the very thresholds of their churches, by the use of words and phrases which the scoffer must needs hear with infinite relish. Piety is piety, and money is money; but a 'cause' and an interest 'what are they?

Reflecting sorrowfully on what has been here written, I perceive that we may be on the eve of great changes. The divine life is not dead in man, but is rather about to renew its strength. Great souls will receive it; and the time is drawing on when these will find no home in the 'Church as established by law.' The religious spirit will be too strong to endure so singular and absurd a compromise. Then were it natural surely that these should betake themselves to the shelter of the Independent Christian communities already in existence. But would they do that? Could they do that? Are not great souls always sincere? And would not the marvellous life of Jesus, and • THE TRUTH as it is in Him,' have bound these to a sincerity, transparent as the day? And what sort of home would that heavenly quality find amongst us at present? Think of these men whisking you on a Sundayface at a moment's notice, and endeavouring to solemnize their minds.' Think of them descending to tricks unworthy of an election agent, in order to support a' cause. Fancy them compassing sea and land in order to multiply interests!'-Nay! it cannot be. It is not in nature that it should be. Not thus, believe me, will these men be known as the followers of Christ; still less by their condescending to the lingo of the Cave of Adullam,' or the cANT TERMS in vogue in the circles which Redtape and Pliable adorn.

6

There is a Nonconformity, of a type nobler than that of these notabilities; a Dissent, more difficult than the most determined violation of the rules of grammar and good sense. The practice of this will sufficiently task the courage which dares to be singular, as it will well reward the fortitude, which is not to be moved by the world's dread laugh.' It was once visible, however, in the life of a certain Jew of Tarsus; and his rejoicing was this-the testimony of his conscience, that in simplicity and godly sincerity he had had his CONVERSATION in the world.

X. Y. Z.

Hegra Life in the Slave States of America,

AMONG the shilling's-worths of light literature-tales, novels, poetry, and facetia-for which railway bookstalls have created a ready market, there may at the present time be found a volume which for depth of interest and potency for good has not been surpassed by any work of modern times.Uncle Tom's Cabin,' or, as it is more correctly designated by its second title, 'Negro Life in the Slave States of America,'* is a book adapted, if not providentially designed,

* Uncle Tom's Cabin; or, Negro Life in the Slave States of America.' By Harriet Beecher Stowe. London: Routledge and Co.

to do a great work. Published in America, its wide diffusion there can scarcely fail to produce an effect even where other agencies have failed to disturb pro-slavery passiveness; while its wide diffusion here will be likely to exert a reflex influence on a people highly sensitive to English opinion in relation to themselves.

For many years (the authoress tells us), she avoided all reading upon or allusion to the subject of slavery, considering it as too painful to be inquired into, and one which advancing light and civilization would certainly live down. But, since the legislative act of 1850, when she heard, with perfect surprise and consternation, Christian and humane people actually recommending the remanding the escaped fugitives into slavery, as a duty binding on good citizens -when she heard on all hands, from kind, compassionate, and estimable people, in the free states of the North, deliberations and discussions as to what Christian duty could be on this head-she could only think, These men and Christians cannot know what slavery is; if they did, such a question could never be open for discussion. And from this arose a desire to exhibit it in a living dramatic reality.

But while having this design, Mrs. Stowe has not treated her readers to a mere feast of horrors,' but with a degree of skill which a practised novelist might envy, has so chosen and arranged her dramatis persona, as to enlist the sympathies of such as better relish graphic description and clever delineations of character than appeals to the conscience or the heart. Hence, while she denounces slavery with power and eloquence, and satirizes its defenders-especially among clerics and religionists-with withering keenness and pungency, she relieves her narrative with humorous sketches of unctuous richness, and hits off peculiarities and incidents with a felicitousness strongly reminding us of our own Charles Dickens. Added to these distinctive excellences, and consecrating them to the highest use, a spirit of religious fervour and of practical piety pervades the work, giving to it a high elevation of tone, and furnishing impressive illustrations of the power of genuine Christianity to renew, sustain, and bless the soul.

Many of our readers have doubtless ere this themselves perused the work, but they will, we are sure, forgive us, if, for the sake of others who have not yet had that pleasure, we transfer to our pages some of the chief features of the story, omitting, as we must necessarily do, all notice of those of an episodal character.

