The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Nig; Or, Sketches from the Life of a Free Black, in a Two

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OUR NIG;

or,affordable toy tool sets under 20 dollars

Sketches from the Life of a Free Black, In A Two-Story White House,
North.

SHOWING THAT SLAVERY'S SHADOWS FALL EVEN THERE.

by "OUR NIG."

Dedicated to Pauline Augusta Coleman Gates and Henry Louis Gates, Sr.

In Memory of Marguerite Elizabeth Howard Coleman, and Gertrude Helen
Redman Gates

                                      "I know
    That care has iron crowns for many brows;
    That Calvaries are everywhere, whereon
    Virtue is crucified, and nails and spears
    Draw guiltless blood; that sorrow sits and drinks
    At sweetest hearts, till all their life is dry;
    That gentle spirits on the rack of pain
    Grow faint or fierce, and pray and curse by turns;
    That hell's temptations, clad in heavenly guise
    And armed with might, lie evermore in wait
    Along life's path, giving assault to all."—HOLLAND.

PREFACE.

IN offering to the public the following pages, the writer confesses herinability to minister to the refined and cultivated, the pleasuresupplied by abler pens. It is not for such these crude narrationsappear. Deserted by kindred, disabled by failing health, I am forced tosome experiment which shall aid me in maintaining myself and childwithout extinguishing this feeble life. I would not from these motiveseven palliate slavery at the South, by disclosures of its appurtenancesNorth. My mistress was wholly imbued with SOUTHERN principles. I do notpretend to divulge every transaction in my own life, which theunprejudiced would declare unfavorable in comparison with treatment oflegal bondmen; I have purposely omitted what would most provoke shame inour good anti-slavery friends at home.

My humble position and frank confession of errors will, I hope, shieldme from severe criticism. Indeed, defects are so apparent it requires noskilful 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 erudite,but rally around me a faithful band of supporters and defenders.

H. E. W.

OUR NIG.

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 as the hung-up lute, that ne'er hath spoken
    Since the sad day its master-chord was broken!

MOORE.

LONELY MAG SMITH! See her as she walks with downcast eyes and heavyheart. It was not always thus. She HAD a loving, trusting heart. Earlydeprived of parental guardianship, far removed from relatives, she wasleft to guide her tiny boat over life's surges alone and inexperienced.As she merged into womanhood, unprotected, uncherished, uncared for,there fell on her ear the music of love, awakening an intensity ofemotion long dormant. It whispered of an elevation before unaspired to;of ease and plenty her simple heart had never dreamed of as hers. Sheknew the voice of her charmer, so ravishing, sounded far above her. Itseemed like an angel's, alluring her upward and onward. She thought shecould ascend to him and become an equal. She surrendered to him apriceless gem, which he proudly garnered as a trophy, with those ofother victims, and left her to her fate. The world seemed full ofhateful deceivers and crushing arrogance. Conscious that the great bondof union to her former companions was severed, that the disdain ofothers would be insupportable, she determined to leave the few friendsshe possessed, and seek an asylum among strangers. Her offspring cameunwelcomed, and before its nativity numbered weeks, it passed fromearth, ascending to a purer and better life.

"God be thanked," ejaculated Mag, as she saw its breathing cease; "noone can taunt HER with my ruin."

Blessed release! may we all respond. How many pure, innocent childrennot only inherit a wicked heart of their own, claiming life-longscrutiny and restraint, but are heirs also of parental disgrace andcalumny, from which only long years of patient endurance in paths ofrectitude can disencumber them.

Mag's new home was soon contaminated by the publicity of her fall; shehad a feeling of degradation oppressing her; but she resolved to becircumspect, and try to regain in a measure what she had lost. Then somefoul tongue would jest of her shame, and averted looks and coldgreetings disheartened her. She saw she could not bury in forgetfulnessher misdeed, so she resolved to leave her home and seek another in theplace she at first fled from.

Alas, how fearful are we to be first in extending a helping hand tothose who stagger in the mires of infamy; to speak the first words ofhope and warning to those emerging into the sunlight of morality! Whocan tell what numbers, advancing just far enough to hear a cold welcomeand join in the reserved converse of professed reformers, disappointed,disheartened, have chosen to dwell in unclean places, rather thanencounter these "holier-than-thou" of the great brotherhood of man!

Such was Mag's experience; and disdaining to ask favor or friendshipfrom a sneering world, she resolved to shut herself up in a hovel shehad often passed in better days, and which she knew to be untenanted.She vowed to ask no favors of familiar faces; to die neglected andforgotten before she would be dependent on any. Removed from thevillage, she was seldom seen except as upon your introduction, gentlereader, with downcast visage, returning her work to her employer, andthus providing herself with the means of subsistence. In two years manyhands craved the same avocation; foreigners who cheapened toil andclamored for a livelihood, competed with her, and she could not thussustain herself. She was now above no drudgery. Occasionally oldacquaintances called to be favored with help of some kind, which she wasglad to bestow for the sake of the money it would bring her; but theassociation with them was such a painful reminder of by-gones, shereturned to her hut morose and revengeful, refusing all offers of abetter home than she possessed. Thus she lived for years, hugging herwrongs, but making no effort to escape. She had never known plenty,scarcely competency; but the present was beyond comparison with thoseinnocent years when the coronet of virtue was hers.

Every year her melancholy increased, her means diminished. At last noone seemed to notice her, save a kind-hearted African, who often calledto inquire after her health and to see if she needed any fuel, he havingthe responsibility of furnishing that article, and she in return mendingor making garments.

"How much you earn dis week, Mag?" asked he one Saturday evening.

"Little enough, Jim. Two or three days without any dinner. I washed forthe Reeds, and did a small job for Mrs. Bellmont; that's all. I shallstarve soon, unless I can get more to do. Folks seem as afraid to comehere as if they expected to get some awful disease. I don't believethere is a person in the world but would be glad to have me dead and outof the way."

"No, no, Mag! don't talk so. You shan't starve so long as I have barrelsto hoop. Peter Greene boards me cheap. I'll help you, if nobody elsewill."

A tear stood in Mag's faded eye. "I'm glad," she said, with a softertone than before, "if there is ONE who isn't glad to see me suffer. Ib'lieve all Singleton wants to see me punished, and feel as if theycould tell when I've been punished long enough. It's a long day aheadthey'll set it, I reckon."

After the usual supply of fuel was prepared, Jim returned home. Full ofpity for Mag, he set about devising measures for her relief. "By golly!"said he to himself one day—for he had become so absorbed in Mag'sinterest that he had fallen into a habit of musing aloud—"By golly! Iwish she'd MARRY me."

"Who?" shouted Pete Greene, suddenly starting from an unobserved cornerof the rude shop.

"Where you come from, you sly nigger!" exclaimed Jim.

"Come, tell me, who is't?" said Pete; "Mag Smith, you want to marry?"

"Git out, Pete! and when you come in dis shop again, let a nigger knowit. Don't steal in like a thief."

Pity and love know little severance. One attends the other. Jimacknowledged the presence of the former, and his efforts in Mag's behalftold also of a finer principle.

This sudden expedient which he had unintentionally disclosed, roused histhinking and inventive powers to study upon the best method ofintroducing the subject to Mag.

He belted his barrels, with many a scheme revolving in his mind, none ofwhich quite satisfied him, or seemed, on the whole, expedient. Hethought of the pleasing contrast between her fair face and his own darkskin; the smooth, straight hair, which he had once, in expression ofpity, kindly stroked on her now wrinkled but once fair brow. There was atempest gathering in his heart, and at last, to ease his pent-uppassion, he exclaimed aloud, "By golly!" Recollecting his formerexposure, he glanced around to see if Pete was in hearing again.Satisfied on this point, he continued: "She'd be as much of a prize tome as she'd fall short of coming up to the mark with white folks. Idon't care for past things. I've done things 'fore now I's 'shamed of.She's good enough for me, any how."

One more glance about the premises to be sure Pete was away.

The next Saturday night brought Jim to the hovel again. The cold wasfast coming to tarry its apportioned time. Mag was nearly despairing ofmeeting its rigor.

"How's the wood, Mag?" asked Jim.

"All gone; and no more to cut, any how," 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 gratulation as before.

"Well, Mag," said Jim, after a short pause, "you's down low enough. Idon't see but I've got to take care of ye. 'Sposin' 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.

"You's had trial of white folks any how. They run off and left ye, andnow none of 'em come near ye to see if you's dead or alive. I's blackoutside, I know, but I's got a white heart inside. Which you ratherhave, 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," said she, "beg my living, or get it fromyou."

"Take me, Mag. I can give you a better home than this, and not let yousuffer so."

He prevailed; they married. You can philosophize, gentle reader, uponthe impropriety of such unions, and preach dozens of sermons on theevils of amalgamation. Want 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.

CHAPTER II.

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 fulfil hispromises; and furnished her with a more comfortable dwelling, diet, andapparel. It was comparatively a comfortable winter she passed after hermarriage. When Jim could work, all went on well. Industrious, and fondof Mag, he was determined she should not regret her union to him. Timelevied an additional charge upon him, in the form of two prettymulattos, whose infantile pranks amply repaid the additional toil. A fewyears, and a severe cough and pain in his side compelled him to be anidler for weeks together, and Mag had thus a reminder of by-gones. Shecared for him only as a means to subserve her own comfort; yet shenursed him faithfully and true to marriage vows till death released her.He became the victim of consumption. He loved Mag to the last. So longas life continued, he stifled his sensibility to pain, and toiled forher sustenance long after he was able to do so.

A few expressive wishes for her welfare; a hope of better days for her;an anxiety lest they should not all go to the "good place;" brief adviceabout their children; a hope expressed that Mag would not be neglectedas she used to be; the manifestation of Christian patience; these wereALL the legacy of miserable Mag. A feeling of cold desolation came overher, as she turned from the grave of one who had been truly faithful toher.

She was now expelled from companionship with white people; this laststep—her union with a black—was the climax of repulsion.

Seth Shipley, a partner in Jim's business, wished her to remain in herpresent home; but she declined, and returned to her hovel again, withobstacles threefold more insurmountable than before. Seth accompaniedher, giving her a weekly allowance which furnished most of the foodnecessary for the four inmates. After a time, work failed; their meanswere reduced.

How Mag toiled and suffered, yielding to fits of desperation, bursts ofanger, and uttering curses too fearful to repeat. When both weresupplied with work, they prospered; if idle, they were hungry together.In this way their interests became united; they planned for the futuretogether. Mag had lived an outcast for years. She had ceased to feel thegushings of penitence; she had crushed the sharp agonies of an awakenedconscience. She had no longings for a purer heart, a better life. Fareasier to descend lower. She entered the darkness of perpetual infamy.She asked not the rite of civilization or Christianity. Her will madeher the wife of Seth. Soon followed scenes familiar and trying.

"It's no use," said Seth one day; "we must give the children away, andtry to get work in some other place."

"Who'll take the black devils?" snarled Mag.

"They're none of mine," said Seth; "what you growling about?"

"Nobody will want any thing of mine, or yours either," she replied.

"We'll make 'em, p'r'aps," he said. "There's Frado's six years old, andpretty, if she is yours, and white folks'll say so. She'd be a prizesomewhere," he continued, tipping his chair back against the wall, andplacing his feet upon the rounds, as if he had much more to say when inthe right position.

Frado, as they called one of Mag's children, was a beautiful mulatto,with long, curly black hair, and handsome, roguish eyes, sparkling withan 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 Bellmonts take her?" asked Seth.

"Bellmonts?" shouted Mag. "His wife is a right she-devil! and if—"

"Hadn't they better be all together?" interrupted Seth, reminding her ofa like epithet used in reference to her little ones.

Without seeming to notice him, she continued, "She can't keep a girl inthe house over a week; and Mr. Bellmont wants to hire a boy to work forhim, but he can't find one that will live in the house with her; she'sso ugly, they can't."

"Well, we've got to make a move soon," answered Seth; "if you go withme, we shall go right off. Had you rather spare the other one?" askedSeth, after a short pause.

"One's as bad as t'other," replied Mag. "Frado is such a wild, frolickything, and means to do jest as she's a mind to; she won't go if shedon't want to. I don't want to tell her she is to be given away."

"I will," said Seth. "Come here, Frado?"

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-'m-bye; will you go?"

"No!" screamed she; and giving a sudden jerk which destroyed Seth'sequilibrium, left him sprawling on the floor, while she escaped throughthe open door.

"She's a hard one," said Seth, brushing his patched coat sleeve. "I'drisk her at Bellmont's."

They discussed the expediency of a speedy departure. Seth would firstseek employment, and then return for Mag. They would take with them whatthey could carry, and leave the rest with Pete Greene, and come for themwhen they were wanted. They were long in arranging affairssatisfactorily, and were not a little startled at the close of theirconference to find Frado missing. They thought approaching night wouldbring her. Twilight passed into darkness, and she did not come. Theythought she had understood their plans, and had, perhaps, permanentlywithdrawn. They could not rest without making some effort to ascertainher retreat. Seth went in pursuit, and returned without her. Theyrallied others when they discovered that another little colored girl wasmissing, a favorite playmate of Frado's. All effort proved unavailing.Mag felt sure her fears were realized, and that she might never see heragain. 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 hadclimbed fences and walls, passed through thickets and marshes, and whennight approached selected a thick cluster of shrubbery as a covert forthe night. They were discovered by the person who now restored them,chatting of their prospects, Frado attempting to banish the childishfears of her companion. As they were some miles from home, they werekindly cared for until morning. Mag was relieved to know her child wasnot driven to desperation by their intentions to relieve themselves ofher, and she was inclined to think severe restraint would be healthful.

