nd a mother lived
Who had a little son;
As slaves, they worked for two rich men,
Whose fields were fair and wide--
But Harry was their only joy,
They had no child beside.

Now Harry's hair was thick with curls
And softly bright his eyes,
And he could play such funny tricks
And look so wondrous wise,

[Illustration: THE SALE OF LITTLE HARRY.

Oh children dear, 'twas sad to hear,
That for the trader's gold,
To that hard-hearted evil man
Her own sweet boy was sold.]

That all about the rich man's house
Were pleased to see him play,
Till a wicked trader buying slaves
Came there one winter day.

The trader and the rich man sat
Together, at their wine,
When in poor simple Harry slipped
In hopes of something fine.
He shewed them how the dandy danced,
And how old Cudjoe walked,
Till loud they laughed and gave him grapes,
And then in whispers talked.

The young child knew not what they said,
But at the open door
Eliza, his poor mother, stood,
With heart all sick and sore.
Oh children dear, 'twas sad to hear,
That for the trader's gold,
To that hard-hearted evil man
Her own sweet boy was sold.

And he would take him far away,
To where the cotton grew,
And sell him for a slave to men
More hard and wicked too.
She knew that none would heed his woe,
His want, or sickness there,
Nor ever would she see his face,
Or hear his evening prayer.

So when the house was all asleep,
And when the stars were bright,
She took her Harry in her arms,
And fled through that cold night:--
Away through bitter frost and snow
Did that poor mother flee;
And how she fared, and what befell,
Read on, and you shall see.

Before setting out, Eliza took a piece of paper and a pencil, and wrote
hastily the following note to her kind mistress, who had tried in vain
to save little Harry from being sold:--

"Oh missus! dear missus! don't think me ungrateful; don't think hard of
me. I am going to try to save my boy; you will not blame me! God bless
an