Chapter 3

"O, dear Uncle Tom! do wake--do speak once more! Look up. Here's Mas'r George--your own little Mas'r George. Don't you know me?"

"Mas'r George!" said Tom, opening his eyes, and speaking in a feeble voice--"Mas'r George!" He looked bewildered.

Slowly the idea seemed to fill his soul; and the vacant eye became fixed and brightened, the whole face lighted up, the hard hands clasped, and tears ran down the cheeks.

"Bless the Lord' it is--it is--it's all I wanted! They haven't forgot me. It warms my soul; it does my old heart good! Now I shall die content! Bless the Lord, O my soul!"

He began to draw his breath with long, deep aspirations; and his broad chest rose and fell heavily. The expression of his face was that of a conqueror.

"Who--who shall separate us from the love of Christ?" he said, in a voice that contended with mortal weakness; and with a smile he fell asleep.

Beyond the boundaries of the plantation George had noticed a dry, sandy knoll, shaded by a few trees; there they made a grave for poor Tom.

"Shall we take off the cloak, mas'r?" said the negroes, when the grave was ready.

"No, no; bury it with him. It's all I can give you now, poor Tom, and you shall have it."

They laid him in; and the men shovelled away silently. They banked it up, and laid green turf over it.

"You may go, boys," said George, slipping a quarter dollar into the hand of each. They lingered about, however.

"If young mas'r would please buy us," said one.

"We'd serve him so faithful!" said the other. "Do, mas'r, buy us, please!"

"I can't--I can't," said George, with difficulty, motioning them off; "it's impossible!"

The poor fellows looked dejected, and walked off in silence.

"Witness, eternal God," said George, kneeling on the grave of his poor friend--"O, witness that, from this hour, I will do _what one man can_ to drive out this curse of slavery from my land!"

There is no monument to mark the last resting-place of poor Tom. He needs none. His Lord knows where he lies, and will raise him up immortal, to appear with Him when He shall appear in his glory.

LITTLE EVA SONG.

UNCLE TOM'S GUARDIAN ANGEL.

WORDS BY JOHN G. WHITTIER . . . . MUSIC BY MANUEL EMILIO.

Dry the tears for holy Eva! With the blessed angels leave her; Of the form so sweet and fair, Give to earth the tender care. For the golden locks of Eva, Let the sunny south land give her Flow'ry pillow of repose, Orange bloom and budding rose, Orange bloom and budding rose.

All is light and peace with Eva; There the darkness cometh never; Tears are wiped, and fetters fall, And the Lord is all in all. Weep no more for happy Eva; Wrong and sin no more shall grieve her, Care, and pain, and weariness, Lost in love so measureless!

Gentle Eva, loving Eva, Child confessor, true believer, Listener at the Master's knee, "Suffer such to come to me." O for faith like thine, sweet Eva, Lighting all the solemn river, And the blessing of the poor, Wafting to the heavenly shore.

THE END.