The removal was all arranged; the few days necessary for such migrationspassed quickly, and one bright summer morning they bade farewell totheir Singleton hovel, and with budgets and bundles commenced theirweary march. As they neared the village, they heard the merry shouts ofchildren gathered around the school-room, awaiting the coming of theirteacher.

"Halloo!" screamed one, "Black, white and yeller!" "Black, white andyeller," echoed a dozen voices.

It did not grate so harshly on poor Mag as once it would. She did noteven turn her head to look at them. She had passed into an insensibilityno childish taunt could penetrate, else she would have reproachedherself as she passed familiar scenes, for extending the separation onceso easily annihilated by steadfast integrity. Two miles beyond lived theBellmonts, in a large, old fashioned, two-story white house, environedby fruitful acres, and embellished by shrubbery and shade trees. Yearsago a youthful couple consecrated it as home; and after many little feethad worn paths to favorite fruit trees, and over its green hills, andmingled at last with brother man in the race which belongs neither tothe swift or strong, the sire became grey-haired and decrepit, and wentto his last repose. His aged consort soon followed him. The oldhomestead thus passed into the hands of a son, to whose wife Mag hadapplied the epithet "she-devil," as may be remembered. John, the son,had not in his family arrangements departed from the example of thefather. The pastimes of his boyhood were ever freshly revived bywitnessing the games of his own sons as they rallied about the same goalhis youthful feet had often won; as well as by the amusements of hisdaughters in their imitations of maternal duties.

At the time we introduce them, however, John is wearing the badge ofage. Most of his children were from home; some seeking employment; somewere already settled in homes of their own. A maiden sister shared withhim the estate on which he resided, and occupied a portion of the house.

Within sight of the house, Seth seated himself with his bundles and thechild he had been leading, while Mag walked onward to the house leadingFrado. A knock at the door brought Mrs. Bellmont, and Mag asked if shewould be willing to let that child stop there while she went to theReed'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 childentered the house, we cannot tell; the door closed, and Mag hastilydeparted. Frado waited for the close of day, which was to bring back hermother. Alas! it never came. It was the last time she ever saw or heardof her mother.

CHAPTER III.

A NEW HOME FOR ME.

    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 "deceiveth the heart," as the aged ones preach;
    Yet 'twas Mercy that gave it, to beacon our way,
    Though its halo illumes where it never can reach.

ELIZA COOK.

As the day closed and Mag did not appear, surmises were expressed by thefamily that she never intended to return. Mr. Bellmont 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'sdesertion by her mother appealed to his sympathy, and he felt inclinedto succor her. To do this in opposition to Mrs. Bellmont's wishes, wouldbe like encountering a whirlwind charged with fire, daggers and spikes.She was not as susceptible of fine emotions as her spouse. Mag's opinionof her was not without foundation. She was self-willed, haughty,undisciplined, arbitrary and severe. In common parlance, she was aSCOLD, a thorough one. Mr. B. remained silent during the consultationwhich follows, engaged in by mother, Mary and John, or Jack, as he wasfamiliarly called.

"Send her to the County House," said Mary, in reply to the query whatshould be done with her, in a tone which indicated self-importance inthe speaker. She was indeed the idol of her mother, and more nearlyresembled her in disposition and manners than the others.

Jane, an invalid daughter, the eldest of those at home, was reclining ona sofa apparently uninterested.

"Keep her," said Jack. "She's real handsome and bright, and not veryblack, either."

"Yes," rejoined Mary; "that's just like you, Jack. She'll be of no useat all these three years, right under foot all the time."

"Poh! Miss Mary; if she should stay, it wouldn't be two days before youwould be telling the girls about OUR nig, OUR nig!" 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 thanone," replied her mother. "If I could make her do my work in a fewyears, I would keep her. I have so much trouble with girls I hire, I amalmost persuaded if I have one to train up in my way from a child, Ishall be able to keep them awhile. I am tired of changing every fewmonths."

"Where could she sleep?" asked Mary. "I don't want her near me."

"In the L chamber," answered the mother.

"How'll she get there?" asked Jack. "She'll be afraid to go through thatdark 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 ascertain if Mag was at her home. Hereturned with the testimony of Pete Greene that they were fairlydeparted, 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 pleasedwith the little nigger, so you may introduce her to her room."

He went to the kitchen, and, taking Frado gently by the hand, told herhe would put her in bed now; perhaps her mother would come the nextnight after her.

It was not yet quite dark, so they ascended the stairs without anylight, passing through nicely furnished rooms, which were a source ofgreat amazement to the child. He opened the door which connected withher room by a dark, unfinished passage-way. "Don't bump your head," saidJack, and stepped before to open the door leading into herapartment,—an unfinished chamber over the kitchen, the roof slantingnearly to the floor, so that the bed could stand only in the middle ofthe room. A small half window furnished light and air. Jack returned tothe sitting room with the remark that the child would soon outgrow thosequarters.

"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 righttime, 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, Frado lay, revolving in herlittle mind whether she would remain or not until her mother's return.She was of wilful, determined nature, a stranger to fear, and would nothesitate to wander away should she decide to. She remembered theconversation of her mother with Seth, the words "given away" which sheheard used in reference to herself; and though she did not know theirfull import, she thought she should, by remaining, be in some relationto white people she was never favored with before. So she resolved totarry, with the hope that mother would come and get her some time. Thehot sun had penetrated her room, and it was long before a cooling breezereduced the temperature so that she could sleep.

Frado was called early in the morning by her new mistress. Her firstwork 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 awhipping. 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 herbreakfast, consisting of a bowl of skimmed milk, with brown breadcrusts, which she was told to eat, standing, by the kitchen table, andmust not be over ten minutes about it. Meanwhile the family were takingtheir morning meal in the dining-room. This over, she was placed on acricket to wash the common dishes; she was to be in waiting always tobring wood and chips, to run hither and thither from room to room.

A large amount of dish-washing for small hands followed dinner. Then thesame 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 aboutthe place, and she retired to rest at night more willing to remain. Thesame routine followed day after day, with slight variation; adding alittle more work, and spicing the toil with "words that burn," andfrequent blows on her head. These were great annoyances to Frado, andhad 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. Atfirst she wept aloud, which Mrs. Bellmont noticed by applying araw-hide, always at hand in the kitchen. It was a symptom of discontentand complaining which must be "nipped in the bud," she said.

Thus passed a year. No intelligence of Mag. It was now certain Frado wasto become a permanent member of the family. Her labors were multiplied;she was quite indispensable, although but seven years old. She had neverlearned to read, never heard of a school until her residence in thefamily.

Mrs. Bellmont was in doubt about the utility of attempting to educatepeople of color, who were incapable of elevation. This subjectoccasioned a lengthy discussion in the family. Mr. Bellmont, Jane andJack arguing for Frado's education; Mary and her mother objecting. Atlast Mr. Bellmont declared decisively that she SHOULD go to school. Hewas a man who seldom decided controversies at home. The word once spokenadmitted of no appeal; so, notwithstanding Mary's objection that shewould 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 andconjectures to answer. He was himself too far advanced to attend thesummer school, which Frado regretted, having had too many opportunitiesof 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 ofMary, who was ashamed to be seen "walking with a nigger." As soon as sheappeared, with scanty clothing and bared 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 oflowering Nig where, according to her views, she belonged. Poor Frado,chagrined and grieved, felt that her anticipations of pleasure at such aplace were far from being realized. She was just deciding to returnhome, and never come there again, when the teacher appeared, andobserving the downcast looks of the child, took her by the hand, and ledher into the school-room. All followed, and, after the bustle ofsecuring seats was over, Miss Marsh inquired if the children knew "anycause for the sorrow of that little girl?" pointing to Frado. It wassoon all told. She then reminded them of their duties to the poor andfriendless; their cowardice in attacking a young innocent child;referred them to one who looks not on outward appearances, but on theheart. "She looks like a good girl; I think Ishall love her, so layaside all prejudice, and vie with each other in shewing kindness andgood-will to one who seems different from you," were the closing remarksof the kind lady. Those kind words! The most agreeable sound which evermeets the ear of sorrowing, grieving childhood.

Example rendered her words efficacious. Day by day there was a manifestchange of deportment towards "Nig." Her speeches often drew merrimentfrom the children; no one could do more to enliven their favoritepastimes than Frado. Mary could not endure to see her thus noticed, yetknew not how to prevent it. She could not influence her schoolmates asshe wished. She had not gained their affections by winning ways andyielding points of controversy. On the contrary, she was self-willed,domineering; every day reported "mad" by some of her companions. Sheavailed herself of the only alternative, abuse and taunts, as theyreturned from school. This was not satisfactory; she wanted to usephysical force "to subdue her," to "keep her down."

There was, on their way home, a field intersected by a stream over whicha single plank was placed for a crossing. It occurred to Mary that itwould be a punishment to Nig to compel her to cross over; so she draggedher to the edge, and told her authoritatively to go over. Nig hesitated,resisted. Mary placed herself behind the child, and, in the struggle toforce her over, lost her footing and plunged into the stream. Some ofthe larger scholars being in sight, ran, and thus prevented Mary fromdrowning and Frado from falling. Nig scampered home fast as possible,and Mary went to the nearest house, dripping, to procure a change ofgarments. She came loitering home, half crying, exclaiming, "Nig pushedme into the stream!" She then related the particulars. Nig was calledfrom the kitchen. Mary stood with anger flashing in her eyes. Mr.Bellmont sat quietly reading his paper. He had witnessed too many ofMiss Mary's outbreaks to be startled. Mrs. Bellmont interrogated Nig.

"I didn't do it! I didn't do it!" answered Nig, passionately, and thenrelated the occurrence truthfully.

The discrepancy greatly enraged Mrs. Bellmont. With loud accusations andangry gestures she approached the child. Turning to her husband, sheasked,

"Will you sit still, there, and hear that black nigger call Mary aliar?"

"How do we know but she has told the truth? I shall not punish her," hereplied, and left the house, as he usually did when a tempest threatenedto envelop him. No sooner was he out of sight than Mrs. B. and Marycommenced beating her inhumanly; then propping her mouth open with apiece of wood, shut her up in a dark room, without any supper. Foremployment, while the tempest raged within, Mr. Bellmont went for thecows, a task belonging to Frado, and thus unintentionally prolonged herpain. At dark Jack came in, and seeing Mary, accosted her with, "So youthought you'd vent your spite on Nig, did you? Why can't you let heralone? It was good enough for you to get a ducking, only you did notstay in half long enough."

"Stop!" said his mother. "You shall never talk so before me. You wouldhave that little nigger trample on Mary, would you? She came home with alie; 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 happenedto see it all, and they tell the same story Nig does. Which is mostlikely to be true, what a dozen agree they saw, or the contrary?"

"It is very strange you will believe what others say against yoursister," retorted his mother, with flashing eye. "I think it is timeyour father subdued you."

"Father is a sensible man," argued Jack. "He would not wrong a dog.
Where IS Frado?" he continued.

"Mother gave her a good whipping and shut her up," replied Mary.

Just then Mr. Bellmont entered, and asked if Frado was "shut up yet."

The knowledge of her innocence, the perfidy of his sister, workedfearfully on Jack. He bounded from his chair, searched every room tillhe found the child; her mouth wedged apart, her face swollen, and fullof pain.

How Jack pitied her! He relieved her jaws, brought her some supper, tookher to her room, comforted her as well as he knew how, sat by her tillshe fell asleep, and then left for the sitting room. As he passed hismother, he remarked, "If that was the way Frado was to be treated, hehoped she would never wake again!" He then imparted her situation to hisfather, who seemed untouched, till a glance at Jack exposed a tearfuleye. Jack went early to her next morning. She awoke sad, but refreshed.After breakfast Jack took her with him to the field, and kept herthrough the day. But it could not be so generally. She must return toschool, to her household duties. He resolved to do what he could toprotect her from Mary and his mother. He bought her a dog, which becamea great favorite with both. The invalid, Jane, would gladly befriendher; but she had not the strength to brave the iron will of her mother.Kind words and affectionate glances were the only expressions ofsympathy she could safely indulge in. The men employed on the farm werealways glad to hear her prattle; she was a great favorite with them.Mrs. Bellmont allowed them the privilege of talking with her in thekitchen. She did not fear but she should have ample opportunity ofsubduing her when they were away. Three months of schooling, summer andwinter, she enjoyed for three years. Her winter over-dress was acast-off overcoat, once worn by Jack, and a sun-bonnet. It was a sourceof great merriment to the scholars, but Nig's retorts were so mirthful,and their satisfaction so evident in attributing the selection to "OldGranny Bellmont," that it was not painful to Nig or pleasurable to Mary.Her jollity was not to be quenched by whipping or scolding. In Mrs.Bellmont's presence she was under restraint; but in the kitchen, andamong her schoolmates, the pent up fires burst forth. She was ever atsome sly prank when unseen by her teacher, in school hours; notunfrequently some outburst of merriment, of which she was the original,was charged upon some innocent mate, and punishment inflicted which shemerited. They enjoyed her antics so fully that any of them would sufferwrongfully to keep open the avenues of mirth. She would venture farbeyond propriety, thus shielded and countenanced.

