I

Y"

.embled at the

the blood backwondered within er; for she felt the every flutter of fear ore her on, while from the prayer to a Friend

Villie, that were going to be v morning, if you had seen signed and delivered, and you ing to make good your escape,y miles could you make in those our bosom,—the little sleepy head on us trustingly holding on to your neck? the novelty and alarm kept him waking; pressed every breath or sound, and so asonly still she would certainly save him, that neck, only asking, as he found himself sink

1 to keep awake, do I?"

leep, if you want to."

: do get asleep, you won't let him get me?"

od help me!" said his mother, with a paler cheek and

her large, dark eyes.

an't you, mother?"

said the mother, in a voice that startled herself; for it

Hark! at his side, in the deep tones of ire,
"Bois ton sang, Beaumanoir!" shouted his sire.

Deep had it pierced him, the foeman's swift sword;
Deeper his soul felt the wound of that word!
Back to the battle, with forehead all flushed,
Stung to wild fury, the noble youth rushed!
Scorn in his dark eyes-his spirit on fire—
Deeds were his answer that day to his sire!

Still where triumphant the young hero came,
Glory's bright garland encircled his name;
But in her bower, to beauty a slave,
Dearer the guerdon his lady-love gave,

While on his shield that no shame had defaced,

"Bois ton sang, Beaumanoir!" proudly she traced!

1850.

HER LAST VERSES.

YOU'VE

woven roses round my way,

And gladdened all my being;

How much I thank you, none can say,
Save only the All-seeing.

May He who gave this lovely gift,
This love of lovely doings,
Be with you, wheresoe'er you go,
In every hope's pursuings.

I'm going through the eternal gates,
Ere June's sweet roses blow!
Death's lovely angel leads me there,
And it is sweet to go.

IT

Harriet Elizabeth Beecher Stowe.

BORN in Litchfield, Conn., 1812.

ELIZA'S FLIGHT.

[Uncle Tom's Cabin. 1851.-New Edition. 1879.]

T is impossible to conceive of a human creature more wholly desolate and forlorn than Eliza, when she turned her footsteps from Uncle Tom's cabin.

Her husband's suffering and dangers, and the danger of her child, all blended in her mind, with a confused and stunning sense of the risk she was running, in leaving the only home she had ever known, and cutting loose from the protection of a friend whom she loved and revered. Then there was the parting from every familiar object, the place where she had grown up, the trees under which she had played, the groves where she had walked many an evening in happier days, by the side of her young husband,-everything, as it lay in the clear, frosty starlight, seemed to speak reproachfully to her, and ask her whither she could go from a home like that?

But stronger than all was maternal love, wrought into a paroxysm of frenzy by the near approach of a fearful danger. Her boy was old enough to have walked by her side, and, in an indifferent case, she would only have led him by the hand; but now the bare thought of putting him out of her arms made her shudder, and she strained him to her bosom with a convulsive grasp, as she went rapidly forward.

The frosty ground creaked beneath her feet, and she trembled at the sound; every quaking leaf and fluttering shadow sent the blood backward to her heart, and quickened her footsteps. She wondered within herself at the strength that seemed to be come upon her; for she felt the weight of her boy as if it had been a feather, and every flutter of fear seemed to increase the supernatural power that bore her on, while from her pale lips burst forth, in frequent ejaculations, the prayer to a Friend above," Lord, help! Lord, save me!"

If it were your Harry, mother, or your Willie, that were going to be torn from you by a brutal trader, to-morrow morning,-if you had seen the man, and heard that the papers were signed and delivered, and you had only from twelve o'clock till morning to make good your escape,how fast could you walk? How many miles could you make in those few brief hours, with the darling at your bosom,—the little sleepy head on your shoulder, the small, soft arms trustingly holding on to your neck? For the child slept. At first, the novelty and alarm kept him waking; but his mother so hurriedly repressed every breath or sound, and so assured him that if he were only still she would certainly save him, that he clung quietly round her neck, only asking, as he found himself sinking to sleep,

"Mother, I don't need to keep awake, do I?"

"No, my darling; sleep, if you want to."

"But, mother, if I do get asleep, you won't let him get me?"

"No! so may God help me!" said his mother, with a paler cheek and a brighter light in her large, dark eyes.

"You're sure, an't you, mother?"

"Yes, sure!" said the mother, in a voice that startled herself; for it

seemed to her to come from a spirit within, that was no part of her; and the boy dropped his little weary head on her shoulder and was soon asleep. How the touch of those warm arms, and gentle breathings that came in her neck, seemed to add fire and spirit to her movements. It seemed to her as if strength poured into her in electric streams, from every gentle touch and movement of the sleeping, confiding child. Sublime is the dominion of the mind over the body, that, for a time, can make flesh and nerve impregnable, and string the sinews like steel, so that the weak become so mighty.

The boundaries of the farm, the grove, the wood-lot, passed by her dizzily, as she walked on; and still she went, leaving one familiar object after another, slacking not, pausing not, till reddening daylight found her many a long mile from all traces of any familiar objects upon the open highway.

She had often been, with her mistress, to visit some connections, in the little village of T, not far from the Ohio River, and knew the road well. To go thither, to escape across the Ohio River, were the first hurried outlines of her plan of escape; beyond that, she could only hope in God.

When horses and vehicles began to move along the highway, with that alert perception peculiar to a state of excitement, and which seems to be a sort of inspiration, she became aware that her headlong pace and distracted air might bring on her remark and suspicion. She therefore put the boy on the ground, and, adjusting her dress and bonnet, she walked on at as rapid a pace as she thought consistent with the preservation of appearances. In her little bundle she had provided a store of cakes and apples, which she used as expedients for quickening the speed of the child, rolling the apple some yards before them, when the boy would run with all his might after it; and this ruse, often repeated, carried them over many a half-mile.

After a while, they came to a thick patch of woodland, through which murmured a clear brook. As the child complained of hunger and thirst, she climbed over the fence with him; and, sitting down behind a large rock which concealed them from the road, she gave him a breakfast out of her little package. The boy wondered and grieved that she could not eat; and when, putting his arms round her neck, he tried to wedge some of his cake into her mouth, it seemed to her that the rising in her throat would choke her.

"No, no, Harry darling! mother can't eat till you are safe! We must go on,-on, till we come to the river!" And she hurried again into the road, and again constrained herself to walk regularly and composedly forward.

She was many miles past any neighborhood where she was personally