Profoundly overcome by the disclosure, the boy was speechless for a time with agitation. But Peek pressed him to tell of his mother.

be quick, Sterling; for my time is short."

"And

We need not give the boy's narrative in his own words, interrupted as it was by the inquiries put by Peek, while his life-blood was ebbing. The story which Clara Berwick had heard at school, and communicated to Mrs. Gentry, was the story of Flora Jacobs. Those who hate to think ill of slavery sneer at such reports as the exaggerations of romance; but the great heart of humanity will need no testimony to show that, in the nature of things, they must be too often true.

Flora and Sterling, mother and son, were held as slaves by one Floyd in Alabama. Flora had religiously kept her oath of fidelity to Peek, much to the chagrin and indignation of her master, who saw that he was losing at least fifty per cent. on his investment, through her stubborn resistance to his demands that she should increase and multiply after the fashion of his Alderneys and Durhams. At last it happened that Sterling, who had been inspired by his mother with the desire to seek his father, ran away, was retaken, and tied up for a whipping. Ten lashes had been given, and

had drawn blood. And there were to be one hundred and ninety more! The mother, in an agony, interceded. There was only one way by which she could save him. She must marry coachman George. She consented. But a month afterwards Floyd learnt that Flora had made the marriage practically null, and had not suffered coachman George to touch even the hem of her robe. Floyd was enraged. He wrought upon the evil passions of George. There were first threats, and then an attempt at violence. The attempt was baffled by Flora's inflicting upon herself a mortal stab. As she fell on the floor she marked upon it with her own blood a cross, and kissed it with her last breath.

""Tis all right—all just as it should be,” murmured Peek. "God knew best. Bless him always for this meeting, Sterling. Hold the napkin closer to the wound. There! I knew she would be true! So! Take the belt from under my vest. Easy! It contains a hundred dollars. 'Tis yours. Take the watch from the pocket. So! So! A handsome gold one, you see. 'Twas given me by Mr. Vance. The name's engraved on it. Can you write? Good. Your mother taught you. Write

Good.

by the next mail to William C. Vance, Washington,

D. C. Tell him what has happened. Tell him how your mother died. He'll be your friend. You

fought bravely, my son. puts into this moment!

What sweetness God

Take no trouble about

the body I leave behind. Any trench will do for it. Fight on for freedom and the right. Slavery must die. All wrong must die. You can't wrong even a worm without wronging yourself more than it. Remember that. Holy living makes holy believing. Charity first.

Think to shut out others from heaven, and the danger is great you'll shut shut yourself out. Don't strike for revenge. Slay because 'tis God's cause on earth you defend; and don't fight unless you see and believe that much, let who may command. Love life. "Tis God's gift and opportunity. The more you suffer, the more, my dear boy, you can show you prize life, not for the world's goods, but for that love of God, which is heaven-Christ's heaven. Think. Not to think is to be a brute. Learn something every day. Love all that's good and fair. Love music. Love flowers. Don't be so childish as to suppose that because you don't hear or see spirits, they don't hear and see you. Remember that your mother and I can watch you-can know your every thought. You'll grieve us if you do wrong. You'

make us very happy if you do right. Ah! The napkin has slipped. No matter. There! Let the blood ooze. See! Sterling! Look! There! Do you not see? They come. The angels! Your mother-my mother-and beyond there, high up there-one-Ah, God! Tell Mr. Vance-tell him -his-his-"

Peek stood up erect, lifted his clasped hands above his head, looked beyond them as if watching some beatific vision, then dropped his mortal body dead upon the earth.

296

CHAPTER XV.

EYES TO THE BLIND.

Farewell! The passion of long years I pour

Into that word!-Mrs. Hemans.

Heureux l'homme qu'un doux hymen unira avec elle! il n'aura à craindre que de la perdre et de lui survivre.-Fénelon.

IT was that Fourth of July, 1863, when every sincere friend of the Great Republic felt his heart beat high with mingled hope and apprehension. Tremendous issues, which must affect the people of American continent through all coming time, were in the balance of Fate, and the capricious chances of war might turn the scale on either side. Gettysburg, Vicksburg, Port Hudson, Helena ! The great struggles that were to make these places memorable had reached their culminating and critical point, but were as yet undecided.

Lee's Rebel army of invasion, highly disciplined, and numbering nearly a hundred thousand men, was marching into Pennsylvania. General Lee