The teacher's desk was supplied with drawers, in which were stored hisbooks and other et ceteras of the profession. The children observed Nigvery busy there one morning before school, as they flitted inoccasionally from their play outside. The master came; called thechildren to order; opened a drawer to take the book the occasionrequired; when out poured a volume of smoke. "Fire! fire!" screamed he,at the top of his voice. By this time he had become sufficientlyacquainted with the peculiar odor, to know he was imposed upon. Thescholars shouted with laughter to see the terror of the dupe, who,feeling abashed at the needless fright, made no very strictinvestigation, and Nig once more escaped punishment. She had providedherself with cigars, and puffing, puffing away at the crack of thedrawer, had filled it with smoke, and then closed it tightly to deceivethe teacher, and amuse the scholars. The interim of terms was filled upwith a variety of duties new and peculiar. At home, no matter howpowerful the heat when sent to rake hay or guard the grazing herd, shewas never permitted to shield her skin from the sun. She was not manyshades darker than Mary now; what a calamity it would be ever to hearthe contrast spoken of. Mrs. Bellmont was determined the sun should havefull power to darken the shade which nature had first bestowed upon heras best befitting.

CHAPTER IV.

A FRIEND FOR NIG.

    "Hours of my youth! when nurtured in my breast,
    To love a stranger, friendship made me blest:—
    Friendship, the dear peculiar bond of youth,
    When every artless bosom throbs with truth;
    Untaught by worldly wisdom how to feign;
    And check each impulse with prudential reign;
    When all we feel our 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."

BYRON.

WITH what differing emotions have the denizens of earth awaited theapproach of to-day. Some sufferer has counted the vibrations of thependulum impatient for its dawn, who, now that it has arrived, isanxious for its close. The votary of pleasure, conscious of yesterday'svoid, wishes for power to arrest time's haste till a few more hours ofmirth shall be enjoyed. The unfortunate are yet gazing in vain forgoldenedged clouds they fancied would appear in their horizon. The goodman feels that he has accomplished too little for the Master, and sighsthat another day must so soon close. Innocent childhood, weary of itsstay, longs for another morrow; busy manhood cries, hold! hold! andpursues it to another's dawn. All are dissatisfied. All crave some goodnot yet possessed, which time is expected to bring with all its morrows.

Was it strange that, to a disconsolate child, three years should seem along, long time? During school time she had rest from Mrs. Bellmont'styranny. She was now nine years old; time, her mistress said, suchprivileges 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.Bellmont felt that her time and person belonged solely to her. She wasunder her in every sense of the word. What an opportunity to indulge hervixen nature! No matter what occurred to ruffle her, or from what sourceprovocation came, real or fancied, a few blows on Nig seemed to relieveher of a portion of ill-will.

These were days when Fido was the entire confidant of Frado. She toldhim her griefs as though he were human; and he sat so still, andlistened so attentively, she really believed he knew her sorrows. Allthe leisure moments she could gain were used in teaching him some featof dog-agility, so that Jack pronounced him very knowing, and was trulygratified to know he had furnished her with a gift answering hisintentions.

Fido was the constant attendant of Frado, when sent from the house onerrands, going and returning with the cows, out in the fields, to thevillage. If ever she forgot her hardships it was in his company.

Spring was now retiring. James, one of the absent sons, was expectedhome 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. Manywere the preparations to make the visit pleasant, and as the dayapproached when he was to arrive, great exertions were made to cook thefavorite viands, to prepare the choicest table-fare.

The morning of the arrival day was a busy one. Frado knew not who wouldbe of so much importance; her feet were speeding hither and thither sounsparingly. Mrs. Bellmont seemed a trifle fatigued, and her shoes whichhad, early in the morning, a methodic squeak, altered to an irregular,peevish snap.

"Get some little wood to make the fire burn," said Mrs. Bellmont, in asharp tone. Frado obeyed, bringing the smallest she could find.

Mrs. Bellmont 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, thesecond must be a trifle larger. She well knew it was, as she threw itinto a box on the hearth. To Mrs. Bellmont it was a greater affront, aswell as larger wood, so she "taught her" with the raw-hide, and sent herthe third time for "little wood."

Nig, weeping, knew not what to do. She had carried the smallest; noneleft would suit her mistress; of course further punishment awaited her;so she gathered up whatever came first, and threw it down on the hearth.As she expected, Mrs. Bellmont, enraged, approached her, and kicked herso forcibly as to throw her upon the floor. Before she could rise,another foiled the attempt, and then followed kick after kick in quicksuccession and power, till she reached the door. Mr. Bellmont and AuntAbby, hearing the noise, rushed in, just in time to see the last of theperformance. Nig jumped up, and rushed from the house, out of sight.

Aunt Abby returned to her apartment, followed by John, who was mutteringto 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 justsee 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. Bellmont.

John now sauntered out to the barn to await the quieting of the storm.

Aunt Abby had a glimpse of Nig as she passed out of the yard; but toarrest her, or shew her that SHE would shelter her, in Mrs. Bellmont'spresence, would only bring reserved wrath on her defenceless head. Hersister-inlaw had great prejudices against her. One cause of thealienation was that she did not give her right in the homestead to John,and leave it forever; another was that she was a professor of religion,(so was Mrs. Bellmont;) but Nab, as she called her, did not liveaccording to her profession; another, that she WOULD sometimes give Nigcake and pie, which she was never allowed to have at home. Mary hadoften noticed and spoken of her inconsistencies.

The dinner hour passed. Frado had not appeared. Mrs. B. made no inquiryor search. Aunt Abby looked long, and found her concealed in anoutbuilding. "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 ha'n't got no mother, no home. Iwish I was dead."

"Poor thing," muttered Aunt Abby; and slyly providing her with somedinner, left her to her grief.

Jane went to confer with her Aunt about the affair; and learned from herthe retreat. She would gladly have concealed her in her own chamber, andministered to her wants; but she was dependent on Mary and her motherfor care, and any displeasure caused by attention to Nig, was seriouslyfelt.

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 Frado?" asked Mr. Bellmont, observing she was not in her usualplace, behind her mistress' chair.

"I don't know, and I don't care. If she makes her appearance again, I'lltake 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 wasno stranger to his mother's nature; but years of absence had erased theoccurrences once so familiar, and he asked, "Is this that pretty littleNig, 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, John," said Mrs. B., turning to her husband, "you need notthink you are going to learn her to treat me in this way; just see howsaucy she was this morning. She shall learn her place."

Mr. Bellmont raised his calm, determined eye full upon her, and said, ina decisive manner: "You shall not strike, or scald, or skin her, as youcall it, if she comes back again. Remember!" and he brought his handdown upon the table. "I have searched an hour for her now, and she isnot to be found on the premises. Do YOU know where she is? Is she YOURprisoner?"

"No! I have just told you I did not know where she was. Nab has her hidsomewhere, 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'sroom; Mr. Bellmont and James went out of doors, and Mary remained tocondole with her parent.

"Do you know where Frado is?" asked Jane of her aunt.

"No," she replied. "I have hunted everywhere. She has left her firsthiding-place. I cannot think what has become of her. There comes Jackand Fido; perhaps he knows;" and she walked to a window near, whereJames and his father were conversing together.

The two brothers exchanged a hearty greeting, and then Mr. Bellmont toldJack to eat his supper; afterward he wished to send him away. Heimmediately went in. Accustomed to all the phases of indoor storms, froma whine to thunder and lightning, he saw at a glance marks ofdisturbance. 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 Frado. She's not beenseen 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. NoFrado. They returned to the house to consult. James and Jack declaredthey would not sleep till she was found.

Mrs. Bellmont attempted to dissuade them from the search. "It was ashame a little NIGGER should make so much trouble."

Just then Fido came running up, and Jack exclaimed, "Fido knows whereshe is, I'll bet."

"So I believe," said his father; "but we shall not be wiser unless wecan 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, whichwas still waiting, he called, "Fido! Fido! Frado wants 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 ofswampy land. Jack followed close, and soon appeared to James, who wasquite in the rear, coaxing and forcing Frado along with him.

A frail child, driven from shelter by the cruelty of his mother, was anobject 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 herwith them into the sitting-room.

"Take that nigger out of my sight," was Mrs. Bellmont's command, beforethey could be seated.

James led her into Aunt Abby's, where he knew they were welcome. Theychatted awhile until Frado seemed cheerful; then James led her to herroom, 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," counselled
James.

"If I do, I get whipped," sobbed the child. "They won't believe what Isay. Oh, I wish I had my mother back; then I should not be kicked andwhipped 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 BOTHwhite?"

"I don't know; try to go to sleep, and you will feel better in themorning," was all the reply he could make to her knotty queries. It wasa long time before she fell asleep; and a number of days before Jamesfelt in a mood to visit and entertain old associates and friends.

CHAPTER V. DEPARTURES.

    Life is a strange avenue of various trees and flowers;
    Lightsome at commencement, but darkening to its end in a distant,
    massy portal.

    It beginneth as a little path, edged with the violet 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, andwith sorrow she listened and joined in the farewells which preceded hisexit. The remembrance of his kindness cheered her through many a wearymonth, and an occasional word to her in letters to Jack, were like "coldwaters to a thirsty soul." Intelligence came that James would soonmarry; Frado hoped he would, and remove her from such severe treatmentas she was subject to. There had been additional burdens laid on hersince his return. She must now MILK the cows, she had then only todrive. Flocks of sheep had been added to the farm, which daily claimed aportion of her time. In the absence of the men, she must harness thehorse for Mary and her mother to ride, go to mill, in short, do the workof a boy, could one be procured to endure the tirades of Mrs. Bellmont.She was first up in the morning, doing what she could towards breakfast.Occasionally, she would utter some funny thing for Jack's benefit, whileshe was waiting on the table, provoking a sharp look from his mother, orexpulsion from the room.

On one such occasion, they found her on the roof of the barn. Somerepairs having been necessary, a staging had been erected, and was notwholly removed. Availing herself of ladders, she was mounted in highglee on the topmost board. Mr. Bellmont called sternly for her to comedown; poor Jane nearly fainted from fear. Mrs. B. and Mary did not careif she "broke her neck," while Jack and the men laughed at herfearlessness. Strange, one spark of playfulness could remain amid suchconstant toil; but her natural temperament was in a high degreemirthful, and the encouragement she received from Jack and the hiredmen, constantly nurtured the inclination. When she had none of thefamily around to be merry with, she would amuse herself with theanimals. Among the sheep was a willful leader, who always persisted inbeing first served, and many times in his fury he had thrown down Nig,till, provoked, she resolved to punish him. The pasture in which thesheep grazed was founded on three sides by a wide stream, which flowedon one side at the base of precipitous banks. The first spare moments ather command, she ran to the pasture with a dish in her hand, andmounting the highest point of land nearest the stream, called the flockto their mock repast. Mr. Bellmont, with his laborers, were in sight,though unseen by Frado. They paused to see what she was about to do.Should she by any mishap lose her footing, she must roll into thestream, and, without aid, must drown. They thought of shouting; but theyfeared an unexpected salute might startle her, and thus ensure what theywere anxious to prevent. They watched in breathless silence. The willfulsheep came furiously leaping and bounding far in advance of the flock.Just as he leaped for the dish, she suddenly jumped to one side, whendown he rolled into the river, and swimming across, remained alone tillnight. The men lay down, convulsed with laughter at the trick, andguessed at once its object. Mr. Bellmont talked seriously to the childfor 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, anindispensable requisite, his mother had always taught him. He did notmarry her wealth, though; he loved HER, sincerely. She was not unlikehis sister Jane, who had a social, gentle, loving nature, rather TOOyielding, her brother thought. His Susan had a firmness which Janeneeded to complete her character, but which her ill health may in ameasure have failed to produce. Although an invalid, she was notexcluded from society. Was it strange SHE should seem a desirablecompanion, 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, sinistereyes. He seemed to appreciate her wants, and watch with interest herimprovement or decay. His kindness she received, and by it was almostwon. Her mother wished her to encourage his attentions. She had countedthe acres which were to be transmitted to an only son; she knew therewas silver in the purse; she would not have Jane too sentimental.

The eagerness with which he amassed wealth, was repulsive to Jane; hedid not spare his person or beasts in its pursuit. She felt that to sucha man she should be considered an incumbrance; she doubted if he woulddesire her, if he did not know she would bring a handsome patrimony. Hermother, full in favor with the parents of Henry, commanded her to accepthim. She engaged herself, yielding to her mother's wishes, because shehad not strength to oppose them; and sometimes, when witness of hermother'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 herown selecting, one she was conscious of preferring before all others.She could not say this of Henry.

In this dilemma, a visitor came to Aunt Abby's; one of herboy-favorites, George Means, from an adjoining State. Sensible, plainlooking, agreeable, talented, he could not long be a stranger to any onewho wished to know him. Jane was accustomed to sit much with Aunt Abbyalways; her presence now seemed necessary to assist in entertaining thisyouthful friend. Jane was more pleased with him each day, and silentlywished Henry possessed more refinement, and the polished manners ofGeorge. She felt dissatisfied with her relation to him. His calls whileGeorge was there, brought their opposing qualities vividly before her,and she found it disagreeable to force herself into those attentionsbelonging to him. She received him apparently only as a neighbor.

George returned home, and Jane endeavored to stifle the risings ofdissatisfaction, and had nearly succeeded, when a letter came whichneeded but one glance to assure her of its birthplace; and she retiredfor its perusal. Well was it for her that her mother's suspicion was notaroused, or her curiosity startled to inquire who it came from. Afterreading it, she glided into Aunt Abby's, and placed it in her hands, whowas no stranger to Jane's trials.

