they could call their own,--they had spent their all, to the lastdollar. They had nothing more than the birds of the air, or the flowersof the field,--yet they could not sleep for joy. "O, ye who take freedomfrom man, with what words shall ye answer it to God?"