 Preface and Chapter 1 of R. Nygge This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Bridget Gage R. Nygge, or sketches from the life of a free black in a two-story white house, north, showing that slavery shadows fall even there, by Harriet E. Wilson. Preface. In offering to the public the following pages, the writer confesses her inability to minister to the refined and cultivated, the pleasure supplied by Abler pens. It is not for such these crude narrations appear. Deserted by kindred, disabled by failing health, I am forced to some experiment which shall aid me in maintaining myself and child without extinguishing this feeble life. I would not from these motives even palliate slavery at the south, by disclosures of its appurtenances north. My mistress was wholly imbued with southern principles. I do not pretend to divulge every transaction in my own life, which the unprejudiced would declare unfavorable in comparison with treatment of legal bondsmen. I have purposely omitted what would most provoke shame in our good anti-slavery friends at home. My humble position and frank confession of errors will, I hope, shield me from severe criticism. Indeed, defects are so apparent, it requires no skilful hand to expose them. I sincerely appeal to my colored brethren universally for patronage, hoping they will not condemn this attempt of their sister to be euridite, but rally around me a faithful band of supporters and defenders. CHAPTER I. MAG SMITH, MY MOTHER Oh grief beyond all other griefs when fate first leaves the young heart lone and desolate, in the wide world without that only tie for which it loved to live or feared to die. Lorn is the hung-up loot that Nair hath spoken since the sad day its master-chord was broken. More. Lonely Mag Smith. See her as she walks with downcast eyes and heavy heart. It was not always thus. She had a loving, trusting heart. Early deprived of parental guardianship, far removed from relatives, she was left to guide her tiny boat over life surges alone and inexperienced. As she merged into womanhood, unprotected, uncharished, uncared for, there fell on her ear the music of love, awakening an intensity of emotion long dormant. It whispered of an elevation before unaspired to. Of ease and plenty her simple heart had never dreamed of as hers. She knew the voice of her charmer, so ravishing, sounded far above her. It seemed like an angel's, alluring her upward and onward. She thought she could ascend to him and become an equal. She surrendered to him a priceless gem which he proudly garnered as a trophy with those of other victims and left her to her fate. The world seemed full of hateful deceivers and crushing arrogance. Conscious that the great bond of union to her former companions was severed, that the disdain of others would be insupportable, she determined to leave the few friends she possessed and seek an asylum among strangers. Her offspring came unwelcomed, and before its nativity numbered weeks it passed from earth, ascending to a purer and better life. God be thanked, ejaculated Mag as she saw its breathing cease. No one can taunt her with my rune. Blessed release, may we all respond. How many pure, innocent children not only inherit a wicked heart of their own, claiming lifelong scrutiny and restraint. But are heirs also of parental disgrace and columny, from which only long years of patient endurance and paths of rectitude can disencomber them. Mag's new home was soon contaminated by the publicity of her fall. She had a feeling of degradation oppressing her, but she resolved to be circumspect and try to regain in a measure what she had lost. Then some foul tongue would jest of her shame, and averted looks and cold greetings disheartened her. She saw she could not bury in forgetfulness her misdeed, so she resolved to leave her home and seek another in the place she at first fled from. Alas! how fearful are we to be first in extending a helpful hand to those who stagger in the mires of infamy, to speak the first words of hope and warning to those emerging into the sunlay of morality. Who can tell what numbers advancing just far enough to hear a cold welcome and join in the reserved converse of professed reformers, disappointed, disheartened, have chosen to dwell in unclean places, rather than encounter these holier than thou, of the great brotherhood of man. Such was Mag's experience, and disdaining to ask favour or friendship from a sneering world, she resolved to shut herself up in a hovel she had often passed in better days, and which she knew to be untenanted. She vowed to ask no favours of familiar faces, to die neglected and forgotten before she would be dependent on any. Removed from the village, she was seldom seen except as upon your introduction, gentle reader, with downcast visage, returning her work to her employer, and thus providing herself with the means of subsidence. In two years many hands craved the same avocation. Foreigners who cheapened toil and clamoured for a livelihood competed with her, and she could not thus sustain herself. She was now above no drudgery. Occasionally old acquaintances called to be favoured with help of some kind, which she was glad to bestow for the sake of the money it would bring her. But the association with them was such a painful reminder of bygone days, she returned to her hut, morose and revengeful, refusing all offers of a better home than she possessed. Thus she lived for years, hugging her wrongs, but making no effort to escape. She had never known plenty, scarcely competency, but the present was beyond comparison with those innocent years when the coronet of virtue was hers. Every year her melancholy increased, her means diminished. At last no one seemed to notice her. Save a kind-hearted African, who often called to inquire after her health, and to see if she needed any fuel, he having the responsibility of furnishing that article, and she in return, mending or making garments. How much you earned this week, Mag, asked he one Saturday evening. Little enough, Jim, to her three days without any dinner, I washed for the reeds and did a small job for Mrs. Belmont. That's all. I shall starve soon, unless I can get more to do. Folks seem as afraid to come here as if they expected to get some awful disease. I don't believe there is a person in the world but would be glad to have me dead and out of the way. No, no, Mag, don't talk so. You shan't starve so long as I have barrels to hoop. Peter Green boards me cheap. I'll help you, if nobody else will. A tear stood in Mag's faded eye. I'm glad, she said, with a softer tone than before. If there is one who isn't glad to see me suffer. I believe all Singleton wants to see me punished, and feel as if they could tell when I've been punished long enough. It's a long day ahead, they'll set it, I reckon. After the usual supply of fuel was prepared, Jimry turned home. Full of pity for Mag, he set about devising measures for her relief. By golly, said he to himself one day, for he had become so absorbed, and Mag's interest, that he had fallen into a habit of musing aloud. By golly! I wish she'd marry me. Who? shouted Pete Green, suddenly starting from an unobserved corner of the rude shop. Where you come from, you sly nigger, exclaimed Jim. Come, tell me, who is it? said Pete. Mag Smith you want to marry? Get out, Pete, and when you come in this shop again, let a nigger know it. Don't steal in like a thief. Pity and love no little severance. One attends the other. Jim acknowledged the presence of the former, and his efforts in Mag's behalf told also of a finer principle. This sudden expedient, which he had unintentionally disclosed, roused his thinking and inventive powers to study upon the best method of introducing the subject to Mag. He belted his barrels, with many a scheme revolving in his mind, none of which quite satisfied him, or seemed, on the whole, expedient. He thought of the pleasing contrast between her fair face and his own dark skin, the smooth straight hair, which he had once, in expression of pity, kindly stroked on her now wrinkled but once fair brow. There was a tempest gathering in his heart, and at last, to ease his pent-up passion, he exclaimed aloud, by golly. Recollecting his former exposure, he glanced around to see if Pete was in hearing again. Right on this point, he continued, she'd be as much of a prize to me as she'd fall short of coming up to the mark with white folks. I don't care for past things. I've done things for now, I's shamed of. She's good enough for me, anyhow. One more glance about the premises to be sure Pete was away. The next Saturday brought Jim to the hovel again. The cold was fast coming to Terry at a portion time. Mag was nearly despairing of meeting its rigor. "'How's the wood, Mag?' asked Jim. "'All gone, and no more to cut, anyhow,' was the reply. "'Too bad,' Jim said. His truthful reply would have been. I'm glad." "'Anything to eat in the house?' continued he. "'No,' replied Mag. "'Too bad, again, orally, with the same inward graduation as before.' "'Well, Mag,' said Jim, after a short pause. "'Use down low enough. I don't see, but I've got to take care of ye. "'Spose and we marry.' Mag raised her eyes, full of amazement, and uttered, a sonorous, "'What?' Jim felt abashed for a moment. He knew well what were her objections. Those had trial of white folks, anyhow. They run off and left ye, and now none of them come near ye to see if ye's dead or alive. Eyes black outside, I know, but eyes got a white heart inside, which you rather have, a black heart in a white skin or a white heart in a black one. "'Oh, dear,' sighed Mag. "'Nobody on earth cares for me.' "'I do,' interrupted Jim. "'I can do but two things,' she said. "'Bag my living, or get it from you.' "'Take me, Mag. I can give you a better home than this, and not let you suffer so.' He prevailed. They married. "'You can philosophize, gentle reader, upon the impropriety of such unions, and preach dozens of sermons on the evils of amalgamation. Wont is a more powerful philosopher and preacher. "'Poor Mag. She has sundered another bond, which held her to her fellows. She has descended another step down the ladder of infamy.' End of Chapter 1 Chapter 2 of R. Nigg This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Bridget Gage. R. Nigg by Harriet E. Wilson. Chapter 2 My Father's Death Misery, we have known each other, like a sister and a brother. Living in the same lone home. Many years we must live some. Hours or ages yet to come. Shelley. Jim, proud of his treasure, a white wife, tried hard to fulfill his promises, and furnished her with a more comfortable dwelling, diet, and apparel. It was comparatively a comfortable winner she passed after her marriage. When Jim could work, all went on well. Industrious and fond of Mag. He was determined she should not regret her union to him. Time levied an additional charge upon him, in the form of two pretty mulattos, whose infantile pranks amply repaid the additional toil. A few years, and a severe cough and pain in his side, compelled him to be an idler for weeks together, and Mag had thus a reminder of bygones. She cared for him only as a means to subserve her own comfort, yet she nursed him faithfully, and true to marriage vows till death released her. He became the victim of consumption. He loved Mag to the last. So long as life continued, he stifled his sensibility to pain, and toiled for her sustenance, long after he was able to do so. A few expressive wishes for her welfare, a hope of better days for her, and anxiety, lest they should not all go to the good place. Brief advice about their children. A hope expressed that Mag would not be neglected as she used to be. The manifestation of Christian patience. These were all the legacy of miserable Mag. A feeling of cold desolation came over her, as she turned from the grave of one who had been truly faithful to her. She was now expelled from companionship with white people. This last step, her union with the Black, was the climax of repulsion. Seth Shipley, a partner in Jim's business, wished her to remain in her present home. But she declined, and returned to her hovel again, with obstacles