George could not rest after his return, he wrote, until he hadcommunicated to Jane the emotions her presence awakened, and his desireto love and possess her as his own. He begged to know if his affectionswere 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 fromher 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 Abby.

"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 seennothing offensive in his manner or appearance; that she was under noobligations which forbade her receiving letters from him as a friend andacquaintance. George was puzzled by the reply. He wrote to Aunt Abby,and from her learned all. He could not see Jane thus sacrificed, withoutmaking an effort to rescue her. Another visit followed. George heardJane say she preferred HIM. He then conferred with Henry at his home. Itwas not a pleasant subject to talk upon. To be thus supplanted, was notto be thought of. He would sacrifice everything but his inheritance tosecure his betrothed.

"And so you are the cause of her late coldness towards me. Leave! I willtalk no more about it; the business is settled between us; there it willremain," said Henry.

"Have you no wish to know the real state of Jane's affections towardsyou?" asked George.

"No! Go, I say! go!" and Henry opened the door for him to pass out.

He retired to Aunt Abby's. Henry soon followed, and presented his causeto Mrs. Bellmont.

Provoked, surprised, indignant, she summoned Jane to her presence, andafter a lengthy tirade upon Nab, and her satanic influence, told her shecould not break the bonds which held her to Henry; she should not.George Means was rightly named; he was, truly, mean enough; she knew hisfamily of old; his father had four wives, and five times as manychildren.

"Go to your room, Miss Jane," she continued. "Don't let me know of yourbeing in Nab's for one while."

The storm was now visible to all beholders. Mr. Bellmont sought Jane.She told him her objections to Henry; showed him George's letter; toldher answer, the occasion of his visit. He bade her not make herselfsick; he would see that she was not compelled to violate her free choicein so important a transaction. He then sought the two young men; toldthem he could not as a father see his child compelled to an uncongenialunion; a free, voluntary choice was of such importance to one of herhealth. 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 ofa kind father and aunt cheered her on. After a suitable interval she wasmarried to George, and removed to his home in Vermont. Thus anotherlight disappeared from Nig's horizon. Another was soon to follow. Jackwas anxious to try his skill in providing for his own support; so asituation as clerk in a store was procured in a Western city, and sixmonths after Jane's departure, was Nig abandoned to the tender merciesof Mary and her mother. As if to remove the last vestige of earthly joy,Mrs. Bellmont sold the companion and pet of Frado, the dog Fido.

CHAPTER VI.

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 Frado was very great for her pet, and Mr. Bellmont bygreat exertion obtained it again, much to the relief of the child. To bethus deprived of all her sources of pleasure was a sure way to exalttheir worth, and Fido became, in her estimation, a more valuablepresence than the human beings who surrounded her.

James had now been married a number of years, and frequent requests fora visit from the family were at last accepted, and Mrs. Bellmont madegreat preparations for a fall sojourn in Baltimore. Mary was installedhousekeeper—in name merely, for Nig was the only moving power in thehouse. Although suffering from their joint severity, she felt safer thanto be thrown wholly upon an ardent, passionate, unrestrained young lady,whom she always hated and felt it hard to be obliged to obey. The trialshe must meet. Were Jack or Jane at home she would have some refuge; oneonly remained; good Aunt Abby was still in the house.

She saw the fast receding coach which conveyed her master and mistresswith regret, and begged for one favor only, that James would send forher when they returned, a hope she had confidently cherished all thesefive years.

She was now able to do all the washing, ironing, baking, and the commonet cetera of household duties, though but fourteen. Mary left all forher to do, though she affected great responsibility. She would showherself in the kitchen long enough to relieve herself of some command,better withheld; or insist upon some compliance to her wishes in somedepartment which she was very imperfectly acquainted with, very muchless than the person she was addressing; and so impetuous till herorders were obeyed, that to escape the turmoil, Nig would often gocontrary to her own knowledge to gain a respite.

Nig was taken sick! What could be done The WORK, certainly, but not byMiss Mary. So Nig would work while she could remain erect, then sinkdown upon the floor, or a chair, till she could rally for a fresheffort. Mary would look in upon her, chide her for her laziness,threaten to tell mother when she came home, and so forth.

"Nig!" screamed Mary, one of her sickest days, "come here, and sweepthese threads from the carpet." She attempted to drag her weary limbsalong, using the broom as support. Impatient of delay, she called again,but with a different request. "Bring me some wood, you lazy jade,quick." Nig rested the broom against the wall, and started on the freshbehest.

Too long gone. Flushed with anger, she rose and greeted her with, "Whatare 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 takinga large carving knife from the table, she hurled it, in her rage, at thedefenceless girl.

Dodging quickly, it fastened in the ceiling a few inches from where shestood. There rushed on Mary's mental vision a picture of bloodshed, inwhich she was the perpetrator, and the sad consequences of what was sonearly an actual occurrence.

"Tell anybody of this, if you dare. If you tell Aunt Abby, I'llcertainly kill you," said she, terrified. She returned to her room,brushed her threads herself; was for a day or two more guarded, and soescaped deserved and merited penalty.

Oh, how long the weeks seemed which held Nig in subjection to Mary; butthey passed like all earth's sorrows and joys. Mr. and Mrs. B. returneddelighted with their visit, and laden with rich presents for Mary. Noword of hope for Nig. James was quite unwell, and would come home thenext spring for a visit.

This, thought Nig, 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 healthfor short intervals. She wore no shoes until after frost, and snow even,appeared; and bared her feet again before the last vestige of winterdisappeared. These sudden changes she was so illy guarded against,nearly conquered her physical system. Any word of complaint was severelyrepulsed or cruelly punished.

She was told she had much more than she deserved. So that manual laborwas not in reality her only burden; but such an incessant torrent ofscolding and boxing and threatening, was enough to deter one of matureryears 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 favorite exercise to enter theapartment noisily, vociferate orders, give a few sudden blows to quickenNig's pace, then return to the sitting room with SUCH a satisfiedexpression, congratulating herself upon her thorough house-keepingqualities.

She usually rose in the morning at the ringing of the bell forbreakfast; if she were heard stirring before that time, Nig knew wellthere was an extra amount of scolding to be borne.

No one now stood between herself and Frado, but Aunt Abby. And if SHEdared to interfere in the least, she was ordered back to her "ownquarters." Nig would creep slyly into her room, learn what she could ofher regarding the absent, and thus gain some light in the thick gloom ofcare and toil and sorrow in which she was immersed.

The first of spring a letter came from James, announcing declininghealth. He must try northern air as a restorative; so Frado joyfullyprepared for this agreeable increase of the family, this addition to hercares.

He arrived feeble, lame, from his disease, so changed Frado wept at hisappearance, fearing he would be removed from her forever. He kindlygreeted her, took her to the parlor to see his wife and child, and saidmany things to kindle smiles on her sad face.

Frado felt so happy in his presence, so safe from maltreatment! He wasto her a shelter. He observed, silently, the ways of the house a fewdays; Nig still took her meals in the same manner as formerly, havingthe 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 sitdown HERE, and eat such food as we eat."

A few sparks from the mother's black eyes were the only reply; shefeared to oppose where she knew she could not prevail. So Nig's standingattitude, and selected diet vanished.

Her clothing was yet poor and scanty; she was not blessed with a Sundayattire; for she was never permitted to attend church with her mistress."Religion was not meant for niggers," SHE said; when the husband andbrothers were absent, she would drive Mrs. B. and Mary there, thenreturn, and go for them at the close of the service, but never remain.Aunt Abby would take her to evening meetings, held in the neighborhood,which Mrs. B. never attended; and impart to her lessons of truth andgrace 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 andancient bonnet, she was anything but an enticing object. But Aunt Abbylooked within. She saw a soul to save, an immortality of happiness tosecure.

These evenings were eagerly anticipated by Nig; it was such a pleasantrelease from labor.

Such perfect contrast in the melody and prayers of these good people tothe harsh tones which fell on her ears during the day.

Soon she had all their sacred songs at command, and enlivened her toilby accompanying it with this melody.

James encouraged his aunt in her efforts. He had found the SAVIOUR, hewished to have Frado's desolate heart gladdened, quieted, sustained, byHIS presence. He felt sure there were elements in her heart which,transformed and purified by the gospel, would make her worthy the esteemand friendship of the world. A kind, affectionate heart, native wit, andcommon sense, and the pertness she sometimes exhibited, he felt ifrestrained properly, might become useful in originating a self-reliancewhich would be of service to her in after years.

Yet it was not possible to compass all this, while she remained whereshe was. He wished to be cautious about pressing too closely her claimson his mother, as it would increase the burdened one he so anxiouslywished to relieve. He cheered her on with the hope of returning with hisfamily, when he recovered sufficiently.

Nig seemed awakened to new hopes and aspirations, and realized a longingfor the future, hitherto unknown.

To complete Nig's enjoyment, Jack arrived unexpectedly. His greeting wasas hearty to herself as to any of the family.

"Where are your curls, Fra?" 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, Nig."

How different this appellative sounded from him; he said it in such atone, with such a rogueish look!

She laughed, and replied that he had better take her West for ahousekeeper.

Jack was pleased with James's innovations of table discipline, and wouldoften tarry in the dining-room, to see Nig in her new place at thefamily table. As he was thus sitting one day, after the family hadfinished dinner, Frado seated herself in her mistress' chair, and wasjust reaching for a clean dessert plate which was on the table, when hermistress entered.

"Put that plate down; you shall not have a clean one; eat from mine,"continued she. Nig hesitated. To eat after James, his wife or Jack,would have been pleasant; but to be commanded to do what wasdisagreeable by her mistress, BECAUSE it was disagreeable, was trying.Quickly looking about, she took the plate, called Fido to wash it, whichhe did to the best of his ability; then, wiping her knife and fork onthe cloth, she proceeded to eat her dinner.

Nig never looked toward her mistress during the process. She had Jacknear; she did not fear her now.

Insulted, full of rage, Mrs. Bellmont rushed to her husband, andcommanded him to notice this insult; to whip that child; if he would notdo it, James ought.

James came to hear the kitchen version of the affair. Jack was boilingover with laughter. He related all the circumstances to James, andpulling a bright, silver half-dollar from his pocket, he threw it atNig, saying, "There, take that; 'twas worth paying for."

James sought his mother; told her he "would not excuse or palliate Nig'simpudence; but she should not be whipped or be punished at all. You havenot treated her, mother, so as to gain her love; she is only exhibitingyour remissness in this matter."

She only smothered her resentment until a convenient opportunityoffered. The first time she was left alone with Nig, she gave her athorough beating, to bring up arrearages; and threatened, if she everexposed her to James, she would "cut her tongue out."

James found her, upon his return, sobbing; but fearful of revenge, shedared not answer his queries. He guessed their cause, and longed forreturning health to take her under his protection.

CHAPTER VII.

SPIRITUAL CONDITION OF NIG.

    "What are our joys but dreams? and what our hopes
    But goodly shadows in the summer cloud?"

H. K. W.

JAMES did not improve as was hoped. Month after month passed away, andbrought no prospect of returning health. He could not walk far from thehouse for want of strength; but he loved to sit with Aunt Abby in herquiet room, talking of unseen glories, and heart-experiences, whileplanning for the spiritual benefit of those around them. In theseconfidential interviews, Frado was never omitted. They would discuss theprevalent opinion of the public, that people of color are reallyinferior; incapable of cultivation and refinement. They would glance atthe qualities of Nig, which promised so much if rightly directed. "Iwish you would take her, James, when you are well, home with YOU," saidAunt Abby, in one of these seasons.

"Just what I am longing to do, Aunt Abby. Susan is just of my mind, andwe 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, andasks me many questions on serious things; seems to love to read theBible; I feel hopes of her."

"I hope she IS thoughtful; no one has a kinder heart, one capable ofloving more devotedly. But to think how prejudiced the world are towardsher people; that she must be reared in such ignorance as to drown allthe finer feelings. When I think of what she might be, of what she willbe, I feel like grasping time till opinions change, and thousands likeher rise into a noble freedom. I have seen Frado's grief, because she isblack, amount to agony. It makes me sick to recall these scenes. Motherpretends to think she don't know enough to sorrow for anything; but ifshe could see her as I have, when she supposed herself entirely alone,except her little dog Fido, lamenting her loneliness and complexion, Ithink, if she is not past feeling, she would retract. In the summer Iwas walking near the barn, and as I stood I heard sobs. 'Oh! oh!' Iheard, 'why was I made? why can't I die? Oh, what have I to live for? Noone cares for me only to get my work. And I feel sick; who cares forthat? Work as long as I can stand, and then fall down and lay there tillI can get up. No mother, father, brother or sister to care for me, andthen it is, You lazy nigger, lazy nigger—all because I am black! Oh, ifI could die!'

"I stepped into the barn, where I could see her. She was crouched downby 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 gowork in the field.' She started on her mission; I called her to me, andtold 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; sowe found a seat under a shady tree, and there I took the opportunity tocombat the notions she seemed to entertain respecting the loneliness ofher condition and want of sympathizing friends. I assured her thatmother's views were by no means general; that in our part of the countrythere were thousands upon thousands who favored the elevation of herrace, disapproving of oppression in all its forms; that she was notunpitied, friendless, and utterly despised; that she might hope forbetter things in the future. Having spoken these words of comfort, Irose with the resolution that if I recovered my health I would take herhome with me, whether mother was willing or not."

