The men who have made him
merchandise,--who have trodden his race in the dust,--look on unmoved
as the unfeeling purchaser drags him from the embrace of all that is
near and dear to him on earth. Here, in this boasted freest country
the sun shines on-where freedom was bequeathed by our brave
forefathers,--where the complex tyranny of an old world was
overthrown,--such scenes violate no law. When will the glorious, the
happy day of their death come? When shall the land be free?
M'Fadden, having paid the price of his clergyman, drags him to the
door. "Once more, master," mutters the victim, looking back with
fear and hope pictured on his imploring face. M'Fadden has no
patience with such useless implorings, and orders him to move along.
"I will see them once more!" the man exclaims, "I will! Good bye!
may Heaven bless you on earth, my little ones!-God will protect us
when we meet again!" The tears course down his cheeks.
"None of that ar' kind of nonsense! Shut down yer tear-trap," says
M'Fadden, calling an attendant, and, drawing a pair of irons from
his pocket, placing them about Harry's hands. Mr. M'Fadden's
property shows signs of being somewhat belligerent: to obviate any
further nonsense, and to make short work of the thing, Mr. M'Fadden
calls in aid, throws his property on the ground, ties its legs with
a piece of rope, places it upon a drag, and orders it to be conveyed
to the depot, from whence it will be despatched by rail for a new
home.
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