eeble school, and if I die, you will find plenty of new comers ready
to fill my place.'

I knew from this that she anticipated the result, yet neither did I
myself see how it could be avoided; but I resolved to watch and spare
her all I could.

During all the year, notwithstanding her unceasing cares, she had kept
herself well informed on public affairs. She knew every incident of the
war, and particularly all its moral defeats and victories. At one time
defeats of both kinds seemed to come thick and fast. She would shudder
sometimes, as she laid down the newspaper, and say: 'This prolongs the
war such a time;' weeks, months, or years, as it might be; but she never
was really disheartened. She did not doubt that the contest, when it did
come to a conclusion, would end in the triumph of the right, in the
triumph of freedom, in the regeneration of the nation; and her courage
never yielded, her resolution never faltered, till one day in the latter
part of May.

She went out then in the afternoon to breathe the fresh air she so much
needed, but in a half hour came back with a new look in her face. A
stern, forbidding expression did not leave her during the day, and at
night she tossed about on her bed, wakeful and disturbed. At length she
rose, and sat for more than an hour by the window in the darkness,
seeking that peace which had left her so unaccountably. A new thought,
in time, took possession of her. She went back, and slept. In the
morning she called me to her, and told me that on the previous day she
had seen a black man knocked down in the streets of Washington and
carried in chains to slavery. Then she said in earnest tones: 'Child'
(she always called me _child_, though I was not much younger than
herself), 'have you in your life done all that you could do against this
abomination?'

'No,' said I.

'You hate it?' She asked; 'you understand its vileness, and hate it?'

'Yes, I do now, from the bottom of my heart.'

'Will you not promise me that until you die, you will, regardless of
self, use every effort in your power against it?'

'I will, in all solemness and truth.'

She was satisfied, and said no more, for she never wasted words, and I
recognized this as her legacy to me. The next day she was taken ill. I
immediately sent for Mrs. Simmons, who thought she would be able to take
her home with her; but before she arrived, I saw it would not be
possible. Her only hope of recovery was in remaining where