ped from dar eyes foreber. I knows she lay han's on
harseff, and dat, my chil'ren, am whot none ob us shud do, 'case we'm de
Lord's; he put us har, an' he'll take us 'way when we's fru wid our
work, not afore. We hab no right ter gwo afore. Pore Juley did--but
p'raps she cudn't help it. P'raps de great sorrer war so big in har
heart, dat she cudn't fine rest nowhar but in de cole, dark riber.
P'raps she warn't ter blame--p'raps,' and here his eyes filled--'p'raps
ole Pomp war all ter blame, fur I tole har, my chil'ren'--he could say
no more, and sinking down on a rude seat, he covered his face, and
sobbed audibly. Even the Colonel's strong frame heaved with emotion, and
not a dry eye was near. After a time the old man rose again, and with
streaming eyes, and upturned face, continued:

'Dar's One up dar, my chil'ren, dat say: 'Come unter me, all ye dat am
weary an' a heaby laden, an' I will gib you ress.' He, de good Lord, he
say dat; an' p'raps Juley hard him say it, an' dat make har gwo.' Again
his voice failed, and he sank down, weeping and moaning as if his heart
would break.

A pause followed, when the Colonel rose, and aided by Jim and two other
blacks, with his own hands nailed down the lid, and lowered the rude
coffin into the ground. Then the earth was thrown upon it, and then the
long, low chant which the negroes raise over the dead, mingling now with
sobs and moans, and breaking into a strange wild wail, went up among the
pines, and floating off on the still night air, echoed through the dark
woods, till it sounded like music from the grave. I have been in the
chamber of the dying; I have seen the young and the beautiful laid away
in the earth; but I never felt the solemn awfulness of death as I did
when, in the stillness and darkness of night, I listened to the wild
grief of that negro group, and saw the bodies of that slave mother and
her child, lowered to their everlasting rest by the side of Sam.

The morning broke bright and mellow with the rays of the winter sun,
which in Carolina lends the warmth of October to the chills of January,
when, with my portmanteau strapped, and my thin overcoat on my arm, I
gave my last 'God bless you' to the octoroon woman, and turned my face
toward home.

Jim shouted, 'All ready,' the driver cracked his whip, and we were on
our way to Georgetown.

The recent rains had hardened the roads, the bridges were repaired, and
we were whirled rapidly forward, and at one o'clock