ed by certain ministers of Christianity, he might have
thought better of it, and seen in it an every-day incident of a lawful
trade; a trade which is the vital support of an institution which an
American divine* tells us has _"no evils but such as are inseparable
from any other relations in social and domestic life_." But Tom, as
we see, being a poor, ignorant fellow, whose reading had been confined
entirely to the New Testament, could not comfort and solace himself with
views like these. His very soul bled within him for what seemed to him
the _wrongs_ of the poor suffering thing that lay like a crushed reed
on the boxes; the feeling, living, bleeding, yet immortal _thing_,
which American state law coolly classes with the bundles, and bales, and
boxes, among which she is lying.

* Dr. Joel Parker of Philadelphia. [Mrs. Stowe's note.]
Presbyterian clergyman (1799-1873), a friend of the Beecher
family. Mrs. Stowe attempted unsuccessfully to have this
identifying note removed from the stereotype-plate of the
first edition.

Tom drew near, and tried to say something; but she only groaned.
Honestly, and with tears running down his own cheeks, he spoke of a
heart of love in the skies, of a pitying Jesus, and an eternal home; but
the ear was deaf with anguish, and the palsied heart could not feel.

Night came on,--night calm, unmoved, and glorious, shining down with
her innumerable and solemn angel eyes, twinkling, beautiful, but silent.
There was no speech nor language, no pitying voice or helping hand, from
that distant sky. One after another, the voices of business or pleasure
died away; all on the boat were sleeping, and the ripples at the prow
were plainly heard. Tom stretched himself out on a box, and there, as he
lay, he heard, ever and anon, a smothered sob or cry from the prostrate
creature,--"O! what shall I do? O Lord! O good Lord, do help me!" and
so, ever and anon, until the murmur died away in silence.

At midnight, Tom waked, with a sudden start. Something black passed
quickly by him to the side of the boat, and he heard a splash in the
water. No one else saw or heard anything. He raised his head,--the
woman's place was vacant! He got up, and sought about him in vain.
The poor bleeding heart was still, at last, and the river rippled and
dimpled just as brightly as if it had not closed above it.

Patience! patience! ye whose hearts swell indignant at wrongs like
these. Not one throb