threefold more insurmountable than before. Seth accompanied her, giving her a weakly allowance, which furnished most of the food necessary for the four inmates. After a time, work failed, their means were reduced. How Mag toiled and suffered, yielding to fits of desperation, bursts of anger, and uttering curses too fearful to repeat. When both were supplied with work, they prospered. If idle, they were hungry together. In this way, their interests became united. They planned for the future together. Mag had lived in outcast for years. She had ceased to feel the gushings of penitence. She had crushed the sharp agonies of an awakened conscience. She had no longings for a pureer heart, a better life. Far easier to descend lower. She entered the darkness of perpetual infamy. She asked not the right of civilization or Christianity. Her will made her the wife of Seth. Soon followed scenes familiar and trying. It's no use, said Seth one day. We must give the children away, and try to get work in some other place. Who will take the black devils, snarled Mag? They're not of mine, said Seth. What you growling about. Nobody will want anything of mine, or yours either, she replied. We'll make them, perhaps, he said. There's Fredo six years old, and pretty, if she is yours, and white folks will say so. She'd be a prize somewhere, he continued, tipping his chair back against the wall, and placing his feet upon the rounds, as if he had much more to say when in the right position. Fredo, as they called one of Mag's children, was a beautiful mulatto, with long, curly black hair, and handsome, roguish eyes, sparkling with an exuberance of spirit, almost beyond restraint. Hearing her name mentioned, she looked up from her play, to see what Seth had to say of her. Wouldn't the Belmonts take her? asked Seth. Belmonts, shouted Mag. His wife is a right she-devil, and if— hadn't they be better altogether? interrupted Seth, reminding her of a like epithet used in reference to her little ones. Without seeming to notice him, she continued. She can't keep a girl in the house over a week, and Mr. Belmont wants to hire a boy to work for him, but he can't find one that will live in the house with her. She's so ugly, they can't. Well, we've got to make a move soon, answered Seth. If you go with me, we shall go right off. Had you rather spare the other one? asked Seth, after a short pause. One's as bad as Tother, replied Mag. Fredo is such a wild, frolicy thing, and means to do just as she's a mind to. She won't go if she don't want to. I don't want to tell her she is to be given away. I will, said Seth. Come here, Fredo. The child seemed to have some dim foreshadowing of evil, and declined. Come here, he continued. I want to tell you something. She came reluctantly. He took her hand and said, We're going to move, by and by. Will you go? No, screamed she, and giving a sudden jerk, which destroyed Seth's equilibrium, left him sprawling on the floor, while she escaped through the open door. She's a hard one, said Seth, brushing his patched coat's leave. I'd risk her at Belmont's. They discussed the expediency of a speedy departure. Seth would first seek employment, and then return for Mag. They would take with them what they could carry, and leave the rest with Pete Green, and come for them when they were wanted. They were long in arranging affairs satisfactorily, and were not a little startled at the close of their conference to find Fredo missing. They thought approaching night would bring her. Twilight passed into darkness, and she did not come. They thought she had understood their plans, and had perhaps, permanently withdrawn. They could not rest without making some effort to assert in her retreat. Seth went in pursuit, and returned without her. They rallied others when they discovered that another little-colored girl was missing, a favourite playmate of Fredo's. All effort proved unavailing. Mag felt sure her fears were realised, and that she might never see her again. Before her anxieties became realities both were safely returned, and from them and their attendant they learned that they went to walk, and not minding the direction soon found themselves lost. They had climbed fences and walls, passed through thickets and marshes, and when night approached selected a thick cluster of shrubbery as a covert for the night. They were discovered by the person who now restored them, chatting of their prospects. Fredo attempting to banish the childish fears of her companion. As they were some miles from home they were kindly cared for until morning. Mag was relieved to know her child was not driven to desperation by their intentions to relieve themselves of her, and she was inclined to think severe restraint would be helpful. The removal was all arranged, the few days necessary for such migrations passed quickly, and one bright summer morning they bade farewell to their singleton-hovel, and with budgets and bundles commenced their weary march. As they neared the village, they heard the merry shouts of children gathered around the school-room, awaiting the coming of their teacher. "'Helloo!' screamed one. Black, white, and yellow. Black, white, and yellow!' echoed a dozen voices. It did not grate so harshly on poor Mag as once it would. She did not even turn her head to look at them. She had passed into an insensibility no childish taunt could penetrate, else she would have reproached herself as she passed familiar scenes, for extending the separation once so easily annihilated by steadfast integrity. Two miles beyond lived the Belmonts, in a large, old-fashioned, two-story white-house, and vibrant by fruitful acres, and embellished by shrubbery and shade-trees. Years ago a youthful couple consecrated it as home, and after many little feet had worn paths to favorite fruit-trees, and over its green hills, and mingled at last with brother-man in the race which belongs neither to the swift or strong, the sire became gray-haired and decrepit, and went to his last repose. His aged consort soon followed him. The old homestead thus passed into the hands of a son, to whose wife Mag had applied the epithet, she-devil, as may be remembered. John the son had not in his family arrangements departed from the example of the father. The pastimes of his boyhood were ever freshly revived by witnessing the games of his own sons, as they rallied about the same goal his youthful feet had often won, as well as by the amusements of his daughters, in their imitations of maternal duties. At the time we introduced them, however, John is wearing the badge of age. Most of his children were from home, some seeking employment, some were already settled in homes of their own. A maiden sister shared with him the estate on which he resided, and occupied a portion of the house. With insight of the house, Seth seated himself with his bundles, and the child he had been leading, while Mag walked onward to the house, leading Fredo. A knock at the door brought Mrs. Belmont, and Mag asked if she would be willing to let that child stop there while she went to the Reed's house to wash, and when she came back she would call and get her. It seemed a novel request, but she consented. Why the impetuous child entered the house, we cannot tell. The door closed, and Mag hastily departed. Fredo waited for the close of day, which was to bring back her mother. Alas, it never came. It was the last time she ever saw or heard of her mother. Oh, did we but know of the shadows so nigh, the world would indeed be a prison of gloom. All light would be quenched in youth's eloquent eye, and the prayer-lisping infant would ask for the tomb. For if hope be a star that may lead us astray, and deceive it the heart, as the aged ones preach. Yet it was mercy that gave it to beaken our way, though its hallow elumes, where it never can reach. Eliza Cook. As the day closed and Mag did not appear, surmises were expressed by the family that she never intended to return. Mr. Belmont was a kind humane man who would not grudge hospitality to the poorest wanderer, nor fail to sympathize with any sufferer, however humble. The child's desertion by her mother appealed to his sympathy, and he felt inclined to sucker her. To do this in opposition to Mrs. Belmont's wishes would be like encountering a whirlwind charged with fire, daggers, and spikes. She was not as susceptible of fine emotions as her spouse. Mag's opinion of her was not without foundation. She was self-willed, haughty, undisciplined, arbitrary, and severe. In common parlance she was a scold, a thorough one. Mr. B. remained silent during the consultation which follows, engaged in by mother, Mary, and John, or Jack, as he was familiarly called. Sent her to the county house, said Mary, and replied to the query what should be done with her, in a tone which indicated self-importance in the speaker. She was indeed the idol of her mother, and more nearly resembled her in disposition and manners than the others. Jane, an invalid daughter, the eldest of those at home, was reclining on a sofa, apparently uninterested. Keep her, said Jack, she's real handsome and bright, and not very black either. Yes, rejoined Mary, that's just like you, Jack, she'll be of no use at all these three years, right underfoot all the time. Pooh, Miss Mary, if she should stay, it wouldn't be two days before you would be telling the girls about our nigg, our nigg, retorted Jack. I don't want a nigger round me, do you, mother? asked Mary. I don't mind the nigger in the child, I should like a dozen better than one, replied her mother. If I could make her do my work in a few years, I would keep her. I have so much trouble with girls I hire, I am almost persuaded, if I have one to train up in my way from a child, I shall be able to keep them awhile. I am tired of changing every few months. Where could she sleep? asked Mary. I don't want her near me. In the L chamber, answered the mother. How will she get there? asked Jack. She'll be afraid to go through that dark passage, and she can't climb the ladder safely. She'll have to go there, it's good enough for a nigger, was the reply. Jack was sent on horseback to a certain if mag was at her home. He returned with the testimony of Pete Green that they were fairly departed, and that the child was intentionally thrust upon their family. The imposition was not at all relished by Mrs. B., or the Pert, Haughty Mary, who had just glided into her teens. Show the child to bed, Jack, said his mother. You seem most pleased with the little nigger, so you may introduce her to her room. He went to the kitchen, and taking Frado gently by the hand, told her he would put her in bed now. Perhaps her mother would come the next night after her. It was not yet quite dark, so they ascended the stairs, without any light, passing through nicely furnished rooms, which were a source of great amazement to the child. He opened the door which connected with her room by a dark, unfinished passageway. Don't bump your head, said Jack, and stepped before to open the door leading into her apartment, an unfinished chamber over the kitchen, the roof slanting nearly to the floor, so that the bed could stand only in the middle of the room. A small half-window furnished light and air. Jack returned to the sitting-room, with the remark that the child would soon outgrow those quarters. When she does, she'll outgrow the house, remarked the mother. What can she do to help you? asked Mary. She came just in the right time, didn't she? Just the very day after Bridget left, continued she. I'll see what she can do in the morning, was the answer. While this conversation was passing below, Fredo lay, revolving in her little mind, whether she would remain or not until her mother's return. She was of willful determined nature, a stranger to fear, and would not hesitate to wander away, should she decide to. She remembered the conversation of her mother with Seth, the words given away, which she heard used in reference to herself. And though she did not know their full import, she thought she should, by remaining, be in some relation to white people she was never favored with before. So she resolved to tarry, with the