The main purpose of the writer in the construction of the tale, is apparently to oppose the fallaciousness of the idea that humanely treated slaves are no sufferers from slavery, and thus we are in the first instance introduced to a Mr. Shelby, a well-disposed and gentlemanly slave-holder, in the state of Kentucky, where slavery exists in its mildest form. Eliza Harris, one of the domestics, is a quadroon of great beauty, and the petted servant of an indulgent mistress. She has for a husband, a smart, talented mulatto, a slave on a neighbouring estate, but let out for hire at a factory, and they have a little son as handsome and engaging as themselves. On the same estate resides Uncle Tom,' an uncommon fellow,' 'true and square in everything," according to his master, and with a heart filled with piety and benevolence. Aunt Chloe, his wife, is a cook in the very bone and centre of

ment.

her soul,' who fills Tom's cabin with good things and innocent merriSo here we have something approaching to the Arcadia described by anti-abolitionists. But over and above the scene there broods a portentous shadow-the shadow of law,' and Mr. Shelby, becoming involved in pecuniary difficulties, finds himself within the power of one Dan Haley, a slave-dealer, who is bent on securing Uncle Tom, and Eliza's child. Shelby, to save himself, regretfully sacrifices them, satisfying his conscience as he best can with the plea of neces sity, but not satisfying his wife, who now passionately denounced the cursed system which yielded such bitter fruits. Eliza, overhearing their colloquy, resolved to save her child by flight.

'It was a sparkling, frosty, starlight night, and the mother wrapped the shawl close round her child, as, perfectly quiet with vague terror, he clung round her neck.

A few minutes brought them to the window of Uncle Tom's cottage, and Eliza, stopping, tapped lightly on the window-pane.

"Lord bless you! I'am skeered to look at ye, Lizy! Are ye tuck sick, or what's come over ye?

"I'm running away, Uncle Tom and Aunt Chloe-carrying off my child. Master sold him!

"Sold him?" echoed both, lifting up their hands in dismay.

"Yes, sold him!" said Eliza firmly. "I crept into the closet by mistress's door to-night, and I heard master tell missus that he had sold my Harry, and you, Uncle Tom, both to a trader, and that he was going off this morning on his horse, and that the man was to take possession to-day."

Tom had stood during this speech with his hands raised, and his eyes dilated, like a man in a dream. Slowly and gradually, as its meaning came over him, he collapsed, rather than seated himself, on his old chair, and sunk his head down upon his knees.

"The good Lord have pity on us!" said Aunt Chloe. "Oh, it don't seem as if it was true! What has he done that mas'r should sell him?"

""He hasn't done anything-it isn't for that. Master don't want to sell. . . . But, oh, missis! you ought to have heard her talk! If she an't a Christian and an angel, there never was one. I'm a wicked girl to leave her so; but then I can't help it. She said herself one soul was worth more than the world; and this boy has a soul, and if I let him be carried off, who knows what'll become of it? It must be right; but if it an't right, the Lord forgive me, for I can't help doing it!

"Well, old man!" said Aunt Chloe, "why don't you go too? Will you wait to be toted down river, where they kill niggers with hard work and starving? I'd a heap rather die than go there, any day? There's time for ye; be off with Lizy-you've got a pass to come and go any time. Come, bustle up, and I'll get your things together.'

Tom slowly raised his head, and looked sorrowfully, but quietly around it and said" No, no; I an't going. Let Eliza go-it's her right. I wouldn't be the one to say no. Tan't in natur for her to stay; but you heard what she said! If I must be sold, or all the people on the place, and everything go to rack, why, let me be sold. I s'pose I can b'ar it as well as any on 'em," he added, while something like a sob and a sigh shook his broad, rough chest, convulsively. "Mas'r always found me on the spot-he always will. I never have broke trust, nor used my pass no ways contrary to my word, and I never will. It's better for me alone to go than to break up the place and sell all. Masʼr an't to blame, Chloe; and he'll take care of you and the poor

Here he turned to the rough trundle-bed full of little woolly heads, and broke fairly down. He leaned over the back of the chair, and covered his face with his large hands. Sobs, heavy, hoarse, and loud, shook the chair, and great

tears fell through his fingers on the floor-just such tears, sir, as you dropped into the coffin where lay your first-born son; such tears, woman, as you shed when you heard the cries of your dying babe-for, sir, he was a man, and you are but another man. And, woman, though dressed in silk and jewels, you are but a woman, and, in life's great straits and mighty griefs, ye feel but one

sorrow!

"And now," said Eliza, as she stood in the door, "I saw my husband only this afternoon, and I little knew then what was to come. They have pushed him to the very last standing place, and he told me to-day, that he was going to run away. Do try, if you can, to get word to him. Tell him how I went, and why I went; and tell him I'm going to try and find Canada. You must give my love to him, and tell him, if I never see him again," she turned away, and stood with her back to them for a moment. and then added, in a husky voice, "tell him to be as good as he can, and try and meet me in the kingdom of heaven."

'If it were your Harry, mother, or your Willie, that were going to be torn from you by a brutal trader, to-morrow morning,-if you had seen the man, and heard that the papers were signed and delivered, and you had only from twelve o'clock till morning to make good your escape,-how fast could you walk? How many miles could you make in those few brief hours, with the darling at your bosom,-the little sleepy head on your shoulder,-the small, soft arms trustingly holding on to your neck?'

