the habitual surliness of his associates; nay, he found the
placid, sunny temper, which had been the habitude of his
life, broken in on, and sorely strained, by the inroads of the
same thing. He had flattered himself on leisure to read his
Bible; but there was no such thing as leisure there. In
the height of the season, Legree did not hesitate to press
all his hands through, Sundays and week-days alike. Why
should n't he? -- he made more cotton by it, and gained
his wager; and if it -- wore out a few more hands, he could
buy better ones. At first, Tom used to read a verse or two
of his Bible, by the flicker of the fire, after he had returned
from his daily toil; but, after the cruel treatment he re-
ceived, he used to come home so exhausted, that his head
swam and his eyes failed when he tried to read; and he was
fain to stretch himself down, with the others, in utter ex-
haustion.

Is it strange that the religious peace and trust, which
had upborne him hitherto, should give way to tossings of
soul and despondent darkness? The gloomiest problem
of this mysterious life was constantly before his eyes, --
souls crushed and ruined, evil triumphant, and God silent.
It was weeks and months that Tom wrestled, in his own
soul, in darkness and sorrow. He thought of Miss Ophe-
lia's letter to his Kentucky friends, and would pray ear-
nestly that God would send him deliverance. And then
be would watch, day after day, in the vague hope of seeing
somebody sent to redeem him; and, when nobody came, he
would crush back to his soul bitter thoughts, -- that it was
vain to serve God, that God had forgotten him. He some-
times saw Cassy; and sometimes, when summoned to the
house, caught a glimpse of the dejected form of Emmeline,
but held very little communion with either; in fact, there
was no time for him to commune with anybody.

One evening, he was sitting, in utter dejection and pros-
tration, by a few decaying brands, where his coarse supper
was baking. He put a few bits of brushwood on the fire,
and strove to raise the light, and then drew his worn
Bible from his pocket. There were all the marked pas-
sages, which had thrilled his soul so often, -- words of pa-
triarchs and seers, poets and sages, who from early time
had spoken courage to man, -- voices from the great cloud
of witnesses who ever surround us in the race of life. Had

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