at a wretched mother leaves him to the
care of his country, as a momento of one of the patriot band who died
in her service."

The old negro fell upon her knees before the speaker, and burst into
tears, while even the rude policemen were touched by her remarks, Mr.
Swartz alone remained unmoved, the only feeling within him was a
desire that the work of confining her in jail should be completed.

"And now one last farewell," continued Mrs. Wentworth, again embracing
the corpse. Another instant and she was out of the room followed by
the three men, and they proceeded in the direction of the jail.

The old negro fell on her knees by the side of the bed, burying her
head in the folds of the counterpane, while the tears flowed freely
from her eyes. The little boy nestled by her side sobbing and calling
for his mother.

"Don't cry chile," said the old negro, endeavoring to console him.
"Your mammy will come back one of dese days," then recollecting the
words of Mrs. Wentworth in reference to him, she took him in her arms,
and continued, "poh chile, I will take care ob you until your father
come for you."

Thus did the good hearted slave register her promise to take care of
the child, and her action was but the result of the kind treatment she
had received from her owner. She had been taken care of when a child
by the father of her present owner, who was no other than Dr.
Humphries, and now that she had grown old and feeble, he had provided
her with a home, and supported her in return for the long life of
faithful service she had spent as his slave.

The next morning at about nine o'clock, a hearse might have been seen
in front of the old woman's cabin. Without any assistance the negro
driver lifted a little coffin from the chairs on which it rested in
the room, and conveyed it into the hearse. It then drove off slowly,
followed by the old negro and the infant, and drove to the burial
ground. There a short and simple prayer was breathed over the coffin,
and in a few moments a mound of earth covered it. Thus was buried the
little angel girl, who we have seen suffer uncomplainingly, and die
with a trusting faith in her advent to Heaven. No long procession of
mortals followed her body, but the Angels of God were there, and they
strewed the wood with the flowers of Paradise, which though invisible,
wafted a perfume into the soul sweeter than the choicest exotics of
earth.

From the grave of the child we turn to the mother