free!
The choice was death or slavery.
Up, mother, up! Look on thy son!
His freedom is forever won;
And now he waits one holy kiss
To bear his father home in bliss--
One last embrace, one blessing--one!
To prove thou knowest, approvest thy son.
What! silent yet? Canst thou not feel
My warm blood o'er my heart congeal?
Speak, mother, speak! lift up thy head!
What! silent still? Then art thou dead?
----Great God, I thank Thee! Mother, I
Rejoice with thee--and thus--to die!"
One long, deep breath, and his pale head
Lay on his mother's bosom--dead.

THAT HIRED GIRL.

ANON.

When she came to work for the family on Congress street, the lady of
the house sat down and told her that agents, book-peddlers, hat-rack
men, picture sellers, ash-buyers, rag-men, and all that class of
people, must be met at the front door and coldly repulsed, and Sarah
said she'd repulse them if she had to break every broomstick in
Detroit.

And she did. She threw the door open wide, bluffed right up at 'em,
and when she got through talking, the cheekiest agent was only too
glad to leave. It got so after awhile that peddlers marked that house,
and the door-bell never rang except for company.

The other day, as the girl of the house was wiping off the spoons, the
bell rang. She hastened to the door, expecting to see a lady, but
her eyes encountered a slim man, dressed in black and wearing a
white necktie. He was the new minister, and was going around to get
acquainted with the members of his flock, but Sarah wasn't expected to
know this.

"Ah--um--is--Mrs.--ah!"

"Git!" exclaimed Sarah, pointing to the gate.

"Beg pardon, but I would like to see--see--"

"Meander!" she shouted, looking around for a weapon; "we don't want
any flour-sifters here!"

"You're mistaken," he replied, smiling blandly. "I called to--"

"Don't want anything to keep moths away--fly!" she exclaimed, getting
red in the face.

"Is the lady in?" he inquired, trying to look over Sarah's head.

"Yes, the lady is in, and I'm in, and you are out!" she snapped; "and
now I don't want to stand here talking to a fly-trap agent any longer!
Come lift your boots!"

"I'm not an agent," he said, trying to smile. "I'm the new--"

"Yes, I know you--you are the new man with the patent flat-iron, but
we don't want any, and you'd better go before I call the dog."

"Will you give the lady my card, and say that I called?"

"No, I won't;