RECOLLECTIONS—CONSOLING INFLUENCE OF SYMPATHY—AMY'S DOCTRINE OF THE SOUL—TALK AT THE SPRING.

As Mr. Peterkin was passing through the vestibule of the front door, he met young master standing there. Now, this was Mr. Peterkin's favorite child, for, though he did not altogether like that quietude of manner, which he called "poke-easy," the boy had never offered him any affront about his incorrect language, or treated him with indignity in any way. And then he was so beautiful! True, his father could not appreciate the spiritual nobility of his face; yet the symmetry of his features and the spotless purity of his complexion, answered even to Mr. Peterkin's idea of beauty. The coarsest and most vulgar soul is keenly alive to the beauty of the rose and lily; though that concealed loveliness, which is only hinted at by the rare fragrance, may be known only to the cultivated and poetic heart. Often I have heard him say, "John is pretty enoff to be a gal."

Now as he met him in the vestibule, he said, "John, I'm in a peck o' trouble."

"I am sorry you are in trouble father."

"That cussed black wench, Lindy, is off, and I'm 'fraid the neighborhood kant be waked up soon enough to go arter and ketch her. Let me git her once more in my clutches, and I'll make her pay for it. I'll give her one good bastin' that she'll 'member, and then I'll send her down the river fur enough."

The boy made no reply; but, with his eyes cast down on the earth, he seemed to be unconscious of all that was going on around him. When he raised his head his eyes were burning, his breath came thick and short, and a deep scarlet spot shone on the whiteness of his cheek; the veins in his forehead lay like heavy cords, and his very hair seemed to sparkle. He looked as one inspired. This was unobserved by his parent, who hastily strode away to find more willing listeners. I tarried in a place where, unnoticed by others, I commanded a good out-look. I saw young master clasp his hands fervently, and heard him passionately exclaim—"How much longer, oh, how much longer shall this be?" Then slowly walking down his favorite path, he was lost to my vision. "Blessed youth, heaven-missioned, if thou wouldst only speak to me! One word of consolation from God-anointed lips like thine, would soothe even the sting of bondage; but no," I added, "that earnest look, that gentle tone, tell perhaps as much as it is necessary for me to know. This silence proceeds from some noble motive. Soon enough he will make himself known to us."

In a little while the news of Lindy's departure had spread through the neighborhood like a flame. Our yard and house were filled with men come to offer their services to their neighbor, who, from his wealth, was considered a sort of magnate among them.

Pretty soon they were mounted on horses, and armed to the teeth, each one with a horn fastened to his belt, galloping off in quest of the poor fugitive. And is this thing done beneath the influence of civilized laws, and by men calling themselves Christians? What has armed those twelve men with pistols, and sent them on an excursion like this? Is it to redeem a brother from a band of lawless robbers, who hold him in captivity? Is it to right some individual wrong? Is it to take part with the weak and oppressed against the strong and the overbearing? No, no, my friends, on no such noble mission as this have they gone. No purpose of high emprise has made them buckle on the sword and prime the pistol. A poor, lone female, who, through years, has been beaten, tyrannized over, and abused, has ventured out to seek what this constitution professes to secure to every one—liberty. Barefoot and alone, she has gone forth; and 'tis to bring her back to a vile and brutal slavery that these men have sallied out, regardless of her sex, her destitution, and her misery. They have set out either to recapture her or to shoot her down in her tracks like a dog. And this is a system which Christian men speak of as heaven-ordained! This is a thing countenanced by freemen, whose highest national boast is, that theirs is the land of liberty, equality, and free-rights! These are the people who yearly send large sums to Ireland; who pray for the liberation of Hungary; who wish to transmit armed forces across the Atlantic to aid vassal States in securing their liberty! These are they who talk so largely of Cuba, expend so much sympathy upon the oppressed of other lands, and predict the downfall of England for her oppressive form of government! Oh, America! "first pluck the beam out of thine own eye, then shalt thou see more clearly the mote that is in thy brother's."

When I watched those armed men ride away, in such high courage and eagerness for the hunt, I thought of Lindy, poor, lone girl, fatigued, worn and jaded, suffering from thirst and hunger; her feet torn and bruised with toil, hiding away in bogs and marshes, with an ear painfully acute to every sound. I thought of this, and all the resentment I had ever felt toward her faded away as a vapor.

All that day the house was in a state of intense excitement. The servants could not work with their usual assiduity. Indeed, such was the excitement, even of the white family, that we were not strictly required to labor.