hope that mother would come and get her some time. The hot sun had penetrated her room, and it was long before a cooling breeze reduced the temperature so that she could sleep. Fredo was called early in the morning by her new mistress. Her first work was to feed the hens. She was shown how it was always to be done, and in no other way, any departure from this rule to be punished by a whipping. She was then accompanied by Jack to drive the cows to pasture, so she might learn the way. Upon her return she was allowed to eat her breakfast, consisting of a bowl of skimmed milk, with brown bread crusts, which she was told to eat, standing, by the kitchen table, and must not be over ten minutes about it. Meanwhile the family were taking their morning meal in the dining room. This over she was placed on a cricket to wash the common dishes. She was to be in waiting, always to bring wood and chips, to run hither and thither from room to room. A large amount of dishwashing for small hands followed dinner, then the same after tea, and going after the cows finished her first day's work. It was a new discipline to the child. She found some attractions about the place, and she retired to rest at night, more willing to remain. The same routine followed day after day, with slight variation, adding a little more work, and spicing the toil with words that burn, and frequent blows on her head. These were great annoyances to Frado, and had she known where her mother was, she would have gone at once to her. She was often greatly wearied, and silently wept over her sad fate. At first she wept aloud, which Mrs. Belmont noticed by applying a rawhide, always at hand in the kitchen. It was a symptom of discontent and complaining, which must be nipped in the bud, she said. Thus passed a year. No intelligence of Mag. It was now certain Frado was to become a permanent member of the family. Her labours were multiplied. She was quite indispensable, although but seven years old. She had never learned to read, never heard of a school, until her residence in the family. Mrs. Belmont was in doubt about the utility of attempting to educate people of colour, who were incapable of elevation. This subject occasioned a lengthy discussion in the family. Mr. Belmont, Jane and Jack, arguing for Frado's education, Mary and her mother objecting. At last Mr. Belmont declared decisively that she should go to school. He was a man who seldom decided controversies at home. The word once spoken admitted of no appeal. So notwithstanding Mary's objection that she would have to attend the same school she did, the word became law. It was to be a new scene to Frado, and Jack had many queries and conjectures to answer. He was himself too far advanced to attend the summer school, which Frado regretted, having had too many opportunities of witnessing Miss Mary's temper to feel safe in her company alone. The opening day of school came. Frado sauntered on far in the rear of Mary, who was ashamed to be seen walking with a nigger. As soon as she appeared, with scanty clothing and bare feet, the children assembled, noisily published her approach. See that nigger shouted one. Look, look! cried another. I won't play with her, said one little girl. Nor I neither, replied another. Mary evidently relished these sharp attacks, and saw a fair prospect of lowering nig, where, according to her views, she belonged. Poor Frado, chagrined and grieve, felt that her anticipations of pleasure, at such a place, were far from being realized. She was just deciding to return home, and never come there again, when the teacher appeared, and observing the downcast looks of the child, took her by the hand, and led her into the school-room. All followed, and after the bustle of securing seats was over, Miss Marsh inquired if the children knew any cause for the sorrow of that little girl, pointing to Frado. It was soon all told. She then reminded them of their duties to the poor and friendless, their cowardice in attacking a young innocent child, referred them to one who looks not on outward appearances, but on the heart. She looks like a good girl, I think I shall love her, so lay aside all prejudice, and vie with each other, ensuing kindness and good will, to one who seems different from you, were the closing remarks of the kind lady. Those kind words, the most agreeable sound which ever meets the ear of sorrowing, grieving childhood. Example rendered her words officious. Day by day there was a manifest change of deportment towards Nigg. Her speeches often drew merriment from the children. No one could do more to enliven their favorite pastimes than Frado. Mary could not endure to see her thus noticed, yet knew not how to prevent it. She could not influence her schoolmates as she wished. She had not gained their affections by winning ways and yielding points of controversy. On the contrary, she was self-willed, domineering, every day reported mad by some of her companions. She availed herself of the only alternative, abuse and taunts, as the returned from school. This was not satisfactory. She wanted to use physical force to subdue her, to keep her down. There was, on their way home, a field intersected by a stream over which a single plank was placed for a crossing. It occurred to Mary that it would be a punishment to Nigg to compel her to cross over, so she dragged her to the edge and told her authoritatively to go over. Nigg hesitated, resisted. Mary placed herself behind the child, and in the struggle to force her over, lost her footing and plunged into the stream. Some of the larger scholars being in sight ran, and thus prevented Mary from drowning and Frado from falling. Nigg scampered home fast as possible, and Mary went to the nearest house, dripping to procure a change of garments. She came loitering home, half crying, exclaiming. Nigg pushed me into the stream. She then related the particulars. Nigg was called from the kitchen. Mary stood with anger flashing in her eyes. Mr. Belmont sat quietly reading his paper. He had witnessed too many of Miss Mary's outbreaks to be startled. Mrs. Belmont interrogated Nigg. I didn't do it, I didn't do it, answered Nigg passionately, and then related the occurrence truthfully. The discrepancy greatly enraged Mrs. Belmont. With loud accusations and angry gestures she approached the child. Turning to her husband, she asked, will you sit still there and hear that black nigger call Mary a liar? How do we know but she has told the truth? I shall not punish her, he replied, and left the house. As he usually did when a tempest threatened to envelop him. No sooner was he out of sight than Mrs. B. and Mary commenced beating her inhumanly, then propping her mouth open with a piece of wood, shot her up in a dark room, without any supper. For employment, while the tempest raged within, Mr. Belmont went for the cows, a task belonging to Fredo, and thus unintentionally prolonged her pain. At dark Jack came in, and seeing Mary accosted her with, so you thought you'd vent your spite on Nigg, did you? Why can't you let her alone? It was good enough for you to get a ducking, only you did not stay in half long enough. Stop! said his mother. You shall never talk so before me. You would have that little nigger trample on Mary, would you? She came home with a lie. It made Mary's story false. What was Mary's story? asked Jack. It was related. Now, said Jack, sallying into a chair. The school children happen to see it all, and they tell the same story Nigg does. Which is most likely to be true? What he doesn't agree, they saw? Or the contrary? It is very strange you will believe what others say against your sister, retorted his mother, with flashing eye. I think it is time your father subdued you. Father is a sensible man, argued Jack. He would not wrong a dog. Where is Fredo? he continued. Mother gave her a good whipping, and shut her up, replied Mary. Just then Mr. Belmont entered, and asked if Fredo was shut up yet. The knowledge of her innocence, the perfidy of his sister, worked fearfully on Jack. He bounded from his chair, searched every room till he found the child. Her mouth wedged apart, her face swollen, and full of pain. How Jack pitied her, he relieved her jaws, brought her some supper, took her to her room, comforted her, as well as he knew how, sat by her till she fell asleep, and then left for the sitting-room. As he passed his mother, he remarked, if that was the way Fredo was to be treated, he hoped she would never wake again. He then imparted her situation to his father, who seemed untouched, till a glance at Jack exposed a tearful eye. Jack went early to her next morning. She awoke sad, but refreshed. After breakfast, Jack took her with him to the field, and kept her through the day. But it could not be so generally. She must return to school, to her household duties. He resolved to do what he could to protect her from Mary and his mother. He bought her a dog, which became a great favorite with both. The invalid Jane would gladly befriend her, but she had not the strength to brave the iron will of her mother. Kind words and affectionate glances were the only expression of sympathy she could safely indulge in. The men employed on the farm were always glad to hear her prattle. She was a great favorite with them. Mrs. Belmont allowed them the privilege of talking with her in the kitchen. She did not fear, but she would have ample opportunity of subduing her when they were away. Three months of schooling, summer and winter, she enjoyed for three years. Her winter overdress was a cast-off overcoat, once worn by Jack, and a sunbonnet. It was a source of great merriment to the scholars. But nigg's retorts were so mirthful, and their satisfaction so evident in attributing this election to old Granny Belmont, that it was not painful to nigg, or pleasurable to Mary. Her jollity was not to be quenched by whipping or scolding. In Mrs. Belmont's presence she was under restraint, but in the kitchen and among her schoolmates the pent-up fires burst forth. She was ever at some sly prank when unseen by her teacher, in school hours, not unfrequently some outburst of merriment, of which she was the original, was charged upon some innocent mate, and punishment inflicted which she merited. They enjoyed her antics so foley that any of them would suffer wrongfully to keep open the avenues of mirth. She would venture far beyond propriety, thus shielded, and countenanced. The teacher's desk was supplied with drawers, in which were stored his books and other etc. of the profession. The children observed nigg very busy there one morning before school, as they flitted in occasionally from their play outside. The master came, called the children to order, opened a drawer to take the book the occasion required, when out poured a volume of smoke. Fire, fire! screamed he, at the top of his voice. By this time he had become sufficiently acquainted with the peculiar odor to know he was imposed upon. The scholars shouted with laughter to see the terror of the dupe, who, feeling abashed at the needless fright, made no very strict investigation, and nigg once more escaped punishment. She had provided herself with cigars, and, puffing, puffing away at the crack of the drawer, had filled it with smoke, and then closed it tightly to deceive the teacher, and amused the scholars. The interim of terms was filled up with a variety of duties, new and peculiar. At home, no matter how powerful the heat went sent to Ray Kaye, or guard the grazing herd, she was never permitted to shield her skin from the sun. She was not many shades darker than Mary now. What a calamity it would be ever to hear the contrast spoken of! Mrs. Belmont was determined the sun should have full power to darken the shade which nature had first bestowed upon her as best befitting. CHAPTER IV A FRIEND FOR NIG Ours of my youth, when nurtured in my breast, To love a stranger, friendship made me blessed. Friendship, the dear, peculiar bond of youth, When every artless bosom throbs with truth. Untought by worldly wisdom, how to feign, And check each impulse with prudential reign. When all we feel are honest souls disclose, In love to friends, in open