NEGRO LIFE IN AMERICA. 271

They laid them back on the lifeless breast—dust to dust—poor
mournful relics of early dreams, which once made that cold heart
beat so warmly !

Tom’s whole soul was filled with thoughts of eternity; and
while he ministered around the lifeless clay, he did not once
think that the sudden stroke had left him in hopeless slavery.
He felt at peace about his master; for in that hour when he had
poured forth his prayer into the bosom of his Father, he had
found an answer of quietness and assurance springing up within
himself. In the depths of his own affectionate nature he felt able
to perceive something of the fulness of Divine love; for an old
oracle hath thus written: ‘“‘ He that dwelleth in love dwelleth in.
God, and God in him.” Tom hoped and trusted, and was at peace.

But the funeral passed, with all its pageant of black crape, and
prayers, and solemn faces; and back rolled the cool, muddy waves
of every-day life; and up came the everlasting hard inquiry of
« What is to be done next ?” ‘

It rose to the mind of Marie, as, dressed in loose morning-robes,
and surrounded by anxious servants, she sat up in a great easy-
chair, and inspected samples of crape and bombazine. It rose to
Miss Ophelia, who began to turn her thoughts towards her northern
home. It rose, in silent terrors, to the minds of the servants,
who well knew the unfeeling, tyrannical character of the mistress
in whose hands they were left. All knew very well that the in-
dulgences which had been accorded to them were not from their
mistress, but from their master; and that, now he was gone,
there would be no screen between them and every tyrannous in-
fliction which a temper soured by affliction might devise.

It was about a fortnight after the funeral, that Miss Ophelia,
busied one day in her apartment, heard a gentle tap at the door.
- She opened it, and there stood Rosa, the pretty young quadroon
whom we have before often noticed, her hair in disorder, and her
eyes swelled with crying. )

“© Miss Feely,” she said, falling on her knees, and catching
the skirt of her dress, ‘do, do go to Miss Marie for me! do plead
for me! She’s goin’ to send me out to be whipped—look there !”
Aud she handed to Miss Ophelia a paper.

It was an order, written in Marie’s delicate Italian hand, to
the master of @ whipping-establishment, to give the bearer
fifteen lashes.

“ What have you been doing?” said Miss Ophelia.

“You know, Miss Feely, I've got such a bad temper ; it’s very
bad of me. I was trying on Miss Marie’s dress, and she slapped
my face; and I spoke out before I thought, and was saucy ; aud °
she said she'd bring me down, and have me know, once for all,
that 1 wasn’t going to be so topping as I had been ; and she
wrote this, and says I shall carry it. I'd rather she'd kill me,
right out.”