Miss Jane gave me some fancy-sewing to do for her. Taking it with me to Aunt Polly's cabin, intending to talk with her whilst time was allowed me, I was surprised and pleased to find the old woman still asleep. "It will do her good," I thought, "she needs rest, poor creature! And that blow was given to her on my account! How much I would rather have received it myself." I then examined her head, and was glad to find no mark or bruise; so I hoped that with a good sleep she would wake up quite well. I seated myself on an old stool, near the door, which, notwithstanding the rawness of the day, I was obliged to leave open to admit light. It was a cool, windy morning, such as makes a woollen shawl necessary. My young mistresses had betaken themselves to cashmere wrappers and capes; but I still wore my thin and "seedy" calico. As I sewed on, upon Miss Jane's embroidery, many fancies came in troops through my brain, defiling like a band of ghosts through each private gallery and hidden nook of memory, and even to the very inmost compartment of secret thought! My mother, with her sad, sorrow-stricken face, my old companions and playfellows in the long-gone years, all arose with vividness to my eye! Where were they all? Where had they been during the lapse of years? Of my mother I had never heard a word. Was she dead? At that suggestion I started, and felt my heart grow chill, as though an icy hand had clenched it; yet why felt I so? Did I not know that the grave would be to her as a bed of ease? What torture could await her beyond the pass of the valley of shadows? She, who had been faithful over a little, would certainly share in those blessed rewards promised by Christ; yet it seemed to me that my heart yearned to look upon her again in this life. I could not, without pain, think of her as one who had been. There was something selfish in this, yet was it intensely human, and to feel otherwise I should have had to be less loving, less filial in my nature. "Oh, mother!" I said, "if ever we meet again, will it be a meeting that shall know no separation? Mother, are you changed? Have you, by the white man's coarse brutality, learned to forget your absent child? Do not thoughts of her often come to your lonely soul with the sighing of the midnight wind? Do not the high and merciful stars, that nightly burn above you, recall me to your heart? Does not the child-loved moon speak to you of times when, as a little thing, I nestled close to your bosom? Or, mother, have other ties grown around your heart? Have other children supplanted your eldest-born? Do chirruping lips and bright eyes claim all your thoughts? Or do you toil alone, broken in soul and bent in body, beneath the drudgery of human labor, without one soft voice to lull you to repose? Oh, not this, not this, kind Heaven! Let her forget me, in her joy; give her but peace, and on me multiply misfortunes, rain down evils, only spare, shield and protect her." This tide of thought, as it rolled rapidly through my mind, sent the hot tears, in gushes, from my eyes. As I bent my head to wipe them away, without exactly seeing it, I became aware of a blessed presence; and, lifting my moist eyes, I beheld young master standing before me, with that calm, spiritual glance which had so often charmed and soothed me.

"What is the matter, Ann? Why are you weeping?" he asked me in a gentle voice.

"Nothing, young Master, only I was thinking of my mother."

"How long since you saw her?"

"Oh, years, young Master; I have not seen her since my childhood—not since Master bought me."

He heaved a deep sigh, but said nothing; those eyes, with a soft, shadowed light, as though they were shining through misty tears, were bent upon me.

"Where is your mother now, Ann?"

"I don't know, young Master, I've never heard from her since I came here."

Again he sighed, and now he passed his thin white hand across his eyes, as if to dissipate the mist.

"You think she was sold when you were, don't you?"

"I expect she was. I'm almost sure she was, for I don't think either my young Masters or Mistresses wished or expected to retain the servants."

"I wish I could find out something about her for you; but, at present, it is out of my power. You must do the best you can. You are a good girl, Ann; I have noticed how patiently you bear hard trouble. Do you pray?"

"Oh, yes, young Master, and that is all the pleasure I have. What would be my situation without prayer? Thanks to God, the slave has this privilege!"

"Yes, Ann, and in God's eyes you are equal to a white person. He makes no distinction; your soul is as precious and dear to Him as is that of the fine lady clad in silk and gems."

I opened my eyes to gaze upon him, as he stood there, with his beautiful face beaming with good feeling and love for the humblest and lowest of God's creatures. This was religion! This was the spirit which Christ commended. This was the love which He daily preached and practiced.

"But how is Aunt Polly? I heard that she was suffering much."

"She is sleeping easily now," I replied.

"Well, then, don't disturb her. It is better that she should sleep;" and he walked away, leaving me more peaceful and happy than before. Blessed youth!—why have we not more such among us! They would render the thongs and fetters of slavery less galling.