hate to foes. No varnished tales the lips of youth repeat, No dear-bought knowledge purchased by deceit. With what differing emotions have the denizens of earth awaited the approach of today? Some sufferer has counted the vibrations of the pendulum, impatient for its dawn, Who, now that it has arrived, is anxious for its close. The votary of pleasure, conscious of yesterday's void, Wishes for power to arrest time's haste, Till a few more hours of mirth shall be enjoyed. The unfortunate are yet gazing in vain, For golden-edged clouds they fancied would appear in their horizon. The good man feels that he has accomplished too little for the master, And sighs that another day must so soon close. Innocent childhood, weary of its stay, Longs for another morrow. Busy manhood cries, Hold, hold, and pursues it to another's dawn. All are dissatisfied, all crave some good not yet possessed, Which time is expected to bring with all its morrows. Was it strange that to a disconsolate child three years should seem a long, long time? During school time she had rest from Mrs. Belmont's tyranny. She was now nine years old. Time, her mistress said, such privileges should cease. She could now read and spell and knew the elementary steps in grammar, arithmetic, and writing. Her education completed. As she said, Mrs. Belmont felt that her time and person belonged solely to her. She was under her in every sense of the word. What an opportunity to indulge her vixen nature. No matter what occurred to ruffle her, or from what source provocation came, real or fancied, a few blows on Nick seemed to relieve her of a portion of ill-will. These were days when Fido was the entire confidant of Fredo. She told him her griefs, as though he were human. And he sat so still, and listened so attentively, she really believed he knew her sorrows. All the leisure moments she could gain were used in teaching him some feet of dog agility, so that Jack pronounced him very knowing, and was truly gratified to know he had furnished her with a gift, answering his intentions. Fido was the constant attendant of Fredo, when sent from the house on errands, going and returning with the cows, out in the fields, to the village. If ever she forgot her hardships, it was in his company. Spring was now retiring. James, one of the absent sons, was expected home on a visit. He had never seen the last acquisition to the family. Jack had written faithfully of all the merits of his colored protege, and hinted plainly that mother did not always treat her just right. Many were the preparations to make the visit pleasant, and as the day approached when he was to arrive, great exertions were made to cook the favorite vians to prepare the choicest table-fare. The morning of the arrival day was a busy one. Fredo knew not who would be of so much importance. Her feet were speeding hither and thither so unsparingly. Mrs. Belmont seemed a trifle fatigued, and her shoes, which had, earlier in the morning, a methodic squeak, altered to an irregular, peevish snap. Get some little wood to make the fire burn, said Mrs. Belmont, in a sharp tone. Fredo obeyed, bringing the smallest she could find. Mrs. Belmont approached her, and giving her a box on her ear, reiterated the command. The first the child brought was the smallest to be found. Of course, the second must be a trifle larger. She well knew it was, as she threw it into a box on the hearth. To Mrs. Belmont it was a greater affront, as well as larger wood. So she taught her, with the raw hide, and sent her the third time for little wood. Nigg, weeping, knew not what to do. She had carried the smallest. None left would suit her mistress, and of course further punishment awaited her. So she gathered up whatever came first, and threw it down on the hearth. As she expected, Mrs. Belmont enraged, approached her, and kicked her so forcibly as to throw her upon the floor. Before she could rise, another foiled the attempt, and then followed kick after kick in quick succession and power till she reached the door. Mr. Belmont and Aunt Abby, hearing the noise, rushed in, just in time to see the last of the performance. Nigg jumped up and rushed from the house, out of sight. Aunt Abby returned to her apartment, followed by John, who was muttering to himself. What were you saying? asked Aunt Abby. I said I hoped the child never would come into the house again. What would become of her? You cannot mean that, continued his sister. I do mean it. The child does as much work as a woman ought to, and just see how she is kicked about. Why do you have it so, John? asked his sister. How am I to help it? Women rule the earth, and all in it. I think I should rule my own house, John. And live in hell, meantime, added Mr. Belmont. John now sauntered out to the barn to await the quieting of the storm. Aunt Abby had a glimpse of Nigg as she passed out of the yard, but to arrest her, or show her that she would shelter her, and Mrs. Belmont's presence, would only bring reserved wrath on her defenceless head. Her sister-in-law had great prejudices against her. One cause of the alienation was that she did not give her right in the homestead to John, and leave it for ever. Another was that she was a professor of religion. So was Mrs. Belmont. But Nab, as she called her, did not live according to her profession. Another, that she would sometimes give Nigg cake and pie, which she was never allowed to have at home. Mary had often noticed and spoken of her inconsistencies. The dinner hour passed. Fredo had not appeared. Mrs. B made no inquiry or search. Aunt Abby looked long, and found her concealed in an outbuilding. Come into the house with me, implored Aunt Abby. I ain't going in any more, sobbed the child. What will you do? asked Aunt Abby. I've got to stay out here and die. I ain't got no mother, no home. I wish I was dead. Poor thing, Mother Aunt Abby, and Slyly providing her with some dinner, left her to her grief. Jane went to confer with her aunt about the affair, and learned from her the retreat. She would gladly have concealed her in her own chamber, and ministered to her once, but she was dependent on Mary and her mother for care, and any displeasure caused by attention to Nigg was seriously felt. Toward night the coach brought James. A time of general greeting, inquiries for absent members of the family, a visit to Aunt Abby's room, undoing a few delicacies for Jane, brought them to the tea hour. Where's Fredo? asked Mr. Belmont, observing that she was not in her usual place, behind her mistress's chair. I don't know, and I don't care. If she makes her appearance again, I'll take the skin from her body, replied his wife. James, a fine-looking young man with a pleasant countenance, placid and yet decidedly serious, yet not stern, looked up confounded. He was no stranger to his mother's nature, but years of absence had erased the occurrences once so familiar, and he asked, Is this that pretty little nigg Jack writes to me about, that you are so severe upon mother? I'll not leave much of her beauty to be seen, if she comes in sight. And now, Jan, said Mrs. B., turning to her husband, you need not think you are going to learn her to treat me in this way. Just see how saucy she was this morning. She shall learn her place. Mr. Belmont raised his calm, determined eye, full upon her, and said, in a decisive manner, you shall not strike or scald or skin her, as you call it, if she comes back again. Remember, and he brought his hand down upon the table. I have searched an hour for her now, and she is not to be found on the premises. Do you know where she is? Is she your prisoner? No, I have just told you I did not know where she was. Nab has her head somewhere, I suppose. Oh, dear, I did not think it would come to this, that my own husband would treat me so. Then came fast flowing tears, which no one but Mary seemed to notice. Jane crept into Aunt Abby's room. Mr. Belmont and James went out of doors, and Mary remained to condole with her parent. Do you know where Fredo is? asked Jane of her aunt. No, she replied, I have hunted everywhere. She has left her first hiding place. I cannot think what has become of her. There comes Jack and Fido, perhaps he knows. And she walked to a window near, where James and his father were conversing together. The two brothers exchanged a hearty greeting, and then Mr. Belmont told Jack to eat his supper. Afterwards he wished to send him away. He immediately went in, accustomed to all the phases of indoor storms, from a wine to thunder and lightning, he saw at a glance marks of disturbance. He had been absent through the day with the hired men. What's the fuss? asked he, rushing into Aunt Abby's. Eat your supper, said Jane. Go home, Jack. Back again through the dining-room and out to his father. What's the fuss? again inquired he of his father. Eat your supper, Jack, and see if you can find Fredo. She's not been seen since morning, and then she was kicked out of the house. I shan't eat my supper till I find her, said Jack indignantly. Come, James, and see the little creature Mother treats so. They started, calling, searching, coaxing, all their way along. No, Fredo. They returned to the house to consult. James and Jack declared they would not sleep till she was found. Mrs. Belmont attempted to dissuade them from the search. It was a shame a little nigger should make so much trouble. Just then Fido came running up, and Jack exclaimed, Fido knows where she is all-bet. So I believe, said his father, but we shall not be wiser unless we can outwit him. He will not do what his mistress forbids him. I know how to fix him, said Jack. Taking a plate from the table, which was still waiting, he called, Fido, Fido, Fredo want some supper, come. Jack started. The dog followed, and soon capered on before, far, far into the fields, over walls and through fences, into a piece of swampy land. Jack followed close, and soon appeared to James, who was quite in the rear, coaxing and forcing Fredo along with him. A frail child, driven from shelter by the cruelty of his mother, was an object of interest to James. They persuaded her to go home with them, warmed her by the kitchen fire, gave her a good supper, and took her with them into the sitting-room. Take that nigger out of my sight, was Mrs. Belmont's command, before they could be seated. James led her into Aunt Abby's, where he knew they were welcome. They chatted a while, until Fredo seemed cheerful. Then James led her to her room, and waited until she retired. Are you glad I've come home, asked James? Yes, if you won't let me be whipped tomorrow. You won't be whipped. You must try to be a good girl, counseled James. If I do, I get whipped, sobbed the child. They won't believe what I say. Oh, I wish I had my mother back. Then I should not be kicked and whipped so. Who made me so? God, answered James. Did God make you? Yes. Who made Aunt Abby? God. Who made your mother? God. Did the same God that made her make me? Yes. Well, then I don't like him. Why not? Because he made her white and me black. Why didn't he make us both white? I don't know. Try to go to sleep, and you will feel better in the morning. Was all the reply he could make to her naughty queries? It was a long time before she fell asleep, and a number of days before James fell in a mood to visit and entertain old associates and friends. Of various trees and flowers. Lights a mat commencement, but darkening to its end, in a distant, massy portal. It beginneth as a little path, edged with the viala and primrose. A little path of lawny grass, and soft to tiny feet. Soon spring thistles in the way. Tupper. James' visit concluded. Frado had become greatly attached to him, and with sorrow she listened and joined in the farewells which preceded his exit. The remembrance of his kindness cheered her through many a weary month, and an occasional word to her in letters to Jack were like cold waters to a thirsty soul. Intelligence came that James would soon marry. Frado hoped he would, and remove her from such severe treatment as she was subject to. There had been additional burdens laid on her since his return. She must now milk the cows. She had then only to drive. Flocks