*

'An hour before sunset, she entered the village of T-, by the Ohio river, weary and foot-sore, but still strong in heart. Her first glance was at the river, which lay, like Jordan, between her and the Canaan of liberty on the other side. 'It was now early spring, and the river was swollen and turbulent; great cakes of floating ice were swinging heavily to and fro in the turbid waters. Owing to the peculiar form of the shore on the Kentucky side, the land bending far out into the water, the ice had been lodged and detained in great quantities, and the narrow channel which swept round the bend was full of ice, piled one cake over another, thus forming a temporary barrier to the descending ice, which lodged, and formed a great undulating raft, filling up the whole river, and extending almost to the Kentucky shore.

Eliza stood for a moment, contemplating this unfavourable aspect of things, which she saw at once must prevent the usual ferry-boat from running, and then turned into a small public-house on the bank, to make a few inquiries.'

Haley's chase was delayed for some time by the amusing stratagems of two sympathizing negroes, but presently

"The whole train swept by the window, round to the front door.

'A thousand lives seemed to be concentrated in that one moment to Eliza. Her room opened by a side door to the river. She caught her child, and sprang down the steps towards it. The trader caught a full glimpse of her, just as she was disappearing down the bank; and throwing himself from his horse, and calling loudly on Sam and Andy, he was after her like a hound after a deer. In that dizzy moment her feet to her scarce seemed to touch the ground, and a moment brought her to the water's edge. Right on behind they came; and, nerved with strength such as God gives only to the desperate, with one wild cry and flying leap, she vaulted sheer over the turbid current by the shore, on to the raft of ice beyond. It was a desperate leap-impossible to anything but madness and despair; and Haley, Sam, and Andy, instinctively cried out, and lifted up their hands, as she did it.

The huge green fragment of ice on which she alighted pitched and creaked as her weight came on it, but she stayed there not a moment. With wild cries and desperate energy she leaped to another and still another cake;-stumbling -leaping-slipping-springing upwards again! Her shoes are gone-her

stockings cut from her feet-while blood marked every step; but she saw nothing, felt nothing, till dimly, as in a dream, she saw the Ohio side, and a man helping her up the bank."

She was directed to the house of Mr. Bird, a senator, whose heart was, happily, softer than his head, and who, though he had but lately helped to pass the fugitive slave-law, yet, at the actual sight of fugitives, acted towards them the part of an abolitionist. They safely reach a Quaker settlement, the inhabitants of which delight in organizing efforts to facilitate the escape of runaway slaves; and here her husband is restored to her. He in the interim had had adventures, and one of these is made an occasion for demolishing, with a ruthless hand, some of the miserable conventionalities by which even humane people in the States attempt to justify the grossest outrages on human rights and feelings. Disguised as a gentleman, which the whiteness of his skin and the superiority of his manners made an easy thing, he falls in with his late master (not owner), Mr. Wilson, whose mind ' was one of those that may not unaptly be represented by a bale of cotton-downy, soft, benevolently fuzzy, and confused.' Throwing himself on Mr. W.'s generosity, George, who reminds us by his deportment of that fine specimen of African humanity, Frederick Douglass, introduces himself.

“Well, George, I s'pose you're running away-leaving your lawful master, George-(I don't wonder at it)-at the same time I am sorry, George—yes, decidedly-I think I must say that, George-it's my duty to tell you so.' Why are you sorry, sir?" said George, calmly.

6.66

Why, to see you, as it were, setting yourself in opposition to the laws of your country."

"My country!" said George, with a strong and bitter emphasis; "what country have I but the grave-and I wish to God that I was laid there!"

"Why, George, no-no-it won't do; this way of talking is wicked-unscriptural. George, you've got a hard master-in fact, he is-well, he conducts himself reprehensibly-I can't pretend to defend him. But you know how the angel commanded Hagar to return to her mistress, and submit herself under her hand; and the apostle sent back Onesimus to his master."

get to

"Don't quote Bible at me that way, Mr. Wilson,' said George, with a flashing eye, "don't! for my wife is a Christian, and I mean to be, if ever where I can; but to quote Bible to a fellow in my circumstances is enough to make him give it up altogether. I appeal to God Almighty; I'm willing to go with the case to Him, and ask Him if I do wrong to seek my freedom.'

"These feelings are quite natural, George," said the good-natured man, blowing his nose. 66 'Yes, they're natural, but it is my duty not to encourage 'em in you. Yes, my boy, I'm sorry for you, now; it's a bad case-very bad; but the apostle says, 'Let every one abide in the condition in which he is called.' We must all submit to the indications of Providence, George- don't you see?"

'George stood with his head drawn back, his arms folded tightly over his broad breast, and a bitter smile curling his lips.

"I wonder, Mr. Wilson, if the Indians should come and take you a prisoner away from your wife and children, and want to keep you all your life hoeing corn for them, if you'd think it your duty to abide in the condition in which you were called! I rather think that you'd think the first stray horse you could find an indication of Providence-shouldn't you?"

'The little old gentleman stared with both eyes at this illustration of the case; but, though not much of a reasoner, he had the sense in which some logicians on this particular subject do not excel-that of saying nothing, where nothing could be said.'