with all his remaining strength, and drawing it to his mouth, kissed it with fervour. All he could say, was, "God bless you!-be kind to poor Amelia!"

"I will-I will," cried the captain-"I will be a father to you all. Cheer up-keep up your spirits— all will be well!" He then, with a kind look, and another shake of the hand, wished him a good night, and left the poor man lightened at once of half his disease.

The captain went home to the coffee-house where he lodged, got a light supper, and went early to bed. After meditating some time with heartfelt satisfaction on the work of the day, he fell into a sweet sleep, which lasted till day-break. The next morning early he arose and sallied forth in search of furnished lodgings. After some inquiry, he met with a commodious set, in a pleasant airy situation, for which he agreed. He then drove to Amelia, and found her and her children neat and clean, and as well dressed as their poor wardrobe would admit. He embraced them with the utmost affection, and rejoiced Amelia's heart with a favourable account of her husband. He then told them to prepare for a ride with him. The children were overjoyed at the proposal, and they accompanied him down to the coach in high spirits. Amelia scarcely knew what to think or expect. They drove first to a warehouse for ready-made linen, where the captain made Amelia furnish herself with a complete set of everything necessary for present use, for the children and herself, not forgetting some shirts for her husband. Thence they went to a clothes-shop, where the little boy was supplied with a jacket and trowsers, a hat and great coat, and the girl with another great coat and a bonnet-both were made as happy as happy could be. They were next all furnished with new shoes. In short, they had not proceeded far, before the mother and three children were all in complete new habiliments, decent but not fine; while the old ones were

all tied up in a great bundle, and destined for some family still poorer than they had been.

The captain then drove to the lodgings he nad taken, and which he had directed to be put in thorouga order. He led Amelia up stairs, who knew not whither she was going. He brought her into a handsome room, and seated her in a chair.

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This, my dear," said he, "is your home. I hope you will let me now and then come and see you in it."

Amelia turned pale, and could not speak. At length a flood of tears came to her relief, and she suddenly threw herself at her uncle's feet, and poured out thanks and blessings in a broken voice.

He raised her, and kindly kissing her and her children, slipped a purse of gold into her hand, and hurried down stairs.

He next went to the hospital, and found Mr. Bland sitting up in bed, and taking some food with apparent pleasure. He sat down by him.

"God bless you, sir!" said Bland, "I see now it is all a reality, and not a dream. Your figure has been haunting me all night, and I have scarcely been able to satisfy mysel whether I had really seen and spoken to you, or wnether it were a fit of delirium. Yet my spirits have been lightened, and I have now been eating with a relish I have not experienced for many days past. But may I ask, how is my poor Amelia, and my little ones ?"

"They are well and happy, my good friend," said the captain; "and I hope you will soon be so along with them."

The medical gentleman came up, and felt his patient'> pulse.

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"You are a skilful doctor, indeed, sir," said he to Captain Cornish; you have cured the poor man of his fever. His pulse is as calm as my own.

The captain consulted him about the safety of re

moving him; and he said he thought there would be no hazard in the removal that very day. The captain awaited the arrival of the physician, who confirmed that opinion. A sedan chair was procured, and full directions being obtained for his future treatment, with the physician's promise to look after him, the captain walked before the chair to the new lodgings. On the knock at the door, Amelia looked out of the window, and seeing the chair, ran down, and met her uncle and husband in the passage. The poor man, not knowing where he was, and gazing wildly around him, was carried up stairs, and placed upon a good bed, while his wife and children assembled round it. A glass of wine restored him to his recollection, when a most tender scene ensued, which the uncle closed as soon as he could, for fear of too much agitating the yet feeble organs of the sick

man.

By Amelia's constant attention, assisted by proper help, Mr. Bland shortly recovered; and the whole family lost their sickly, emaciated appearance, and became healthy and happy. The kind uncle was never long absent from them, and was always received with looks of pleasure and gratitude that penetrated his very soul. He obtained for Mr. Bland a good engagement in the exercise of his profession, and took Amelia and her children into his special care. As to his other nieces, though he did not entirely break off his connection with them, but, on the contrary, showed them occasional marks of the kindness of a relation, yet he could never look upon them with true cordiality. as they had so well kept their promise to their father of never treating Amelia as a sister, while in her afflicted state, he took care not to tempt them to break it, now she was in a favoured and prosperous condition.

And

Master. Now, villain! what have you to say in this second attempt to run away? Is there any punishment that you do not deserve?

Slave. I well know that nothing I can say will avail. I submit to my fate.

M. But are you not a base fellow, a hardened and ungrateful rascal ?

Š. I am a slave. That is answer enough. M. I am not content with that answer. I thought I discerned in you some tokens of a mind superior to your condition. I treated you accordingly. You have been comfortably fed and lodged, not overworked, and attended with the most humane care when you were sick. And is this the return?

S. Since you condescend to talk with me as man to man, I will reply. What have you done-what can you do for me, that will compensate for the liberty which you have taken away?

M. I did not take it away. You were a slave when I fairly purchased you.

S. Did I give my consent to the purchase?

M. You had no consent to give. You had already lost the right of disposing of yourself.

What

S. I had lost the power; but how the right? I was treacherously kidnapped in my own country when following an honest occupation. I was put in chains, sold to one of your countrymen, carried by force on board his ship, brought hither and exposed to sale like a beast in the market, where you bought me. step in all this progress of violence and injustice can give a right? Was it in the villain who stole me, in the slave-merchant who tempted him to do so, or in you who encouraged the slave-merchant to bring his cargo of human cattle to cultivate your lands?

M. It is in the order of providence that one man should become subservient to another. It ever has been so, and ever will be. I found the custom, and did not make it.

8. It cannot but be sensible that the robber who ps a pistol to your breast may make just the samne plea. Providence gives him a power over your life and property; it gave my enemies a power over my liberty. But it has also given me legs to escape with; and what should prevent me from using them? Nay, what should restrain me from retaliating the wrongs I have suffered, if a favourable occasion should offer?

M. Gratitude, I repeat,-gratitude! Have I not endeavoured ever since I possessed you to alleviate your misfortunes by kind treatment, and does that confer no obligation? Consider how much worse your condition might have been under another master?

S. You have done nothing for me more than for your working cattle. Are they not well fed and tended? do you work them harder than your slaves ? is not the rule of treating both, only your own advantage? You treat both your men and beast slaves better than some of your neighbours, because you are more prudent and wealthy than they.

M. You might add, more humane too.

S. Humane! Does it deserve that appellation to keep your fellow-men in forced subjection, deprived of all exercise of their free-will, liable to all the injuries that your own caprice, or the brutality of your overseers, may heap on them, and devoted, soul and body, only to your pleasure and emolument ? Can gratitude take place from creatures in such a state, towards the tyrant who holds them in it? Look at these limbsare they not those of a man? Think that I have the spirit of a man, too.

M. But it was my intention not only to make your life tolerably comfortable at present, but to provide for you in your old age.