of sheep had been added to the farm, which daily claimed a portion of her time. In the absence of the men, she must harness the horse for Mary and her mother to ride. Go to mill. In short, do the work of a boy. Could one be procured to endure the tirades of Mrs. Belmont? She was first up in the morning, doing what she could towards breakfast. Occasionally, she would utter some funny thing for Jack's benefit while she was waiting on the table, provoking a sharp look from his mother, or expulsion from the room. On one such occasion they found her on the roof of the barn. Some repairs having been necessary, a staging had been erected, and was not wholly removed. Avelling herself of ladders, she was mounted in high glee on the topmost board. Mr. Belmont called sternly for her to come down. Poor Jane nearly fainted from fear. Mrs. B. and Mary did not care if she broke her neck, while Jack and the men laughed at her fearlessness. Strange, one spark of playfulness could remain amid such constant toil. But her natural temperament was in a high degree mirthful, and the encouragement she received from Jack and the hired men constantly nurtured the inclination. When she had none of the family around to be married with, she would amuse herself with the animals. Among the sheep was a willful leader, who always persisted in being first served, and many times in his fury he had thrown down nigg, till provoked she resolved to punish him. The pasture in which the sheep grazed was founded on three sides by a wide stream which flowed on one side at the base of precipitous banks. The first spare moments at her command she ran to the pasture with addition her hand, and mounting the highest point of land nearest the stream, called the flock to their mock, repast. Mr. Belmont, with his laborers, were in sight, though unseen by Fredo. They paused to see what she was about to do. Should she by any mishap lose her footing, she must roll unto the stream, and with our aid must drown. They thought of shouting, but they feared an unexpected salute might startle her, and thus ensure what they were anxious to prevent. They watched in breathless silence. The willful sheep came furiously leaping and bounding, far in advance of the flock. Just as he leaped for the dish, she suddenly jumped to one side, when down he rolled into the river, and swimming across remained alone till night. The men lay down, convulsed with the laughter at the trick, and guessed at once its object. Mr. Belmont talked seriously to the child, for exposing herself to such danger. But she hopped about on her toes, and with laughable grimaces replied. She knew she was quick enough to give him a slide. But to return, James married a Baltimorean lady of wealthy parentage, an indispensable requisite his mother had always taught him. He did not marry her wealth, though. He loved her sincerely. She was not unlike his sister Jane, who had a social, gentle, loving nature, rather too yielding her brother thought. His Susan had a firmness, which Jane needed to complete her character, but which her ill health may in a measure have failed to produce. Although an invalid, she was not excluded from society. Was it strange she should seem a desirable companion, a treasure as a wife? Two young men seemed desirous of possessing her. One was a neighbor, Henry Reed, a tall, spare young man, with sandy hair, and blue, sinister eyes. He seemed to appreciate her once, and watch with interest her improvement or decay. His kindness she received, and by it was almost one. Her mother wished her to encourage his attentions. She had counted the acres, which were to be transmitted to an only son. She knew there was silver in the purse. She would not have Jane too sentimental. The eagerness with which he amassed wealth was repulsive to Jane. He did not spare his person or beasts in its pursuit. She felt that to such a man she should be considered an encumbrance. She doubted if he would desire her, if he did not know she would bring a handsome patrimony. Her mother, full in favour with the parents of Henry, commanded her to accept him. She engaged herself, yielding to her mother's wishes, because she had not strength to oppose them. And sometimes, when witness of her mother's and Mary's tyranny, she felt any change would be preferable, even such a one as this. She knew her husband should be the man of her own selecting, when she was conscious of preferring before all others. She could not say this of Henry. In this dilemma, a visitor came to Aunt Abbey's, one of her boy favourites, George Means, from an adjoining state. Sensible, plain-looking, agreeable, talented, he could not long be a stranger to anyone who wished to know him. Jane was accustomed to sit much with Aunt Abbey, always. Her presence now seemed necessary to assist in entertaining this youthful friend. Jane was more pleased with him each day, and silently wished Henry possessed more refinement, and the polished manners of George. She felt dissatisfied with her relation to him. His calls while George was there, brought their opposing qualities vividly before her, and she found it disagreeable to force herself into those attentions belonging to him. She received him apparently only as a neighbour. George returned home, and Jane endeavored to stifle the risings of dissatisfaction, and had nearly succeeded. When a letter came, which needed but one glance to assure her of its birthplace, and she retired for its perusal, well was it for her that her mother's suspicion was not aroused, or her curiosity startled to inquire who it came from. After reading it, she glided into Aunt Abbey's, and placed it in her hands, who was no stranger to Jane's trials. George could not rest after his return, he wrote, until he had communicated to Jane the emotions her presence awakened, and his desire to love and possess her as his own. He begged to know if his affections were reciprocated, or could be, if she would permit him to write to her, if she was free from all obligation to another. What would mother say, queried Jane, as she received the letter from her aunt? Not much to comfort you. Now, Aunt, George is just such a man as I could really love, I think, from all I have seen of him. You know I never could say that of Henry. Then don't marry him, interrupted Aunt Abbey. Mother will make me. Your father won't. Well, Aunt, what can I do? Would you answer the letter or not? Yes, answer it. Tell him your situation. I shall not tell him all my feelings. Jane answered that she had enjoyed his company much. She had seen nothing offensive in his manner or appearance, that she was under no obligations which forbade her receiving letters from him as a friend and acquaintance. George was puzzled by the reply. He wrote to Aunt Abbey, and from her learned all. He could not see Jane thus sacrificed, without making an effort to rescue her. Another visit followed. George heard Jane say she preferred him. He then conferred with Henry at his home. It was not a pleasant subject to talk upon. To be thus supplanted was not to be thought of. He would sacrifice everything but his inheritance to secure his betrothed. And so you are the cause of her late coldness towards me. Leave. I will talk no more about it. The business is settled between us. There it will remain, said Henry. Have you no wish to know the real state of Jane's affections towards you? Asked George. No. Go, I say. Go. And Henry opened the door for him to pass out. He retired to Aunt Abbey's. Henry soon followed, and presented his cause to Mrs. Belmont. Provoked, surprised, indignant, she summoned Jane to her presence, and after a lengthy tirade upon Nab and her satanic influence, told her she could not break the bonds which held her to Henry, she should not. George Means was rightly named. He was truly mean enough. She knew his family of old. His father had four wives and five times as many children. Go to your room, Miss Jane, she continued. Don't let me know of your being in nabs for one while. The storm was now visible to all beholders. Mr. Belmont sought Jane. She told him her objections to Henry, showed him George's letter, told her answer, the occasion of his visit. He bade her not to make herself sick. He would see that she was not compelled to violate her free choice in so important a transaction. He then sought the two young men. Told them he could not as a father see his child compelled to an uncongenial union. A free voluntary choice was of such importance to one of her health. She must be left free to her own choice. Jane sent Henry a letter of dismission. He her one of a legal bearing, in which he balanced his disappointment by a few hundreds. To brave her mother's fury nearly overcame her. But the consolation of a kind father and aunt cheered her on. After a suitable interval she was married to George and removed to his home in Vermont. Thus another light disappeared from Nick's horizon. Another was soon to follow. Jack was anxious to try his skill in providing for his own support. So a situation as clerk in a store was procured in a western city. And six months after Jane's departure was Nick abandoned to the tender mercies of Mary and her mother. As if to remove the last vestige of earthly joy, Mrs. Belmont sold the companion and pet of Fredo, the dog Fido. Varieties. Hard are life's early steps, and but that youth is buoyant, confident, and strong in hope. Men would behold its threshold and despair. The sorrow of Fredo was very great for her pet, and Mr. Belmont, by great exertion, obtained it again, much to the relief of the child. To be thus deprived of all her sources of pleasure was a sure way to exalt their worth, and Fido became, in her estimation, a more valuable presence than the human beings who surrounded her. James had now been married a number of years, and frequent requests for a visit from the family were at last accepted, and Mrs. Belmont made great preparations for a fall sojourn in Baltimore. Mary was installed housekeeper, in name merely, for Nick was the only moving power in the house. Although suffering from their joint severity, she felt safer than to be thrown holy upon an ardent, passionate, unrestrained young lady, whom she always hated, and felt it hard to be obliged to obey. The trial she must meet, were Jack or Jane at home, she would have some refuge. One only remained, good Aunt Abby was still in the house. She saw the fast receding coach which conveyed her master and mistress with regret, and begged for one favor only, that James would send for her when they returned, a hope she had confidently cherished all these five years. She was now able to do all the washing, ironing, baking, and the common etcetera of household duties, though but fourteen. Mary left all for her to do, though she affected great responsibility. She would show herself in the kitchen long enough to relieve herself of some command, better withheld, or insist upon some compliance to her wishes in some department, which she was very imperfectly acquainted with, very much less than the person she was addressing, and so impetuous till her orders were obeyed, that to escape the turmoil, Nick would often go contrary to her own knowledge to gain a respite. Nick was taken sick. What could be done though worked certainly, but not by Miss Mary, so Nick would work while she could remain erect, then sink down upon the floor or a chair till she could rally for a fresh effort. Mary would look in upon her, chide her for her laziness, threaten to tell mother when she came home, and so forth. Nick screamed Mary, one of her sickest days, come here and sweep these threads from the carpet. She attempted to drag her weary limbs along using the broom as support. Impatient of delay, she called again, but with a different request. Bring me some wood, you lazy jade, quick. Nick rested the broom against the wall, and started on the fresh behest. Too long gone, flushed with anger she rose, and greeted her with. What are you gone so long for? Bring it in quick, I say. I am coming as quick as I can, she replied, entering the door. Saucy impudent nigger you, is this the way you answer me? And taking a large carving-knife from the table, she hurled