"I don't know what your mother would do without her; still, I wish shewas away."

Susan now came for her long absent husband, and they returned home totheir room.

The month of November was one of great anxiety on James's account. Hewas 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 wasconfined wholly to his room, mostly to his bed. With all his bodilysuffering, all his anxiety for his family, whom he might not live toprotect, 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 toilshe was often deprived of her rest at night.

Yet she insisted on being called; she wished to show her love for onewho had been such a friend to her. Her anxiety and grief increased asthe probabilities of his recovery became doubtful.

Mrs. Bellmont found her weeping on his account, shut her up, and whippedher with the raw-hide, adding an injunction never to be seen snivellingagain because she had a little work to do. She was very careful never toshed tears on his account, in her presence, afterwards.

CHAPTER VIII.

VISITOR AND DEPARTURE.

—"Other cares engross me, and my tired soul with emulative haste, Looksto its God."

THE brother associated with James in business, in Baltimore, was sentfor 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 inimmediate prospect; of aspirations, which waited for fruition in glory.His brother, Lewis 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 regretthe sure indications of fatality in his sick brother, and listened tohis admonitions—admonitions to a Christian life—with tears, anduttered some promises of attention to the subject so dear to the heartof James.

How gladly he would have extended healing aid. But, alas! it was not inhis power; so, after listening to his wishes and arrangements for hisfamily and business, he decided to return home.

Anxious for company home, he persuaded his father and mother to permitMary to attend him. She was not at all needed in the sick room; she didnot choose to be useful in the kitchen, and then she was fullydetermined to go.

So all the trunks were assembled and crammed with the best selectionsfrom the wardrobe of herself and mother, where the last-mentionedarticles could be appropriated.

"Nig was never so helpful before," Mary remarked, and wondered what hadinduced such a change in place of former sullenness.

Nig was looking further than the present, and congratulating herselfupon some days of peace, for Mary never lost opportunity of informingher mother of Nig's delinquencies, were she otherwise ignorant.

Was it strange if she were officious, with such relief in prospect?

The parting from the sick brother was tearful and sad. James prayed intheir presence for their renewal in holiness; and urged their immediateattention to eternal realities, and gained a promise that Susan andCharlie should share their kindest regards.

No sooner were they on their way, than Nig slyly crept round to AuntAbby's room, and tiptoeing and twisting herself into all shapes, sheexclaimed,—

"She's gone, Aunt Abby, she's gone, fairly gone;" and jumped up anddown, till Aunt Abby feared she would attract the notice of her mistressby such demonstrations.

"Well, she's gone, gone, Aunt Abby. I hope she'll never come backagain."

"No! no! Frado, that's wrong! you would be wishing her dead; that won'tdo."

"Well, I'll bet she'll never come back again; somehow, I feel as thoughshe wouldn't."

"She is James's sister," remonstrated Aunt Abby.

"So is our cross sheep just as much, that I ducked in the river; I'dlike to try my hand at curing HER too."

"But you forget what our good minister told us last week, about doinggood to those that hate us."

"Didn't I do good, Aunt Abby, when I washed and ironed and packed herold duds to get rid of her, and helped her pack her trunks, and run hereand there for her?"

"Well, well, Frado; you must go finish your work, or your mistress willbe after you, and remind you severely of Miss Mary, and some othersbeside."

Nig 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 hertormentors.

Day by day the quiet of the sick man's room was increased. He washelpless and nervous; and often wished change of position, therebyhoping to gain momentary relief. The calls upon Frado were consequentlymore frequent, her nights less tranquil. Her health was impaired bylifting the sick man, and by drudgery in the kitchen. Her ill health sheendeavored to conceal from James, fearing he might have less repose ifthere should be a change of attendants; and Mrs. Bellmont, she wellknew, would have no sympathy for her. She was at last so much reduced asto be unable to stand erect for any great length of time. She would SITat the table to wash her dishes; if she heard the well-known step of hermistress, she would rise till she returned to her room, and then sinkdown for further rest. Of course she was longer than usual in completingthe services assigned her. This was a subject of complaint to Mrs.Bellmont; and Frado endeavored to throw off all appearance of sicknessin her presence.

But it was increasing upon her, and she could no longer hide herindisposition. Her mistress entered one day, and finding her seated,commanded her to go to work. "I am sick," replied Frado, rising andwalking slowly to her unfinished task, "and cannot stand long, I feel sobad."

Angry that she should venture a reply to her command, she suddenlyinflicted a blow which lay the tottering girl prostrate on the floor.Excited by so much indulgence of a dangerous passion, she seemed left tounrestrained malice; and snatching a towel, stuffed the mouth of thesufferer, and beat her cruelly.

Frado hoped she would end her misery by whipping her to death. She boreit with the hope of a martyr, that her misery would soon close. Thoughher mouth was muffled, and the sounds much stifled, there was a sensiblecommotion, which James' quick ear detected.

"Call Frado to come here," he said faintly, "I have not seen herto-day."

Susan retired with the request to the kitchen, where it was evident somebrutal scene had just been enacted.

Mrs. Bellmont replied that she had "some work to do just now; when thatwas done, she might come."

Susan's appearance confirmed her husband's fears, and he requested hisfather, who sat by the bedside, to go for her. This was a messenger, asJames 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 wasafraid to expose the cruel author of her misery, lest she should provokenew attacks. But after much entreaty, she told him all, much which hadescaped his watchful ear. Poor James shut his eyes in silence, as ifpained to forgetfulness by the recital. Then turning to Susan, he askedher to take Charlie, and walk out; "she needed the fresh air," he said."And say to mother I wish Frado to sit by me till you return. I thinkyou are fading, from staying so long in this sick room." Mr. B. alsoleft, and Frado was thus left alone with her friend. Aunt Abby came into make her daily visit, and seeing the sick countenance of theattendant, took her home with her to administer some cordial. She soonreturned, however, and James kept her with him the rest of the day; anda comfortable night's repose following, she was enabled to continue, asusual, her labors. James insisted on her attending religious meetings inthe vicinity with Aunt Abby.

Frado, under the instructions of Aunt Abby and the minister, became abeliever in a future existence—one of happiness or misery. Her doubtwas, 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 Abbyhad told her; but then it was all for white people.

As James approached that blessed world, she felt a strong desire tofollow, and be with one who was such a dear, kind friend to her.

While she was exercised with these desires and aspirations, she attendedan evening meeting with Aunt Abby, and the good man urged all, young orold, to accept the offers of mercy, to receive a compassionate Jesus astheir Saviour. "Come to Christ," he urged, "all, young or old, white orblack, 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 shewas unfit for any heaven, made for whites or blacks. She would gladlyrepent, or do anything which would admit her to share the abode ofJames.

Her anxiety increased; her countenance bore marks of solicitude unseenbefore; and though she said nothing of her inward contest, they allobserved a change.

James and Aunt Abby hoped it was the springing of good seed sown by theSpirit of God. Her tearful attention at the last meeting encouraged hisaunt to hope that her mind was awakened, her conscience aroused. AuntAbby noticed that she was particularly engaged in reading the Bible; andthis strengthened her conviction that a heavenly Messenger was strivingwith her. The neighbors dropped in to inquire after the sick, and alsoif Frado was "SERIOUS?" They noticed she seemed very thoughtful andtearful at the meetings. Mrs. Reed was very inquisitive; but Mrs.Bellmont saw no appearance of change for the better. She did not feelresponsible for her spiritual culture, and hardly believed she had asoul.

Nig was in truth suffering much; her feelings were very intense on anysubject, when once aroused. She read her Bible carefully, and as oftenas an opportunity presented, which was when entirely secluded in her ownapartment, or by Aunt Abby's side, who kindly directed her to Christ,and instructed her in the way of salvation.

Mrs. Bellmont found her one day quietly reading her Bible. Amazed andhalf crediting the reports of officious neighbors, she felt it was timeto 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 besnivelling about the house, or stop to read again.

But there was one little spot seldom penetrated by her mistress'watchful eye: this was her room, uninviting and comfortless; but toherself a safe retreat. Here she would listen to the pleadings of aSaviour, and try to penetrate the veil of doubt and sin which cloudedher soul, and long to cast off the fetters of sin, and rise to thecommunion of saints.

Mrs. Bellmont, as we before said, did not trouble herself about thefuture destiny of her servant. If she did what she desired for HERbenefit, it was all the responsibility she acknowledged. But she seemedto have great aversion to the notice Nig would attract should she becomepious. How could she meet this case? She resolved to make her complaintto John. Strange, when she was always foiled in this direction, sheshould resort to him. It was time something was done; she had begun toread the Bible openly.

The night of this discovery, as they were retiring, Mrs. Bellmontintroduced the conversation, by saying:

"I want your attention to what I am going to say. I have let Nig go outto evening meetings a few times, and, if you will believe it, I foundher reading the Bible to-day, just as though she expected to turn piousnigger, and preach to white folks. So now you see what good comes ofsending her to school. If she should get converted she would have to goto meeting: at least, as long as James lives. I wish he had not suchqueer notions about her. It seems to trouble him to know he must die andleave her. He says if he should get well he would take her home withhim, or educate her here. Oh, how awful! What can the child mean? Socareful, too, of her! He says we shall ruin her health making her workso hard, and sleep in such a place. O, John! do you think he is in hisright mind?"

"Yes, yes; she is slender."

"Yes, YES!" she repeated sarcastically, "you know these niggers are justlike black snakes; you CAN'T kill them. If she wasn't tough she wouldhave been killed long ago. There was never one of my girls could do halfthe work."

"Did they ever try?" interposed her husband. "I think she can do morethan all of them together."

"What a man!" said she, peevishly. "But I want to know what is going tobe done with her about getting pious?"

"Let her do just as she has a mind to. If it is a comfort to her, lether enjoy the privilege of being good. I see no objection."

"I should think YOU were crazy, sure. Don't you know that every nightshe will want to go toting off to meeting? and Sundays, too? and youknow 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 othersthere? Why, according to you and James, we should very soon have her inthe parlor, as smart as our own girls. It's of no use talking to you orJames. If you should go on as you would like, it would not be six monthsbefore she would be leaving me; and that won't do. Just think how muchprofit she was to us last summer. We had no work hired out; she did thework of two girls—"

"And got the whippings for two with it!" remarked Mr. Bellmont.

"I'll beat the money out of her, if I can't get her worth any otherway," retorted Mrs. B. sharply. While this scene was passing, Frado wastrying to utter the prayer of the publican, "God be merciful to me asinner."

CHAPTER IX.

DEATH.

    We have now
    But a small portion of what men call time,
    To hold communion.

SPRING opened, and James, instead of rallying, as was hoped, grew worsedaily. Aunt Abby and Frado were the constant allies of Susan. Mrs.Bellmont 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. Shehad thrown out many a hint to detain her from so often visiting thesick-room; but Aunt Abby was too well accustomed to her ways to mindthem. After various unsuccessful efforts, she resorted to the followingexpedient. 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 upperentry.

"James does not want to see you, or any one else," she said.

Aunt Abby hesitated, and returned slowly to her own room; wondering ifit were really James' wish not to see her. She did not venture againthat day, but still felt disturbed and anxious about him. She inquiredof Frado, and learned that he was no worse. She asked her if James didnot 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 tiredhim."

"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 hope 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 makeno 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 herabsence. The family were at dinner, and Frado was watching beside him.He inquired the cause of her absence, and SHE told him all. After thefamily returned he sent his wife for her. When she entered, he took herhand, and said, "Come to me often, Aunt. Come any time,—I am alwaysglad 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."

Frado was called in, and Susan and Mrs. B. all attempted; Mrs. B. wastoo weak; she did not feel able to lift so much. So the three succeededin relieving the sufferer.

Frado returned to her work. Mrs. B. followed. Seizing Frado, she saidshe would "cure her of tale-bearing," and, placing the wedge of woodbetween her teeth, she beat her cruelly with the raw-hide. Aunt Abbyheard the blows, and came to see if she could hinder them.

Surprised at her sudden appearance, Mrs. B. suddenly stopped, butforbade her removing the wood till she gave her permission, andcommanded Nab to go home.

She was thus tortured when Mr. Bellmont came in, and, making inquirieswhich she did not, because she could not, answer, approached her; andseeing her situation, quickly removed the instrument of torture, andsought his wife. Their conversation we will omit; suffice it to say, astorm raged which required many days to exhaust its strength.

Frado was becoming seriously ill. She had no relish for food, and wasconstantly overworked, and then she had such solicitude about thefuture. She wished to pray for pardon. She did try to pray. Her mistresshad told her it would "do no good for her to attempt prayer; prayer wasfor whites, not for blacks. If she minded her mistress, and did what shecommanded, it was all that was required of her."

This did not satisfy her, or appease her longings. She knew herinstructions did not harmonize with those of the man of God or AuntAbby's. She resolved to persevere. She said nothing on the subject,unless asked. It was evident to all her mind was deeply exercised. Jameslonged to speak with her alone on the subject. An opportunity presentedsoon, while the family were at tea. It was usual to summon Aunt Abby tokeep company with her, as his death was expected hourly.

As she took her accustomed seat, he asked, "Are you afraid to stay withme alone, Frado?"

