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“And, Emmeline, if we shouldn’t ever see each other again, after to-morrow;- if I’m sold way up on a plantation somewhere, and you somewhere else,- always remember how you’ve been brought up, and all Missis has told you; take your Bi- ble with you, and your hymn-book; and if you’re faithful to the Lord, he’ll be faithful to you.” So speaks the poor soul, in sore discouragement; for she knows that to-mor- row any man, however vile and brutal, however godless and merciless, if he only has money to pay for her, may become owner of her daughter, body and soul; and then, how is the child to be faithful? She thinks of all this, as she holds her daugh- ter in her arms, and wishes that she were not handsome and attractive. It seems al- most an aggravation to her to remember how purely and piously, how much above the ordinary lot, she has been brought up. But she has no resort but to pray; and many such prayers to God have gone up from those same trim, neatly ar- ranged, respectable slave-prisoners,- prayers which God has not forgotten, as a coming day shall show; for it is written, “Whoso causeth one of these little ones to offend, it were better for him that a mill-stone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depths of the sea.” The soft, earnest, quiet moonbeam looks in, fixedly marking the bars of the grated windows on the prostrate, sleeping forms. The mother and daughter are singing together a wild and melancholy dirge, common as a funeral hymn among the slaves: |