it in her rage at the defenseless girl. Dodging quickly, it fastened in the ceiling a few inches from where she stood. There rushed on Mary's mental vision a picture of bloodshed, in which she was the perpetrator, and the sad consequences of what was so nearly an actual occurrence. Tell anybody of this, if you dare, if you tell Aunt Abby, I'll certainly kill you," said she, terrified. She returned to her room, brushed her threads herself, was for a dare to, more guarded, and so escaped, deserved, and merited penalty. Oh, how long the week seemed, which held Nick in subjection to Mary! But they passed like all earth's sorrows and joys. Mr. and Mrs. B. returned delighted with their visit, and laid in with rich presence for Mary. No word of hope for Nick. James was quite unwell, and would come home the next spring for a visit. This, thought Nick, will be my time of release. I shall go back with him. From early dawn until after all were retired, was she toiling, overworked, disheartened, longing for relief. Exposure from heat to cold, or the reverse, often destroyed her health for short intervals. She wore no shoes until after frost, and snow even appeared, and bared her feet again before the last vestige of winter disappeared. These sudden changes she was so illy guarded against, nearly conquered her physical system. Any word of complaint was severely repulsed, or cruelly punished. She was told she had much more than she deserved, so that manual labour was not in reality her only burden, but such an incessant torrent of scolding and boxing and threatening was enough to deter one of mature years from remaining within sound of the strife. It is impossible to give an impression of the manifest enjoyment of Mrs. B. in these kitchen scenes. It was her favourite exercise to enter the apartment noisily, vociferate orders, give a few sudden blows to quicken Nick's pace, then return to the sitting-room with such a satisfied expression, congratulating herself upon her thorough housekeeping qualities. She usually rose in the morning at the ringing of the bell for breakfast. If she were heard stirring before that time, Nick knew well there was an extra amount of scolding to be borne. No one now stood between herself and Fredo but Aunt Abby, and if she dared to interfere in the least, she was ordered back to her own quarters. Nick would creep slyly into her room, learn what she could of her regarding the absent, and thus gain some light in the thick gloom of care and toil and sorrow in which she was immersed. The first of spring a letter came from James, announcing declining health. He must try northern air as a restorative, so Fredo joyfully prepared for this agreeable increase of the family, this addition to her cares. He arrived feeble, lame from his disease, so changed Fredo wept at his appearance, fearing he would be removed from her forever. He kindly greeted her, took her to the parlor to see his wife and child, and said many things to kindle smiles on her sad face. Fredo felt so happy in his presence, so safe from male treatment. He was to her a shelter. He observed silently the ways of the house a few days. Nick still took her meals in the same manner as formerly, having the same allowance of food. He one day bade her not remove the food, but sit down to the table and eat. She will, mother, said he, calmly, but imperatively. I'm determined she works hard, I've watched her. Now while I stay she is going to sit down here and eat such food as we eat. A few sparks from the mother's black eyes were the only reply. She feared to oppose where she knew she could not prevail, so Nick's standing attitude and selected diet vanished. Her clothing was yet poor and scanty. She was not blessed with a Sunday attire, for she was never permitted to attend church with her mistress. Religion was not meant for niggers, she said, when the husband and brothers were absent, she would drive Mrs. B. and Mary there, then return, and go for them at the close of the service, but never remain. Aunt Abby would take her to the evening meetings, held in the neighborhood, which Mrs. B. never attended, and impart to her lessons of truth and grace as they walked to the place of prayer. Many of less piety would scorn to present so doleful a figure. Mrs. B. had shaved her glossy ringlets, and in her coarse cloth gown and ancient bonnet she was anything but an enticing object. But Aunt Abby looked within. She saw a soul to save, an immortality of happiness to secure. These evenings were eagerly anticipated by Nick. It was such a pleasant release from labour. Such perfect contrast in the melody and prayers of these good people to the harsh tones which fell on her ears during the day. Soon she had all their sacred songs at command, and enlivened her toil by accompanying it with this melody. James encouraged his aunt in her efforts. He had found the Saviour. He wished to have Freydos' desolate heart gladdened, quieted, sustained by his presence. He felt sure there were elements in her heart which, transformed and purified by the Gospel, would make her worthy the esteem and friendship of the world. A kind affectionate heart, native wit and common sense, and the pertness she sometimes exhibited. He felt if restrained properly, might become useful in originating a self-reliance which would be of service to her in after-years. Yet it was not possible to compass all this while she remained where she was. He wished to be cautious about pressing too closely her claims on his mother, as it would increase the burdened one he so anxiously wished to relieve. He cheered her on with the hope of returning with his family when he recovered sufficiently. Nick seemed awakened to new hopes and aspirations, and realized a longing for the future, hitherto unknown. To complete Nick's enjoyment, Jack arrived unexpectedly. His greeting was as hearty to herself as to any of the family. Where are your curls, Frey? asked Jack, after the usual salutation. Your mother cut them off. Thought you were getting handsome, did she? Same old story, is it, knocks and bumps? Better times coming, never fear, Nick. How different this appellative sounded from him! He said it in such a tone, with such a roguish look. She laughed, and replied that he had better take her west for a housekeeper. Jack was pleased with James's innovations of table discipline, and would often tarry in the dining-room to see Nick in her new place at the family table. As he was thus sitting one day after the family had finished dinner, Freydo seated herself in her mistress's chair, and was just reaching for a clean dessert plate which was on the table when her mistress entered. Put that plate down, you shall not have a clean one, eat from mine, continued she. Nick hesitated. To eat after James, his wife or Jack, would have been pleasant, but to be commanded to do what was disagreeable by her mistress, because it was disagreeable, was trying. Quickly looking about, she took the plate, called Freydo to wash it, which she did to the best of his ability. Then, wiping her knife and fork on the cloth, she proceeded to eat her dinner. Nick never looked toward her mistress during the process. She had Jack near. She did not fear her now. Insulted, full of rage, Mrs. Belmont rushed to her husband, and commanded him to notice this insult, to whip that child. If he would not do it, James ought. James came to hear the kitchen version of the affair. Jack was boiling over with laughter. He related all the circumstances to James, and pulling a bright silver half-dollar from his pocket, he threw it at Nick, saying, There, take that, it was worth paying for. James sought his mother, told her, he would not excuse or palliate Nick's impudence, but she should not be whipped or be punished at all. You have not treated her mother so as to gain her love. She is only exhibiting your remissness in this matter. She only smothered her resentment, until a convenient opportunity offered. The first time she was left alone with Nick, she gave her a thorough beating, to bring up her rearages, and threatened, if she ever exposed her to James, she would cut her tongue out. James found her, upon his return, sobbing, but fearful of revenge, she dared not answer his queries. He guessed their cause, and longed for returning health to take her under his protection. CHAPTER VII Spiritual Condition of Nick What are our joys but dreams, and what are hopes, but goodly shadows in the summer cloud? HKW James did not improve, as was hoped. Month after month passed away, and brought no prospect of returning health. He could not walk far from the house, for want of strength, but he loved to sit with Aunt Abby in her quiet room, talking of unseen glories and heart experiences, while planning for the spiritual benefit of those around them. In these confidential interviews, Fredo was never omitted. They would discuss the prevalent opinion of the public, that people of color are really inferior, incapable of cultivation and refinement. They would glance at the qualities of Nick, which promised so much, if rightly directed. I wish you would take her, James, when you are well, home with you, said Aunt Abby, in one of these seasons. Just what I am longing to do, Aunt Abby, Susan is just of my mind, and we intend to take her. I have been wishing to do so for years. She seems much affected by what she hears at the evening meetings, and asks me many questions on serious things. Seems too love to read the Bible. I feel hopes of her. I hope she is thoughtful. No one has a kinder heart, one capable of loving more devotedly. But to think how prejudiced the world are towards her people. That she must be reared in such ignorance as to drown all the finer feelings. When I think of what she might be, of what she will be, I feel like grasping time till opinions change, and thousands like her rise into a noble freedom. I have seen Fredo's grief, because she is black, amount to agony. It makes me sick to recall these scenes. Mother pretends to think she don't know enough to sorrow for anything. But if she could see her as I have, when she supposed herself entirely alone, except her little dog Fido, lamenting her loneliness and complexion, I think if she is not past feeling she would retract. In the summer I was walking near the barn, and as I stood I heard sobs. Oh, oh, I heard. Why was I made? Why can't I die? Oh, what have I to live for? No one cares for me only to get my work. And I feel sick. Who cares for that? Work as long as I can stand, and then fall down, and lay there till I can get up. No mother, father, brother, or sister to care for me. And then it is you lazy nigger, lazy nigger, all because I am black. Oh, if I could die. I stepped into the barn where I could see her. She was crouched down by the hay with her faithful friend Fido. And as she ceased speaking, buried her face in her hands, and cried bitterly. Then patting Fido she kissed him, saying, You love me Fido, don't you? But we must go work in the field. She started on her mission. I called her to me, and told her she need not go. The hay was doing well. She has such confidence in me that she will do just as I tell her. So we found a sea under a shady tree. And there I took the opportunity to combat the notions she seemed to entertain respecting the loneliness of her condition and want of sympathizing friends. I assured her that mother's views were by no means general, that in our part of the country there were thousands upon thousands who favored the elevation of her race, disapproving of oppression in all its forms, that she was not unpittied, friendless, and utterly despised, that she might hope for better things in the future. Having spoken these words of comfort, I rose with the resolution that if I recovered my health I would take her home with me, whether mother was willing or not. I don't know what your mother would do without her. Still, I wish she was away. Susan now came for her long absent husband, and they returned home to their room. The month of November was one of great anxiety on James' account. He was rapidly wasting away. A celebrated physician was called and performed a surgical operation as a last means. Should this