"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, Frado! I want to tell you that I fear I shall neverbe able to talk with you again. It is the last time, perhaps, I shallEVER talk with you. You are old enough to remember my dying words andprofit 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 melive I should take you to live with me; but, as it is, I shall go andleave you. But, Frado, if you will be a good girl, and love and serveGod, it will be but a short time before we are in a HEAVENLY hometogether. There will never be any sickness or sorrow there."

Frado, overcome with grief, sobbed, and buried her face in his pillow.She expected he would die; but to hear him speak of his departurehimself was unexpected.

"Bid me good bye, Frado."

She kissed him, and sank on her knees by his bedside; his hand rested onher head; his eyes were closed; his lips moved in prayer for thisdisconsolate child.

His wife entered, and interpreting the scene, gave him somerestoratives, and withdrew for a short time.

It was a great effort for Frado to cease sobbing; but she dared not beseen below in tears; so she choked her grief, and descended to her usualtoil. Susan perceived a change in her husband. She felt that death wasnear.

He tenderly looked on her, and said, "Susan, my wife, our farewells areall spoken. I feel prepared to go. I shall meet you in heaven. Death isindeed creeping fast upon me. Let me see them all once more. TeachCharlie the way to heaven; lead him up as you come."

The family all assembled. He could not talk as he wished to them. Heseemed to sink into unconsciousness. They watched him for hours. He hadlabored hard for breath some time, when he seemed to awake suddenly, andexclaimed, "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 atrest!"

As if waiting for this petition, the Angel of Death severed the goldenthread, and he was in heaven. At midnight the messenger came.

They called Frado to see his last struggle. Sinking on her knees at thefoot of his bed, she buried her face in the clothes, and wept like oneinconsolable. They led her from the room. She seemed to be too muchabsorbed to know it was necessary for her to leave. Next day she wouldsteal 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 anautomaton. Every duty performed—but an abstraction from all, whichshewed her thoughts were busied elsewhere. Susan wished her to attendhis burial as one of the family. Lewis and Mary and Jack it was notthought best to send for, as the season would not allow them time forthe journey. Susan provided her with a dress for the occasion, which washer first intimation that she would be allowed to mingle her grief withothers.

The day of the burial she was attired in her mourning dress; but Susan,in her grief, had forgotten a bonnet.

She hastily ransacked the closets, and found one of Mary's, trimmed withbright pink ribbon.

It was too late to change the ribbon, and she was unwilling to leaveFrado at home; she knew it would be the wish of James she should go withher. So tying it on, she said, "Never mind, Frado, you shall see whereour dear James is buried." As she passed out, she heard the whispers ofthe by-standers, "Look there! see there! how that looks,—a black dressand a pink ribbon!"

Another time, such remarks would have wounded Frado. She had now asorrow with which such were small in comparison.

As she saw his body lowered in the grave she wished to share it; but shewas not fit to die. She could not go where he was if she did. She didnot love God; she did not serve him or know how to.

She retired at night to mourn over her unfitness for heaven, and gazeout upon the stars, which, she felt, studded the entrance of heaven,above which James reposed in the bosom of Jesus, to which her desireswere hastening. She wished she could see God, and ask him for eternallife. Aunt Abby had taught her that He was ever looking upon her. Oh, ifshe could see him, or hear him speak words of forgiveness. Her anxietyincreased; her health seemed impaired, and she felt constrained to go toAunt Abby and tell her all about her conflicts.

She received her like a returning wanderer; seriously urged her toaccept of Christ; explained the way; read to her from the Bible, andremarked upon such passages as applied to her state. She warned heragainst stifling that voice which was calling her to heaven; echoed thefarewell words of James, and told her to come to her with herdifficulties, and not to delay a duty so important as attention to thetruths of religion, and her soul's interests.

Mrs. Bellmont 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 seehim?"

Mrs. B. seldom mentioned her bereavement, unless in such allusion toFrado. She donned her weeds from custom; kept close her crape veil forso many Sabbaths, and abated nothing of her characteristic harshness.

The clergyman called to minister consolation to the afflicted widow andmother. Aunt Abby seeing him approach the dwelling, knew at once theobject of his visit, and followed him to the parlor, unasked by Mrs. B!What a daring affront! The good man dispensed the consolations, of whichhe was steward, to the apparently grief-smitten mother, who talked likeone schooled in a heavenly atmosphere. Such resignation expressed, asmight have graced the trial of the holiest. Susan, like a mute sufferer,bared her soul to his sympathy and godly counsel, but only replied tohis questions in short syllables. When he offered prayer, Frado stole tothe door that she might hear of the heavenly bliss of one who was herfriend on earth. The prayer caused profuse weeping, as any tenderreminder of the heaven-born was sure to. When the good man's voiceceased, she returned to her toil, carefully removing all trace ofsorrow. Her mistress soon followed, irritated by Nab's impudence inpresenting herself unasked in the parlor, and upbraided her withindolence, and bade her apply herself more diligently. Stung byunmerited rebuke, weak from sorrow and anxiety, the tears rolled downher dark face, soon followed by sobs, and then losing all control ofherself, she wept aloud. This was an act of disobedience. Her mistressgrasping her raw-hide, caused a longer flow of tears, and wounded aspirit that was craving healing mercies.

CHAPTER X.

PERPLEXITIES.—ANOTHER DEATH.

    Neath the billows of the ocean,
    Hidden treasures wait the hand,
    That again to light shall raise them
    With the diver's magic wand.

G. W. COOK.

THE family, gathered by James' decease, returned to their homes. Susanand Charles returned to Baltimore. Letters were received from theabsent, expressing their sympathy and grief. The father bowed like a"bruised reed," under the loss of his beloved son. He felt desirous todie the death of the righteous; also, conscious that he was unprepared,he resolved to start on the narrow way, and some time solicit entrancethrough the gate which leads to the celestial city. He acknowledged histoo ready acquiescence with Mrs. B., in permitting Frado to be deprivedof her only religious privileges for weeks together. He accordinglyasked his sister to take her to meeting once more, which she was readyat once to do.

The first opportunity they once more attended meeting together. Theminister conversed faithfully with every person present. He wassurprised to find the little colored girl so solicitous, and kindlydirected her to the flowing fountain where she might wash and be clean.He inquired of the origin of her anxiety, of her progress up to thistime, and endeavored to make Christ, instead of James, the attraction ofHeaven. He invited her to come to his house, to speak freely her mind tohim, to pray much, to read her Bible often.

The neighbors, who were at meeting,—among them Mrs. Reed,—discussedthe opinions Mrs. Bellmont would express on the subject. Mrs. Reedcalled and informed Mrs. B. that her colored girl "related herexperience the other night at the meeting."

"What experience?" asked she, quickly, as if she expected to hear thenumber of times she had whipped Frado, and the number of lashes setforth in plain Arabic numbers.

"Why, you know she is serious, don't you? She told the minister aboutit."

Mrs. B. made no reply, but changed the subject adroitly. Next morningshe told Frado she "should not go out of the house for one while, excepton errands; and if she did not stop trying to be religious, she wouldwhip her to death."

Frado pondered; her mistress was a professor of religion; was SHE goingto heaven? then she did not wish to go. If she should be near James,even, she could not be happy with those fiery eyes watching herascending path. She resolved to give over all thought of the futureworld, and strove daily to put her anxiety far from her.

Mr. Bellmont found himself unable to do what James or Jack couldaccomplish for her. He talked with her seriously, told her he had seenher many times punished undeservedly; he did not wish to have her saucyor disrespectful, but when she was SURE she did not deserve a whipping,to avoid it if she could. "You are looking sick," he added, "you cannotendure beating as you once could."

It was not long before an opportunity offered of profiting by hisadvice. She was sent for wood, and not returning as soon as Mrs. B.calculated, she followed her, and, snatching from the pile a stick,raised it over her.

"Stop!" shouted Frado, "strike me, and I'll never work a mite more foryou;" and throwing down what she had gathered, stood like one who feelsthe stirring of free and independent thoughts.

By this unexpected demonstration, her mistress, in amazement, droppedher weapon, desisting from her purpose of chastisement. Frado walkedtowards the house, her mistress following with the wood she herself wassent after. She did not know, before, that she had a power to ward offassaults. Her triumph in seeing her enter the door with HER burden,repaid her for much of her former suffering.

It was characteristic of Mrs. B. never to rise in her majesty, unlessshe was sure she should be victorious.

This affair never met with an "after clap," like many others.

Thus passed a year. The usual amount of scolding, but fewer whippings.Mrs. B. longed once more for Mary's return, who had been absent over ayear; and she wrote imperatively for her to come quickly to her. Aletter came in reply, announcing that she would comply as soon as shewas sufficiently recovered from an illness which detained her.

No serious apprehensions were cherished by either parent, who constantlylooked for notice of her arrival, by mail. Another letter broughttidings that Mary was seriously ill; her mother's presence wassolicited.

She started without delay. Before she reached her destination, a lettercame to the parents announcing her death.

No sooner was the astounding news received, than Frado rushed into Aunt
Abby's, exclaiming:—

"She's dead, Aunt Abby!"

"Who?" she asked, terrified by the unprefaced announcement.

"Mary; they've just had a letter."

As Mrs. B. was away, the brother and sister could freely sympathize, andshe sought him in this fresh sorrow, to communicate such solace as shecould, and to learn particulars of Mary's untimely death, and assist himin his journey thither.

It seemed a thanksgiving to Frado. Every hour or two she would pop ininto Aunt Abby's room with some strange query:

"She got into the RIVER again, Aunt Abby, didn't she; the Jordan is abig one to tumble into, any how. S'posen she goes to hell, she'll be asblack as I am. Wouldn't mistress be mad to see her a nigger!" and othersof a similar stamp, not at all acceptable to the pious, sympatheticdame; but she could not evade them.

The family returned from their sorrowful journey, leaving the deadbehind. Nig looked for a change in her tyrant; what could subdue her, ifthe loss of her idol could not?

Never was Mrs. B. known to shed tears so profusely, as when shereiterated to one and another the sad particulars of her darling'ssickness and death. There was, indeed, a season of quiet grief; it wasthe lull of the fiery elements. A few weeks revived the former tempests,and so at variance did they seem with chastisement sanctified, thatFrado felt them to be unbearable. She determined to flee. But where? Whowould take her? Mrs. B. had always represented her ugly. Perhaps everyone thought her so. Then no one would take her. She was black, no onewould love her. She might have to return, and then she would be more inher mistress' power than ever.

She remembered her victory at the wood-pile. She decided to remain to doas well as she could; to assert her rights when they were trampled on;to return once more to her meeting in the evening, which had beenprohibited. She had learned how to conquer; she would not abuse thepower while Mr. Bellmont was at home.

But had she not better run away? Where? She had never been from theplace far enough to decide what course to take. She resolved to speak toAunt Abby. SHE mapped the dangers of her course, her liability to failin finding so good friends as John and herself. Frado's mind was busyfor days and nights. She contemplated administering poison to hermistress, to rid herself and the house of so detestable a plague.

But she was restrained by an overruling Providence; and finally decidedto stay contentedly through her period of service, which would expirewhen she was eighteen years of age.

In a few months Jane returned home with her family, to relieve herparents, upon whom years and affliction had left the marks of age. Theyears intervening since she had left her home, had, in some degree,softened the opposition to her unsanctioned marriage with George. Themore Mrs. B. had about her, the more energetic seemed her directingcapabilities, and her fault-finding propensities. Her own, she had fullpower over; and Jane after vain endeavors, became disgusted, weary, andperplexed, and decided that, though her mother might suffer, she couldnot endure her home. They followed Jack to the West. Thus vanished allhopes of sympathy or relief from this source to Frado. There seemed noone capable of enduring the oppressions of the house but her. She turnedto the darkness of the future with the determination previously formed,to remain until she should be eighteen. Jane begged her to follow her sosoon as she should be released; but so wearied out was she by hermistress, she felt disposed to flee from any and every one having hersimilitude of name or feature.

CHAPTER XI.

MARRIAGE AGAIN.

    Crucified the hopes that cheered me,
    All that to the earth endeared me;
    Love of wealth and fame and power,
    Love,—all have been crucified.

C. E.

DARKNESS before day. Jane left, but Jack was now to come again. AfterMary's death he visited home, leaving a wife behind. An orphan whosehome was with a relative, gentle, loving, the true mate of kind,generous Jack. His mother was a stranger to her, of course, and hadperfect right to interrogate:

"Is she good looking, Jack?" asked his mother.

"Looks well to me," was the laconic reply.

"Was her FATHER rich?"

"Not worth a copper, as I know of; I never asked him," answered Jack.

"Hadn't she any property? What did you marry her for," asked his mother.

"Oh, she's WORTH A MILLION dollars, mother, though not a cent of it isin money."

"Jack! what do you want to bring such a poor being into the family, for?You'd better stay here, at home, and let your wife go. Why couldn't youtry to do better, and not disgrace your parents?"

"Don't judge, till you see her," was Jack's reply, and immediatelychanged the subject. It was no recommendation to his mother, and she didnot feel prepared to welcome her cordially now he was to come with hiswife. He was indignant at his mother's advice to desert her. It rankledbitterly in his soul, the bare suggestion. He had more to bring. He nowcame with a child also. He decided to leave the West, but not hisfamily.

Upon their arrival, Mrs. B. extended a cold welcome to her new daughter,eyeing her dress with closest scrutiny. Poverty was to her a disgrace,and she could not associate with any thus dishonored. This coldness wasfelt by Jack's worthy wife, who only strove the harder to recommendherself by her obliging, winning ways.

