Truly the changes that take place in the feelings and mind of man are not less sudden and complete than the physical changes which sometimes occur in lands that are swept by the tornado and desolated by the earthquake. That morning George Foster had risen from his straw bed a miserable white slave, hopeless, heartless, and down at spiritual zero-- or below it. That night he lay down on the same straw bed, a free man-- in soul, if not in body--a hero of the most ardent character--up at fever-heat in the spiritual thermometer, or above it, and all because his heart throbbed with a noble purpose--because an object worthy of his efforts was placed before him, and because he had made up his mind to do or die in a good cause! What that cause was he would have found it difficult to define clearly in detail. Sufficient for him that an unknown but stalwart father, with Radical tendencies, and a well-known and lovely daughter, were at the foundation of it, and that "Escape!" was the talismanic word which formed a battery, as it were, with which to supply his heart with electric energy. He lived on this diet for a week, with the hope of again seeing Hester; but he did not see her again for many weeks. One morning Peter the Great came to him as he was going out to work in the garden and said-- "You git ready and come wid me into town dis day." "Indeed," returned Foster, as much excited by the order as if it had been to go on some grand expedition. "For what purpose?" "You 'bey orders, sar, an' make your mind easy about purpisses." In a few minutes Foster was ready. No part of his original costume now remained to him. A blue-striped cotton jacket, with pants too short and too wide for him; a broad-brimmed straw hat, deeply sunburnt face and hands, with a pair of old boots two sizes too large, made him as unlike a British naval officer as he could well be. But he had never been particularly vain of his personal appearance, and the high purpose by which he was now actuated set him above all such trifling considerations. "Is your business a secret?" asked Foster, as he and his companion descended the picturesque road that led to the city. "No, it am no secret, 'cause I's got no business." "You seem to be in a mysterious mood this morning, Peter. What do you mean?" "I mean dat you an' me's out for a holiday--two slabes out for a holiday! T'ink ob dat!" The negro threw back his head, opened his capacious jaws, and gave vent to an almost silent chuckle. "That does indeed mound strange," returned Foster; "how has such a wonderful event been brought about?" "By lub, Geo'ge. Di'n't I tell you before dat hub am eberyt'ing?" "Yes; and my dear old mother told me, long before you did, that `love is the fulfilling of the law.'" "Well, I dun know much about law, 'xcep' dat I b'lieve it's a passel o' nonsense, for what we's got here an't o' no use--leastwise not for slabes."