fail there was no hope. Of course he was confined wholly to his room, mostly to his bed. With all his bodily suffering, all his anxiety for his family, whom he might not live to protect, he did not forget Frado. He shielded her from many beatings, and every day imparted religious instructions. No one but his wife could move him so easily as Frado, so that in addition to her daily toil she was often deprived of her rest at night. Yet she insisted on being called. She wished to show her love for one who had been such a friend to her. Her anxiety and grief increased as the probabilities of his recovery became doubtful. Mrs. Belmont found her weeping on his account, shut her up, and whipped her with the raw-hide, adding an injunction never to be seen sniffling again because she had a little work to do. She was very careful never to shed tears on his account and her presence afterwards. The brother associated with James in business in Baltimore was sent for to confer with one who might never be able to see him there. James began to speak of life as closing, of heaven as of a place in immediate prospect, of aspirations which waited for fruition in glory. His brother, Louis by name, was an especial favorite of Sister Mary, more like her in disposition and preferences than James or Jack. He arrived as soon as possible after the request, and saw with regret the short indications of fatality in his sick brother, and listened to his admonitions, admonitions to a Christian life, with tears and uttered some promises of attention to the subject so dear to the heart of James. How gladly he would have extended healing aid! But alas it was not in his power, so after listening to his wishes and arrangements for his family and business he decided to return home. Anxious for company home he persuaded his father and mother to permit Mary to attend him. She was not at all needed in the sick room, she did not choose to be useful in the kitchen, and then she was fully determined to go. So all the trunks were assembled, and crammed with the best selections from the wardrobe of herself and mother, where the last mentioned articles could be appropriated. Nigg was never so helpful before, Mary remarked, and wondered what had induced such a change in place of former solanness. Nigg was looking further than the present, and congratulating herself upon some days of peace, for Mary never lost opportunity of informing her mother of Nigg's delinquencies, were she otherwise ignorant. Was it strange if she were aficious with such relief and prospect? The parting from the sick brother was tearful and sad. James prayed in their presence for their renewal and holiness, and urged their immediate attention to eternal realities, and gained a promise that Susan and Charlie should share their kindest regards. No sooner were they on their way. Then Nigg slyly crept round to Aunt Abbey's room, and tiptoeing and twisting herself into all shapes, she exclaimed. She's gone, Aunt Abbey, she's gone, fairly gone, and jumped up and down, till Aunt Abbey feared she would attract the notice of her mistress by such demonstrations. Well, she's gone, gone, Aunt Abbey, I hope she'll never come back again. No, no, Fredo, that's wrong. You would be wishing her dead, that won't do. Well, I'll bet she'll never come back again. Somehow I feel as though she wouldn't. She is James' sister, remonstrated Aunt Abbey. So was our cross-sheep just as much that I ducked in the river. I'd like to try my hand at curing her, too. But you forget what our good minister told us last week about doing good to those that hate us. Didn't I do good, Aunt Abbey, when I washed and ironed, and packed her old duds to get rid of her, and helped her pack her trunks, and run here and there for her? Well, well, Fredo, you must go finish your work, or your mistress will be after you, and remind you severely of Miss Mary, and some others beside. Nigg went as she was told, and her clear voice was heard as she went, singing in joyous notes the relief she felt at the removal of one of her tormentors. Day by day the quiet of the sick man's room was increased. He was helpless and nervous, and often wished change of position, thereby hoping to gain momentary relief. The calls upon Fredo were consequently more frequent, her nights less tranquil. Her health was impaired by lifting the sick man, and by drudgery in the kitchen. Her ill health she endeavored to conceal from James, fearing he might have less repose if there should be a change of attendance. And Mrs. Belmont, she well knew, would have no sympathy for her. She was at last so much reduced as to be unable to stand erect for any great length of time. She would sit at the table to wash her dishes, if she heard the well-known step of her mistress, she would rise till she returned to her room, and then sink down for further rest. Of course, she was longer than usual in completing the services assigned her. This was a subject of complaint to Mrs. Belmont, and Fredo endeavored to throw off all appearance of sickness in her presence. But it was increasing upon her, and she could no longer hide her indisposition. Her mistress entered one day, and finding her seated, commanded her to go to work. "'I am sick,' replied Fredo, rising and walking slowly to her unfinished task, and cannot stand long. I feel so bad.' Angry that she should venture a reply to her command, she suddenly inflicted a blow which lay the tottering girl prostrate on the floor. Excited by so much indulgence of a dangerous passion, she seemed left to unrestrained malice, and snatching a towel stuffed the mouth of the sufferer, and beat her cruelly. Fredo hoped she would end her misery by whipping her to death. She bore it with the hope of a martyr that her misery would soon close. Though her mouth was muffled, and the sounds were much stifled, there was a sensible commotion, which James' quick ear detected. "'Call Fredo to come here,' he said faintly. "'I have not seen her to-day.' Susan retired with the request to the kitchen, where it was evident some brutal scene had just been enacted. Mrs. Belmont replied that she had some work to do just now, when that was done she might come. Susan's appearance confirmed her husband's fears, and he requested his father, who sat by the bedside, to go for her. This was a messenger, as James well knew, who could not be denied. And the girl entered the room, sobbing and faint with anguish. James called her to him, and inquired the cause of her sorrow. She was afraid to expose the cruel author of her misery, lest she should provoke new attacks. But after much entreaty she told him all, much which had escaped his watchful ear. Poor James shut his eyes in silence, as if pained to forgetfulness by the recital. Then turning to Susan, he asked her to take Charlie and walk out. She needed the fresh air, he said. And say to mother, I wish Fredo to sit by me till you return. I think you are fading from staying so long in this sick room. Mr. B. also left, and Fredo was thus left alone with her friend. Aunt Abby came in to make her daily visit, and seeing the sick countenance of the attendant, took her home with her to administer some cordial. She soon returned, however, and James captured her with him the rest of the day. And a comfortable night's repose following, she was unable to continue, as usual, her labours. James insisted on her attending religious meetings in the vicinity with Aunt Abby. Fredo, under the instructions of Aunt Abby and the minister, became a believer in a future existence, one of happiness or misery. Her doubt was, is there a heaven for the black? She knew there was one for James and Aunt Abby, and all good white people, but was there any for blacks? She had listened attentively to all the minister said, and all Aunt Abby had told her, but then it was all for white people. As James approached that blessed world, she felt a strong desire to follow, and be with one who was such a dear, kind friend to her. While she was exercised with these desires and aspirations, she attended an evening meeting with Aunt Abby, and the good man urged all, young or old, to accept the offers of mercy, to receive a compassionate Jesus as their savior. Come to Christ, he urged, all, younger old, white or black, bond or free, come all to Christ for pardon, repent, believe. This was the message she longed to hear. It seemed to be spoken for her, but he had told them to repent. What was that, she asked? She knew she was unfit for any heaven, made for whites or blacks. She would gladly repent, or do anything which would admit her to share the abode of James. Her anxiety increased, her countenance bore marks of solicitude unseen before, and though she said nothing of her inward contest, they all observed a change. Yours and Aunt Abby hoped it was the springing of good seed sown by the Spirit of God. Her tearful attention at the last meeting encouraged his aunt to hope that her mind was awakened, her conscience aroused. Aunt Abby noticed that she was particularly engaged in reading the Bible, and this strengthened her conviction that a heavenly messenger was striving with her. The neighbors dropped in to inquire after the sick, and also, if Fredo was serious. They noticed she seemed very thoughtful and tearful at the meetings. Mrs. Reed was very inquisitive, but Mrs. Belmont saw no appearance of change for the better. She did not feel responsible for her spiritual condition, and hardly believed she had a soul. Nick was in truth suffering much. Her feelings were very intense on any subject when once aroused. She read her Bible carefully, and as often as an opportunity presented, which was when entirely secluded in her own apartment, or by Aunt Abby's side, who kindly directed her to Christ, and instructed her in the way of salvation. Mrs. Belmont found her one day quietly reading her Bible. Amazed and half crediting the reports of officious neighbors, she felt it was time to interfere. Here she was, reading and shedding tears over the Bible. She ordered her to put up the book and go to work, and not be snivelling about the house, or stop to read again. But there was one little spot seldom penetrated by her mistress's watchful eye. This was her room, uninviting and comfortless, but to herself a safe retreat. Here she would listen to the pleadings of a savior, and try to penetrate the veil of doubt and sin which clouded her soul, and longed to cast off the fetters of sin, and rise to the communion of saints. Mrs. Belmont, as we said before, did not trouble herself about the future destiny of her servant. If she did what she desired for her benefit, it was all the responsibility she acknowledged. But she seemed to have great aversion to the notice Nigg would attract, should she become pious. How could she meet this case? She resolved to make her complaint to John. Strange, when she was always foiled in this direction, she should resort to him. It was time something was done. She had begun to read the Bible openly. The night of this discovery, as they were retiring, Mrs. Belmont introduced the conversation by saying, I want your attention to what I am going to say. I have let Nick go out to evening meetings a few times. And if you will believe it, I found her reading the Bible today, just as though she expected to turn pious nigger and preach to white folks. So now you see what good comes of sending her to school. If she should get converted, she would have to go to meeting. At least as long as James lives. I wish he had not such queer notions about her. It seems to trouble him to know he must die and leave her. He says, if he should get well, he would take her home with him, or educate her here. Oh, how awful! What can the child mean? So careful, too, of her. He says we shall ruin her health, making her work so hard, and sleep in such a place. Oh, John, do you think he is in his right mind? Yes, yes, she is slender. Yes, yes, she repeated sarcastically. You know these niggers are just like black snakes. You can't kill them. If she wasn't tough, she would have been killed long ago. There was never one of my girls could do half the work. Would they ever try, interposed her husband? I think she