Mrs. B. could never let Jack be with her alone without complaining ofthis or that deficiency in his wife.

He cared not so long as the complaints were piercing his own ears. Hewould not have Jenny disquieted. He passed his time in seekingemployment.

A letter came from his brother Lewis, then at the South, soliciting hisservices. Leaving his wife, he repaired thither.

Mrs. B. felt that great restraint was removed, that Jenny was more inher own power. She wished to make her feel her inferiority; to relieveJack of his burden if he would not do it himself. She watched herincessantly, to catch at some act of Jenny's which might be construedinto conjugal unfaithfulness.

Near by were a family of cousins, one a young man of Jack's age, who,from love to his cousin, proffered all needful courtesy to his strangerrelative. Soon news reached Jack that Jenny was deserting her covenantvows, and had formed an illegal intimacy with his cousin. Meantime Jennywas told by her mother-inlaw that Jack did not marry her untrammelled.He had another love whom he would be glad, even now, if he could, tomarry. It was very doubtful if he ever came for her.

Jenny would feel pained by her unwelcome gossip, and, glancing at herchild, she decided, however true it might be, she had a pledge whichwould enchain him yet. Ere long, the mother's inveterate hate crept outinto some neighbor's enclosure, and, caught up hastily, they passed thesecret round till it became none, and Lewis was sent for, the brother bywhom Jack was employed. The neighbors saw her fade in health andspirits; they found letters never reached their destination when sent byeither. Lewis arrived with the joyful news that he had come to takeJenny home with him.

What a relief to her to be freed from the gnawing taunts of heradversary.

Jenny retired to prepare for the journey, and Mrs. B. and Henry had along interview. Next morning he informed Jenny that new clothes would benecessary, in order to make her presentable to Baltimore society, and heshould return without her, and she must stay till she was suitablyattired.

Disheartened, she rushed to her room, and, after relief from weeping,wrote to Jack to come; to have pity on her, and take her to him. Noanswer came. Mrs. Smith, a neighbor, watchful and friendly, suggestedthat she write away from home, and employ some one to carry it to theoffice who would elude Mrs. B., who, they very well knew, hadintercepted Jenny's letter, and influenced Lewis to leave her behind.She accepted the offer, and Frado succeeded in managing the affair sothat Jack soon came to the rescue, angry, wounded, and forever afteralienated from his early home and his mother. Many times would Fradosteal up into Jenny's room, when she knew she was tortured by hermistress' malignity, and tell some of her own encounters with her, andtell her she might "be sure it wouldn't kill her, for she should havedied long before at the same treatment."

Susan and her child succeeded Jenny as visitors. Frado had merged intowomanhood, and, retaining what she had learned, in spite of the fewprivileges enjoyed formerly, was striving to enrich her mind. Herschool-books were her constant companions, and every leisure moment wasapplied to them. Susan was delighted to witness her progress, and somelittle book from her was a reward sufficient for any task imposed,however difficult. She had her book always fastened open near her, whereshe could glance from toil to soul refreshment. The approaching springwould close the term of years which Mrs. B. claimed as the period of herservitude. Often as she passed the waymarks of former years did shepause to ponder on her situation, and wonder if she COULD succeed inproviding for her own wants. Her health was delicate, yet she resolvedto try.

Soon she counted the time by days which should release her. Mrs. B. feltthat she could not well spare one who could so well adapt herself to alldepartments—man, boy, housekeeper, domestic, etc. She begged Mrs. Smithto talk with her, to show her how ungrateful it would appear to leave ahome of such comfort—how wicked it was to be ungrateful! But Fradoreplied that she had had enough of such comforts; she wanted some newones; and as it was so wicked to be ungrateful, she would go fromtemptation; Aunt Abby said "we mustn't put ourselves in the way oftemptation."

Poor little Fido! She shed more tears over him than over all beside.

The morning for departure dawned. Frado engaged to work for a family amile distant. Mrs. Bellmont dismissed her with the assurance that shewould soon wish herself back again, and a present of a silverhalf-dollar.

Her wardrobe consisted of one decent dress, without any superfluousaccompaniments. A Bible from Susan she felt was her greatest treasure.

Now was she alone in the world. The past year had been one of sufferingresulting from a fall, which had left her lame.

The first summer passed pleasantly, and the wages earned were expendedin garments necessary for health and cleanliness. Though feeble, she waswell satisfied with her progress. Shut up in her room, after her toilwas finished, she studied what poor samples of apparel she had, and, forthe first time, prepared her own garments.

Mrs. Moore, who employed her, was a kind friend to her, and attempted toheal her wounded spirit by sympathy and advice, burying the past in theprospects of the future. But her failing health was a cloud no kindlyhuman hand could dissipate. A little light work was all she couldaccomplish. A clergyman, whose family was small, sought her, and she wasremoved there. Her engagement with Mrs. Moore finished in the fall.Frado was anxious to keep up her reputation for efficiency, and oftenpressed far beyond prudence. In the winter she entirely gave up work,and confessed herself thoroughly sick. Mrs. Hale, soon overcome byadditional cares, was taken sick also, and now it became necessary toadopt some measures for Frado's comfort, as well as to relieve Mrs.Hale. Such dark forebodings as visited her as she lay, solitary and sad,no moans or sighs could relieve.

The family physician pronounced her case one of doubtful issue. Fradohoped it was final. She could not feel relentings that her former homewas abandoned, and yet, should she be in need of succor could she obtainit from one who would now so grudgingly bestow it? The family wereapplied to, and it was decided to take her there. She was removed to aroom built out from the main building, used formerly as a workshop,where cold and rain found unobstructed access, and here she fought withbitter reminiscences and future prospects till she became reckless ofher faith and hopes and person, and half wished to end what natureseemed so tardily to take.

Aunt Abby made her frequent visits, and at last had her removed to herown apartment, where she might supply her wants, and minister to heronce more in heavenly things.

Then came the family consultation.

"What is to be done with her," asked Mrs. B., "after she is moved therewith Nab?"

"Send for the Dr., your brother," Mr. B. replied.

"When?"

"To-night."

"To-night! and for her! Wait till morning," she continued.

"She has waited too long now; I think something should be done soon."

"I doubt if she is much sick," sharply interrupted Mrs. B.

"Well, we'll see what our brother thinks."

His coming was longed for by Frado, who had known him well during herlong sojourn in the family; and his praise of her nice butter andcheese, from which his table was supplied, she knew he felt as well asspoke.

"You're sick, very sick," he said, quickly, after a moment's pause."Take good care of her, Abby, or she'll never get well. All brokendown."

"Yes, it was at Mrs. Moore's," said Mrs. B., "all this was done. She didbut little the latter part of the time she was here."

"It was commenced longer ago than last summer. Take good care of her;she may never get well," remarked the Dr.

"We sha'n't pay you for doctoring her; you may look to the town forthat, sir," said Mrs. B., and abruptly left the room.

"Oh dear! oh dear!" exclaimed Frado, and buried her face in the pillow.

A few kind words of consolation, and she was once more alone in thedarkness which enveloped her previous days. Yet she felt sure they owedher a shelter and attention, when disabled, and she resolved to feelpatient, and remain till she could help herself. Mrs. B. would notattend her, nor permit her domestic to stay with her at all. Aunt Abbywas her sole comforter. Aunt Abby's nursing had the desired effect, andshe slowly improved. As soon as she was able to be moved, the kind Mrs.Moore took her to her home again, and completed what Aunt Abby had sowell commenced. Not that she was well, or ever would be; but she hadrecovered so far as rendered it hopeful she might provide for her ownwants. The clergyman at whose house she was taken sick, was now seekingsome one to watch his sick children, and as soon as he heard of herrecovery, again asked for her services.

What seemed so light and easy to others, was too much for Frado; and itbecame necessary to ask once more where the sick should find an asylum.

All felt that the place where her declining health began, should be theplace of relief; so they applied once more for a shelter.

"No," exclaimed the indignant Mrs. B., "she shall never come under thisroof again; never! never!" she repeated, as if each repetition were abolt to prevent admission.

One only resource; the public must pay the expense. So she was removedto the home of two maidens, (old,) who had principle enough to bewilling to earn the money a charitable public disburses.

Three years of weary sickness wasted her, without extinguishing a lifeapparently so feeble. Two years had these maidens watched and cared forher, and they began to weary, and finally to request the authorities toremove her.

Mrs. Hoggs was a lover of gold and silver, and she asked the favor offilling her coffers by caring for the sick. The removal caused severesickness.

By being bolstered in the bed, after a time she could use her hands, andoften would ask for sewing to beguile the tedium. She had become veryexpert with her needle the first year of her release from Mrs. B., andshe had forgotten none of her skill. Mrs. H. praised her, and as sheimproved in health, was anxious to employ her. She told her she could inthis way replace her clothes, and as her board would be paid for, shewould thus gain something.

Many times her hands wrought when her body was in pain; but the hopethat she might yet help herself, impelled her on.

Thus she reckoned her store of means by a few dollars, and was hopingsoon to come in possession, when she was startled by the announcementthat Mrs. Hoggs had reported her to the physician and town officers asan impostor. That she was, in truth, able to get up and go to work.

This brought on a severe sickness of two weeks, when Mrs. Moore againsought her, and took her to her home. She had formerly had wealth at hercommand, but misfortune had deprived her of it, and unlocked her heartto sympathies and favors she had never known while it lasted. Herhusband, defrauded of his last means by a branch of the Bellmont family,had supported them by manual labor, gone to the West, and left his wifeand four young children. But she felt humanity required her to give ashelter to one she knew to be worthy of a hospitable reception. Mrs.Moore's physician was called, and pronounced her a very sick girl, andencouraged Mrs. M. to keep her and care for her, and he would see thatthe authorities were informed of Frado's helplessness, and pledgedassistance.

Here she remained till sufficiently restored to sew again. Then came theold resolution to take care of herself, to cast off the unpleasantcharities of the public.

She learned that in some towns in Massachusetts, girls make strawbonnets—that it was easy and profitable. But how should SHE, black,feeble and poor, find any one to teach her. But God prepares the way,when human agencies see no path. Here was found a plain, poor, simplewoman, who could see merit beneath a dark skin; and when the invalidmulatto told her sorrows, she opened her door and her heart, and tookthe stranger in. Expert with the needle, Frado soon equalled herinstructress; and she sought also to teach her the value of usefulbooks; and while one read aloud to the other of deeds historic and namesrenowned, Frado experienced a new impulse. She felt herself capable ofelevation; she felt that this book information supplied an undefineddissatisfaction she had long felt, but could not express. Every leisuremoment was carefully applied to self-improvement, and a devout andChristian exterior invited confidence from the villagers. Thus shepassed months of quiet, growing in the confidence of her neighbors andnew found friends.

CHAPTER XII.

THE WINDING UP OF THE MATTER.

Nothing new under the sun.

SOLOMON.

A FEW years ago, within the compass of my narrative, there appearedoften in some of our New England villages, professed fugitives fromslavery, who recounted their personal experience in homely phrase, andawakened the indignation of non-slaveholders against brother Pro. Such aone appeared in the new home of Frado; and as people of color were rarethere, was it strange she should attract her dark brother; that heshould inquire her out; succeed in seeing her; feel a strange sensationin his heart towards her; that he should toy with her shining curls,feel proud to provoke her to smile and expose the ivory concealed bythin, ruby lips; that her sparkling eyes should fascinate; that heshould propose; that they should marry? A short acquaintance was indeedan objection, but she saw him often, and thought she knew him. He neverspoke of his enslavement to her when alone, but she felt that, like herown oppression, it was painful to disturb oftener than was needful.

He was a fine, straight negro, whose back showed no marks of the lash,erect as if it never crouched beneath a burden. There was a silentsympathy which Frado felt attracted her, and she opened her heart to thepresence of love—that arbitrary and inexorable tyrant.

She removed to Singleton, her former residence, and there was married.Here were Frado's first feelings of trust and repose on human arm. Sherealized, for the first time, the relief of looking to another forcomfortable support. Occasionally he would leave her to "lecture."

Those tours were prolonged often to weeks. Of course he had little sparemoney. Frado was again feeling her self-dependence, and was at lastcompelled to resort alone to that. Samuel was kind to her when at home,but made no provision for his absence, which was at last unprecedented.

He left her to her fate—embarked at sea, with the disclosure that hehad never seen the South, and that his illiterate harangues were humbugsfor hungry abolitionists. Once more alone! Yet not alone. A still newercompanionship would soon force itself upon her. No one wanted her withsuch prospects. Herself was burden enough; who would have an additionalone?

The horrors of her condition nearly prostrated her, and she was againthrown upon the public for sustenance. Then followed the birth of herchild. The long absent Samuel unexpectedly returned, and rescued herfrom charity. Recovering from her expected illness, she once morecommenced toil for herself and child, in a room obtained of a poorwoman, but with better fortune. One so well known would not be whollyneglected. Kind friends watched her when Samuel was from home, preventedher from suffering, and when the cold weather pinched the warmly clad, akind friend took them in, and thus preserved them. At last Samuel'sbusiness became very engrossing, and after long desertion, news reachedhis family that he had become a victim of yellow fever, in New Orleans.

So much toil as was necessary to sustain Frado, was more than she couldendure. As soon as her babe could be nourished without his mother, sheleft him in charge of a Mrs. Capon, and procured an agency, hoping torecruit her health, and gain an easier livelihood for herself and child.This afforded her better maintenance than she had yet found. She passedinto the various towns of the State she lived in, then intoMassachusetts. Strange were some of her adventures. Watched bykidnappers, maltreated by professed abolitionists, who didn't wantslaves at the South, nor niggers in their own houses, North. Faugh! tolodge one; to eat with one; to admit one through the front door; to sitnext one; awful!