The day was unusually quiet; but the frostiness of the atmosphere kept the ladies pretty close within doors; and Mr. Peterkin had, contrary to the wishes of his family, and the injunctions of his physician, gone out with the others upon the search; besides, he had taken Nace and the other men with him, and, as Aunt Polly was sick, Ginsy had been appointed in her place to prepare dinner. After sewing very diligently for some time, I wandered out through the poultry lot, lost in a labyrinth of strange reflection. As I neared the path leading down toward the spring, young master's favorite walk, I could not resist the temptation to follow it to its delightful terminus, where he was wont to linger all the sunny summer day, and frequently passed many hours in the winter time? I was superstitious enough to think that some of his deep and rich philanthropy had been caught, as by inspiration, from this lovely natural retreat; for how could the child of such a low, beastly parent, inherit a disposition so heavenly, and a soul so spotless? He had been bred amid scenes of the most revolting cruelty; had lived with people of the harshest and most brutal dispositions; yet had he contracted from them no moral stain. Were they not hideous to look upon, and was he not lovely as a seraph? Were they not low and vulgar, and he lofty and celestial-minded? Why and how was this? Ah, did I not believe him to be one of God's blessed angels, lent us for a brief season?

The path was well-trodden, and wound and curved through the woods, down to a clear, natural spring of water. There had been made, by the order of young master, a turfetted seat, overgrown by soft velvet moss, and here this youth would sit for hours to ponder, and, perhaps, to weave golden fancies which were destined to ripen into rich fruition in that land beyond the shores of time. As I drew near the spring, I imagined that a calm and holy influence was settling over me. The spirit of the place had power upon me, and I yielded myself to the spell. It was no disease of fancy, or dream of enchantment, that thus possessed me; for there, half-reclining on the mossy bench, I beheld young master, and, seated at his feet, with her little, odd, wondering face uplifted to his, was Amy; and, crawling along, playing with the moss, and looking down into the mirror of the spring, peered the bright eyes of little Ben. It was a scene of such beauty that I paused to take a full view of it, before making my presence known. Young master, with his pale, intellectual face, his classic head, his sun-bright curls, and his earnest blue eyes, sat in a half-lounging attitude, making no inappropriate picture of an angel of light, whilst the two little black faces seemed emblems of fallen, degraded humanity, listening to his pleading voice.

"Wherever you go, or in whatever condition you may be, Amy, never forget to pray to the good Lord." As he said this, he bent his eyes compassionately on her.

"Oh, laws, Masser, how ken I pray! de good Lord wouldn't hear me. I is too black and dirty."

"God does not care for that. You are as dear to Him as the finest lady of the land."

"Oh, now, Masser, you doesn't tink me is equal to you, a fine, nice, pretty white gemman—dress so fine."

"God cares not, my child, for clothes, or the color of the skin. He values the heart alone; and if your heart is clear, it matters not whether your face be black or your clothes mean."

"Laws, now, young Masser," and the child laughed heartily at the idea, "you doesn't 'spect a nigger's heart am clean. I tells you 'tis black and dirty as dere faces."

"My poor child, I would that I had power to scatter the gloomy mist that beclouds your mind, and let you see and know that our dying Saviour embraced all your unfortunate race in the merits of his divine atonement."

This speech was not comprehended by Amy. She sat looking vacantly at him; marvelling all the while at his pretty talk, yet never once believing that Jesus prized a negro's soul. Young master's eyes were, as usual, elevated to the clear, majestic heavens. Not a cloud floated in the still, serene expanse, and the air was chill. One moment longer I waited, before revealing myself. Stepping forward, I addressed young master in an humble tone.

"Well, Ann, what do you want?" This was not said in a petulant voice, but with so much gentleness that it invited the burdened heart to make its fearful disclosure.

"Oh, young Master, I know that you will pardon me for what I am going to ask. I cannot longer restrain myself. Tell me what is to become of us? When shall we be sold? Into whose hands shall I fall?"

"Alas, poor Ann, I am as ignorant of father's intentions as you are. I would that I could relieve your anxiety, but I am as uneasy about it as you or any one can be. Oh, I am powerless to do anything to better your unfortunate condition. I am weak as the weakest of you."

"I know, young Master, that we have your kindest sympathy, and this knowledge softens my trouble."

He did not reply, but sat with a perplexed expression, looking on the ground.

"Oh, Ann, you has done gin young Masser some trouble. What fur you do dat? We niggers ain't no 'count any how, and you hab no sort ob bisiness be troublin' young Masser 'bout it," said Amy.

"Be still, Amy, let Ann speak her troubles freely. It will relieve her mind. You may tell me of yours too."

Sitting down upon the sward, close to his feet, I relieved my oppressed bosom by a copious flood of tears. Still he spoke not, but sat silent, looking down. Amy was awed into stillness, and even little Ben became calm and quiet as a lamb. No one broke the spell. No one seemed anxious to do so. There are some feelings for which silence is the best expression.

At length he said mildly, "Now, my good friends, it might be made the subject of ungenerous remarks, if you were to be seen talking with me long. You had better return to the house."

As Amy and I, with little Ben, rose to depart, he looked after us, and sighing, exclaimed, "poor creatures, my heart bleeds for you!"