can do more than all of them together. What a man, said she, peevishly. But I want to know what is going to be done with her about getting pious. Let her do just as she has a mind to. If it is a comfort to her, let her enjoy the privilege of being good. I see no objection. I should think you were crazy sure. Don't you know that every night she will want to go toting off to meeting, and Sundays too? And you know we have a great deal of company Sundays, and she can't be spared. I thought you Christians held to going to church, remarked Mr. B. Yes, but who ever thought of having a nigger go, except to drive others there? Why, according to you and James, we should very soon have her in the parlor, as smart as her own girls. It's of no use talking to you or James. If you should go on as you would like, it would not be six months before she would be leaving me, and that won't do. Just think how much profit she was to us last summer. We had no work hired out. She did the work of two girls. And got the whippings for two with it, remarked Mr. Belmont. I'll beat the money out of her, if I can't get her worth any other way. Retorted Mrs. B. sharply. While this scene was passing, Freda was trying to utter the prayer of the public in. God be merciful to me, a sinner. CHAPTER IX. DEATH. We have now but a small portion of what men call time, to hold communion. Nothing opened, and James, instead of rallying, as was hoped, grew worse daily. Aunt Abby and Fredo were the constant allies of Susan. Mrs. Belmont dared not lift him. She was not strong enough, she said. It was very offensive to Mrs. B. to have nab about James so much. She had thrown out many a hint to detain her from so often visiting the sickrum. But Aunt Abby was too well accustomed to her ways to mind them. After various unsuccessful efforts, she resorted to the following expedient. As she heard her cross the entry below to ascend the stairs, she slipped out and held the latch of the door, which led into the upper entry. James does not want to see you or anyone else, she said. Aunt Abby hesitated and returned slowly to her own room, wondering if it were really James Wish not to see her. She did not venture again that day, but still felt disturbed and anxious about him. She inquired of Fredo, and learned that he was no worse. She asked her if James did not wish her to come and see him. What could it mean? Quite late next morning Susan came to see what had become of her aunt. Your mother said James did not wish to see me, and I was afraid I tired him. Why, Aunt, that is a mistake. I know. What could mother mean? asked Susan. The next time she went to the sitting-room, she asked her mother. Why does not Aunt Abby visit James as she has done? Where is she? At home, I hoped that she will stay there, was the answer. I should think she would come in and see James, continued Susan. I told her he did not want to see her, and to stay out. You need make no stir about it. Remember, she added, with one of her fiery glances. Susan kept silence. It was a day or two before James spoke of her absence. The family were at dinner, and Fredo was watching beside him. He inquired the cause of her absence, and she told him all. After the family returned, he sent his wife for her. When she entered, he took her hand, and said, Come to me often, Aunt. Come any time. I am always glad to see you. I have but a little longer to be with you. Come often, Aunt. Now please help lift me up, and see if I can rest a little. Fredo was called in, and Susan and Mrs. B. all attempted. Mrs. B. was too weak. She did not feel able to lift so much. So the three succeeded in relieving the sufferer. After her return to her work, Mrs. B. followed. Seizing Fredo, she said she would cure her of tail-bearing, and placing the wedge of wood between her teeth, she beat her cruelly with the rawhide. Aunt Abby heard the blows, and came to see if she could hinder them. Surprised at her sudden appearance, Mrs. B. suddenly stopped, but forbade her removing the wood till she gave her permission, and commanded Nab to go home. She was thus tortured when Mr. Belmont came in, and making inquiries which she did not, because she could not answer, approached her, and seeing her situation, quickly removed the instrument of torture and sought his wife. Their conversation we will omit. Suffice it to say, a storm rage which required many days to exhaust its strength. Fredo was becoming seriously ill. She had no relish for food, and was constantly overworked. And then she had such solicitude about the future. She wished to pray for pardon. She did try to pray. Her mistress had told her it would do no good for her to attempt prayer. Prayer was for whites, not for blacks. If she minded her mistress and did what she commanded, it was all that was required of her. This did not satisfy her, or appease her longings. She knew her instructions did not harmonize with those of the man of God, or Aunt Abby's. She resolved to persevere. She said nothing on the subject, unless asked. It was evident to all her mind was deeply exercised. James longed to speak with her alone on the subject. An opportunity presented soon, while the family were at tea. It was usual to summon Aunt Abby to keep company with her, as his death was expected hourly. As she took her a custom seat, he asked, Are you afraid to stay with me alone, Fredo? No, she replied, and stepped to the window to conceal her emotion. Come here and sit by me. I wish to talk with you. She approached him, and taking her hand he remarked, How poor you are, Fredo! I want to tell you that I fear I shall never be able to talk with you again. It is the last time, perhaps, I shall ever talk with you. You are old enough to remember my dying words and profit by them. I have been sick a long time. I shall die pretty soon. My Heavenly Father is calling me home. Had it been His will to let me live, I should take you to live with me. But as it is, I shall go and leave you. But, Fredo, if you will be a good girl, and love and serve God, it will be but a short time, before we are in a heavenly home together. There will never be any sickness or sorrow there. Fredo, overcome with grief, sobbed, and buried her face in his pillow. She expected he would die, but to hear him speak of his departure himself was unexpected. Bid me good-bye, Fredo. She kissed him, and sank on her knees by his bedside. His hand rested on her head. His eyes were closed. His lips moved in prayer, for this disconsolate child. His wife entered, and interpreting the scene, gave him some restoratives, and withdrew for a short time. It was a great effort for Fredo to cease sobbing, but she dared not be seen below in tears, so she choked her grief and descended to her usual toil. Susan perceived a change in her husband. She felt that death was near. He tenderly looked on her, and said, Susan, my wife, our farewells are all spoken. I feel prepared to go. I shall meet you in heaven. Death is indeed creeping fast upon me. Let me see them all once more. Teach Charlie the way to heaven. Lead him up as you come. The family all assembled. He could not talk as he wished to them. He seemed to sink into unconsciousness. They watched him for hours. He had labored hard for breath some time, when he seemed to awake suddenly, and exclaimed, Hark, do you hear it? Hear what, my son, asked the father. Their call. Look, look at the shining ones. Oh, let me go, and be at rest. As if awaiting for this petition, the angel of death severed the golden thread, and he was in heaven. At midnight the messenger came. They called Frado to see his last struggle. Sinking on her knees at the foot of his bed, she buried her face in the clothes, and wept like one inconsolable. They led her from the room. She seemed to be too much absorbed to know what was necessary for her to leave. Next day she would steal into the chamber, as often as she could, to weep over his remains, and ponder his last words to her. She moved about the house like an automaton. Every duty performed, but an abstraction from all, which showed her thoughts were busy to elsewhere. Susan wished her to attend his burial as one of the family. Louis and Mary and Jack it was not thought best to send for, as the season would not allow them time for the journey. Susan provided her with the dress for the occasion, which was her first intimation that she would be allowed to mingle her grief with others. The day of the burial she was attired in her mourning dress, but Susan and her grief had forgotten a bonnet. She hastily ransacked the closets, and found one of Mary's, trimmed with bright pink ribbon. It was too late to change the ribbon, and she was unwilling to leave Frado at home. She knew it would be the wish of James. She should go with her. So tying it on, she said, Never mind, Frado, you shall see where our dear James is buried. As she passed out, she heard the whispers of the bystanders. Look there, see there, how that looks, a black dress and a pink ribbon. Another time such remarks would have wounded Frado. She had now a sorrow with which such were small in comparison. As she saw his body lowered in the grave, she wished to share it, but she was not fit to die. She could not go where he was if she did. She did not love God. She did not serve him or know how to. She retired at night to mourn over her unfitness for heaven, and gaze out upon the stars, which she felt studded the entrance of heaven, above which James reposed in the bosom of Jesus, to which her desires were hastening. She wished she could see God and ask him for eternal life, and Abby had taught her that he was ever looking upon her. Oh, if she could see him or hear him speak words of forgiveness. Her anxiety increased, her health seemed impaired, and she felt constrained to go to Aunt Abby and tell her all about her conflicts. She received her like a returning wanderer, seriously urged her to accept of Christ, explain the way, read to her from the Bible, and remarked upon such passages as applied to her state. She warned her against stifling that voice, which was calling her to heaven, echoed the farewell words of James, and told her to come to her with her difficulties, and not to delay a duty so important as attention to the truths of religion and her soul's interests. Mrs. Belmont would occasionally give instruction, though far different. She would tell her she could not go where James was. She need not try. If she should get to heaven at all, she would never be as high up as he. He was the attraction. Should she want to go there if she could not see him? Mrs. B. Seldom mentioned her bereavement, unless in such allusion to Frado. She donned her weeds from custom, kept closer crepe veil for so many sabbaths, and abated nothing of her characteristic harshness. The clergyman called to minister consolation to the afflicted widow and mother, and Abby seeing him approach the dwelling, knew at once the object of his visit, and followed him to the parlor, unasked by Mrs. B. What a daring affront! The good man dispensed the consolations, of which he was steward, to the apparently grief-smit and mother, who talked like one schooled in a heavenly atmosphere. Such resignation expressed as might have graced the trial of the holiest. Susan, like a mute sufferer, bared her soul to his sympathy and godly counsel, but only replied to his questions and short syllables. When he offered prayer, Frado stole to the door that she might hear of the heavenly bliss of one who was her friend on earth. The prayer caused profuse weeping, as any tender reminder of the heaven born was sure to. When the good man's voice ceased, she returned to her toil, carefully removing all trace of sorrow. Her mistress soon followed, irritated by Nab's impudence and presenting herself unasked in the parlor, and upbraided her with indolence, and bade her apply herself more diligently. Stung by unmerited rebuke, weak from sorrow and anxiety, the tears rolled down her dark face, soon followed by sobs, and then losing all control of herself, she wept aloud. This was an act of disobedience. Her mistress grasping her rawhide caused a longer flow of tears, and wounded a spirit that was craving, healing mercies.