Traps slyly laid by the vicious to ensnare her, she resolutely avoided.In one of her tours, Providence favored her with a friend who, pityingher cheerless lot, kindly provided her with a valuable recipe, fromwhich she might herself manufacture a useful article for hermaintenance. This proved a more agreeable, and an easier way ofsustenance.

And thus, to the present time, may you see her busily employed inpreparing her merchandise; then sallying forth to encounter many frowns,but some kind friends and purchasers. Nothing turns her from hersteadfast purpose of elevating herself. Reposing on God, she has thusfar journeyed securely. Still an invalid, she asks your sympathy, gentlereader. Refuse not, because some part of her history is unknown, save bythe Omniscient God. Enough has been unrolled to demand your sympathy andaid.

Do you ask the destiny of those connected with her EARLY history? A fewyears only have elapsed since Mr. and Mrs. B. passed into another world.As age increased, Mrs. B. became more irritable, so that no one, evenher own children, could remain with her; and she was accompanied by herhusband to the home of Lewis, where, after an agony in deathunspeakable, she passed away. Only a few months since, Aunt Abby enteredheaven. Jack and his wife rest in heaven, disturbed by no intruders; andSusan and her child are yet with the living. Jane has silver locks inplace of auburn tresses, but she has the early love of Henry still, andhas never regretted her exchange of lovers. Frado has passed from theirmemories, as Joseph from the butler's, but she will never cease to trackthem till beyond mortal vision.

APPENDIX.

"TRUTH is stranger than fiction;" and whoever reads the narrative of
Alfrado, will find the assertion verified.

About eight years ago I became acquainted with the author of this book,and I feel it a privilege to speak a few words in her behalf. Throughthe instrumentality of an itinerant colored lecturer, she was brought toW——-, Mass. This is an ancient town, where the mothers and daughtersseek, not "wool and flax," but STRAW,—working willingly with theirhands! Here she was introduced to the family of Mrs. Walker, who kindlyconsented to receive her as an inmate of her household, and immediatelysucceeded in procuring work for her as a "straw sewer." Being veryingenious, she soon acquired the art of making hats; but on account offormer hard treatment, her constitution was greatly impaired, and shewas subject to seasons of sickness. On this account Mrs. W. gave her aroom joining her own chamber, where she could hear her faintest call.Never shall I forget the expression of her "black, but comely" face, asshe came to me one day, exclaiming, "O, aunt J——-, I have at lastfound a HOME,—and not only a home, but a MOTHER. My cup runneth over.What shall I render to the Lord for all his benefits?"

Months passed on, and she was HAPPY—truly happy. Her health began toimprove under the genial sunshine in which she lived, and she evenlooked forward with HOPE—joyful hope to the future. But, alas, "it isnot in man that walketh to direct his steps." One beautiful morning inthe early spring of 1842, as she was taking her usual walk, she chancedto meet her old friend, the "lecturer," who brought her to W——-, andwith him was a fugitive slave. Young, well-formed and very handsome, hesaid he had been a HOUSE-servant, which seemed to account in some measurefor his gentlemanly manners and pleasing address. The meeting wasentirely accidental; but it was a sad occurrence for poor Alfrado, asher own sequel tells. Suffice it to say, an acquaintance and attachmentwas formed, which, in due time, resulted in marriage. In a few days sheleft W——-, and ALL her home comforts, and took up her abode in NewHampshire. For a while everything went on well, and she dreamed not ofdanger; but in an evil hour he left his young and trusting wife, andembarked for sea. She knew nothing of all this, and waited for hisreturn. But she waited in vain. Days passed, weeks passed, and he camenot; then her heart failed her. She felt herself deserted at a time,when, of all others, she most needed the care and soothing attentions ofa devoted husband. For a time she tried to sustain HERSELF, but this wasimpossible. She had friends, but they were mostly of that class who arepoor in the things of earth, but "rich in faith." The charity on whichshe depended failed at last, and there was nothing to save her from the"County House;" GO SHE MUST. But her feelings on her way thither, andafter her arrival, can be given better in her own language; and I trustit will be no breach of confidence if I here insert part of a letter shewrote her mother Walker, concerning the matter.

* * * "The evening before I left for my dreaded journey to the 'house'which was to be my abode, I packed my trunk, carefully placing in itevery little memento of affection received from YOU and my friends inW——-, among which was the portable inkstand, pens and paper. Mybeautiful little Bible was laid aside, as a place nearer my heart wasreserved for that. I need not tell you I slept not a moment that night.My home, my peaceful, quiet home with you, was before me. I could see mydear little room, with its pleasant eastern window opening to themorning; but more than all, I beheld YOU, my mother, gliding softly inand kneeling by my bed to read, as no one but you CAN read, 'The Lord ismy shepherd,—I shall not want.' But I cannot go on, for tears blind me.For a description of the morning, and of the scant breakfast, I mustwait until another time.

"We started. The man who came for me was kind as he could be,—helped mecarefully into the wagon, (for I had no strength,) and drove on. Formiles I spoke not a word. Then the silence would be broken by the driveruttering some sort of word the horse seemed to understand; for heinvariably quickened his pace. And so, just before nightfall, we haltedat the institution, prepared for the HOMELESS. With cold civility thematron received me, and bade one of the inmates shew me my room. She didso; and I followed up two flights of stairs. I crept as I was able; andwhen she said, 'Go in there,' I obeyed, asking for my trunk, which wassoon placed by me. My room was furnished some like the 'prophet'schamber,' except there was no 'candlestick;' so when I could creep downI begged for a light, and it was granted. Then I flung myself on the bedand cried, until I could cry no longer. I rose up and tried to pray; theSaviour seemed near. I opened my precious little Bible, and the firstverse that caught my eye was—'I am poor and needy, yet the Lordthinketh upon me.' O, my mother, could I tell you the comfort this wasto me. I sat down, calm, almost happy, took my pen and wrote on theinspiration of the moment—

    "O, holy Father, by thy power,
    Thus far in life I'm brought;
    And now in this dark, trying hour,
    O God, forsake me not.

    "Dids't thou not nourish and sustain
    My infancy and youth?
    Have I not testimonials plain,
    Of thy unchanging truth?

    "Though I've no home to call my own,
    My heart shall not repine;
    The saint may live on earth unknown,
    And yet in glory shine.

    "When my Redeemer dwelt below,
    He chose a lowly lot;
    He came unto his own, but lo!
    His own received him not.

    "Oft was the mountain his abode,
    The cold, cold earth his bed;
    The midnight moon shone softly down
    On his unsheltered head.

"But MY head WAS SHELTERED, and I tried to feel thankful."

Two or three letters were received after this by her friends in W——-,and then all was silent. No one of us knew whether she still lived orhad gone to her home on high. But it seems she remained in this houseuntil after the birth of her babe; then her faithless husband returned,and took her to some town in New Hampshire, where, for a time, hesupported her and his little son decently well. But again he left her asbefore—suddenly and unexpectedly, and she saw him no more. Her effortswere again successful in a measure in securing a meagre maintenance fora time; but her struggles with poverty and sickness were severe. Atlength, a door of hope was opened. A kind gentleman and lady took herlittle boy into their own family, and provided everything necessary forhis good; and all this without the hope of remuneration. But let themknow, they shall be "recompensed at the resurrection of the just." Godis not unmindful of this work,—this labor of love. As for the afflictedmother, she too has been remembered. The heart of a stranger was movedwith compassion, and bestowed a recipe upon her for restoring gray hairto its former color. She availed herself of this great help, and hasbeen quite successful; but her health is again falling, and she has feltherself obliged to resort to another method of procuring her bread—thatof writing an Autobiography.

I trust she will find a ready sale for her interesting work; and let allthe friends who purchase a volume, remember they are doing good to oneof the most worthy, and I had almost said most unfortunate, of the humanfamily. I will only add in conclusion, a few lines, calculated tocomfort and strengthen this sorrowful, homeless one. "I will help thee,saith the Lord."

    "I will help thee," promise kind
    Made by our High Priest above;
    Soothing to the troubled mind,
    Full of tenderness and love.

    "I will help thee" when the storm
    Gathers dark on every side;
    Safely from impending harm,
    In my sheltering bosom hide.

    "I will help thee," weary saint,
    Cast thy burdens ALL ON ME;
    Oh, how cans't thou tire or faint,
    While my arm encircles thee.

    I have pitied every tear,
    Heard and COUNTED every sigh;
    Ever lend a gracious ear
    To thy supplicating cry.
    What though thy wounded bosom bleed,
    Pierced by affliction's dart;
    Do I not all thy sorrows heed,
    And bear thee on my heart?
    Soon will the lowly grave become
    Thy quiet resting place;
    Thy spirit find a peaceful home
    In mansions NEAR MY FACE.

    There are thy robes and glittering crown,
    Outshining yonder sun;
    Soon shalt thou lay the body down,
    And put those glories on.

    Long has thy golden lyre been strung,
    Which angels cannot move;
    No song to this is ever sung,
    But bleeding, dying Love.

ALLIDA.

Having known the writer of this book for a number of years, and knowingthe many privations and mortifications she has had to pass through, Ithe more willingly add my testimony to the truth of her assertions. Sheis one of that class, who by some are considered not only as littlelower than the angels, but far beneath them; but I have long sincelearned that we are not to look at the color of the hair, the eyes, orthe skin, for the man or woman; their life is the criterion we are tojudge by. The writer of this book has seemed to be a child ofmisfortune.

Early in life she was deprived of her parents, and all those endearingassociations to which childhood clings. Indeed, she may be said not tohave had that happy period; for, being taken from home so young, andplaced where she had nothing to love or cling to, I often wonder she hadnot grown up a MONSTER; and those very people calling themselvesChristians, (the good Lord deliver me from such,) and they likewiseruined her health by hard work, both in the field and house. She wasindeed a slave, in every sense of the word; and a lonely one, too.

But she has found some friends in this degraded world, that were willingto do by others as they would have others do by them; that were willingshe should live, and have an existence on the earth with them. She hasnever enjoyed any degree of comfortable health since she was eighteenyears of age, and a great deal of the time has been confined to her roomand bed. She is now trying to write a book; and I hope the public willlook favorably on it, and patronize the same, for she is a worthy woman.

Her own health being poor, and having a child to care for, (for, by theway, she has been married,) and she wishes to educate him; in hersickness he has been taken from her, and sent to the county farm,because she could not pay his board every week; but as soon as she wasable, she took him from that PLACE, and now he has a home where he iscontented and happy, and where he is considered as good as those he iswith. He is an intelligent, smart boy, and no doubt will make a smartman, if he is rightly managed. He is beloved by his playmates, and byall the friends of the family; for the family do not recognize those asfriends who do not include him in their family, or as one of them, andhis mother as a daughter—for they treat her as such; and she certainlydeserves all the affection and kindness that is bestowed upon her, andthey are always happy to have her visit them whenever she will. They arenot wealthy, but the latch-string is always out when suffering humanityneeds a shelter; the last loaf they are willing to divide with thosemore needy than themselves, remembering these words, Do good as we haveopportunity; and we can always find opportunity, if we have thedisposition.

And now I would say, I hope those who call themselves friends of ourdark-skinned brethren, will lend a helping hand, and assist our sister,not in giving, but in buying a book; the expense is trifling, and thereward of doing good is great. Our duty is to our fellow-beings, andwhen we let an opportunity pass, we know not what we lose. Therefore weshould do with all our might what our hands find to do; and remember thewords of Him who went about doing good, that inasmuch as ye have done agood deed to one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it tome; and even a cup of water is not forgotten. Therefore, let us workwhile the day lasts, and we shall in no wise lose our reward.

MARGARETTA THORN.

MILFORD, JULY 20th, 1859.

Feeling a deep interest in the welfare of the writer of this book, andhoping that its circulation will be extensive, I wish to say a few wordsin her behalf. I have been acquainted with her for several years, andhave always found her worthy the esteem of all friends of humanity; onewhose soul is alive to the work to which she puts her hand.. Althoughher complexion is a little darker than my own, I esteem it a privilegeto associate with her, and assist her whenever an opportunity presentsitself. It is with this motive that I write these few lines, knowingthis book must be interesting to all who have any knowledge of thewriter's character, or wish to have. I hope no one will refuse to aidher in her work, as she is worthy the sympathy of all Christians, andthose who have a spark of humanity in their breasts.

Thinking it unnecessary for me to write a long epistle, I will close bybidding her God speed.

C. D. S.

* * * *

Note of etext transcriber:

joined contractions where separated, e.g., "do n't" has become "don't,"and omitted the accent on "protege" on page 42; in addition I have madethe following changes to the text:

  PAGE LINE ORIGINAL CHANGED TO
    11 1 uninten uninten 21 22 decrepid decrepit
    44 4 Anut Aunt
    47 9 Mrs, Mrs.
    51 1 whipped;" whipped,"
    51 5 "God;" "God,"
    54 25 jumped one jumped to one
    62 12 housekeper housekeeper
    64 18 long, for? long for?
    92 13 Why "Why
    92 13 W at What
    92 23 did want did not want
    99 15 aunt Aunt
   121 23 she shall shall
   130 7 symyathy, sympathy,

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