ught it best to
part with him in a neighboring State. He had fallen into good hands; he
had learned to read and write. At the breaking out of the war he had
deserted his master and escaped North. Here he had enlisted as a
soldier, and after much active service had been raised to rank of
Lieutenant in his company. He had found time to marry a runaway
slave-girl, whom he sent North. He and she were both prudent and
industrious, and when the war was over had means to purchase them a
comfortable home. He had always been determined to revisit his mother.
The visit had been doubly pleasant, since he had fought for her liberty
and his own.

When Kizzie arrived at her son's home, and was introduced to his wife
and the unsuspected baby, she was again speechless. But her silent
prayer was that her years might be lengthened out to the number of
Methuseleh's, in order long to enjoy this unaccustomed happiness.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE ST. LEGERS.

John Temple had been a three month's volunteer at the commencement of
the war. But his business so much suffered, and his absence so
distracted his wife, that he considered it his duty, after his term of
service had expired, to remain at home. John Temple, for the son of an
Irishman, was a man of a great deal of equanimity. He could face a body
of soldiers without flinching, and he could meet daily the frivolousness
and folly, the bagatelles and boutades of his pretty wife without losing
patience. That he could do the one was not strange or uncommon; but to
do the other without seeking the satisfaction of slamming a door,
kicking a footstool across the floor, or boxing the children's ears, was
truly remarkable.

It was well for Juliet that she had married a man whose disposition and
temperament was so the reverse of her own. She was one of those who
delight in fancying her own life to be filled with more trials and
troubles than any other person's can be. And why? She had a beautiful
home, rich and fashionable in its appointments, plenty of servants at
her command, horses, carriage and driver at her disposal, a niece of
remarkable loveliness and beauty, a son and daughter somewhat spoiled,
who inherited fortunately their mother's beauty and their father's good
sense; a kind and indulgent husband--what more could she wish?

Ah, Juliet Temple! the hand of sorrow had never touched thee. The sacred
form of grief had passed thee by. Death had flitted around thee, taking
others, leav