hat his master was going "to hang like a dog at
his throat, sucking his blood, bleeding away his life drop by drop."

In what an attitude, O Planters of the South, has Mrs. Stowe taken your
likenesses!

Tom dies at last. How could such a man die? Oh! that he would live forever
and convert all our Southern slaves. He did not need any supporting grace
on his deathbed. Hear him--"The Lord may help me, or not help, but I'll
hold on to him."

I thought a Christian could not hold on to the Lord without help. "Ye can
of yourself do nothing." But Tom is an exception--to the last he is
perfect. All Christians have been caught tripping sometimes, but Tom never
is. He is "bearing everybody's burdens." He might run away, but he will
not. He says, "The Lord has given me a work among these yer poor souls, and
I'll stay with 'em, and bear my cross with 'em to the end." Christian
reader, we must reflect. We know where to go for _one_ instance of human
perfection, where the human and the Divine were united, but we know not of
another.

Tom converts Cassy, a most infamous creature from her own accounts, and we
are to sympathize with her vileness, for she has no other traits of
character described. Tom converts her, but I am sorry to see she steals
money and goods, and fibs tremendously afterwards. We hope the rest of his
converts did him more credit.

The poor fellow dies at last--converting two awful wretches with his
expiring breath. The process of conversion was very short. "Oh! Lord, give
me these two more souls, I pray." That prayer was answered.

The saddest part of this book would be, (if they were just,) the inferences
to be drawn from the history of this wretch, Legree. Mrs. Stowe says, "He
was rocked on the bosom of a mother, cradled with prayer and pious hymns,
his now seared brow bedewed with the waters of baptism. In early childhood,
a fair-haired woman had led him, at the sound of Sabbath bells, to worship
and to pray. Far in New England that mother had trained her only son with
long unwearied love and patient prayers." Believe it not, Christian mother,
North or South! Thou hast the promises of Scripture to the contrary. Rock
thy babe upon thy bosom--sing to him sweet hymns--carry him to the
baptismal font--be unwearied in love--patient in prayers; he will never be
such a one. He may wander, but he will come back; do thy duty by him, and
God will not forget his promises. "He is not man that he will lie; nor the
son of