It is, however, certain, that I am one quarter African, and although this portion of negro blood has subjected me to much distress and suffering, strange as it may appear, that blood is much dearer to me than all the Saxon blood that runs in my veins. I shall not attempt to account for this in any other way than by referring to the known and acknowledged fact, that mothers always feel the most ardent affection for that child who has been the most unfortunate, and who has given them the greatest pain and anxiety.

My recollection of my mother is very indistinct. She could not have been more than seventeen or eighteen years old when I was born. She was kept by my master as a field-slave, and bearing a child when she was so young, the fatigue incident to her employment, and the scantiness and coarseness of her fare, rendered her so feeble that she was incapable of performing as much field labor as was required of her; for this reason, and as Major Johnson possessed as many house-slaves as he needed, he determined to sell her to a negro-buyer who was purchasing a stock of slaves to send to Georgia, a considerable part of which state was then uncultivated, but which at that time was rapidly settling. This created a great demand for slaves in that quarter, and raised the price of them in the Carolinas, Virginia, and Maryland. The day my mother was separated from me is among my earliest and most painful recollections. I was then about three years old, yet I remember the dreadful sensations I experienced, when she wildly, for the last time, pressed me to her bosom; and can almost now feel her scalding tears as they fell upon my face. In a moment she was forced from me, shrieking and in the madness of her grief tearing her hair; but forthwith her master ordered her manacled. I can never forget the chill of horror that thrilled through my veins when I heard the clink of the hammer used in riveting the rings which enclosed her wrists and fastened them to a bar of iron. My poor mother was soon marched off with a gang of slaves, and I have never seen or heard of her since. Such was the feebleness of her constitution, that I solace myself with the reflection that, in all human probability, she must soon have perished in the damp and chilly rice-fields of Georgia.

I lived in Mr. Johnson's family till I was five years old, when Mrs. Melbourn, a widow lady who resided in Raleigh, purchased me; and to her I am indebted for my education and liberty, and every thing that is valuable in life.

Mrs. Melbourn was the widow of Lieut. Melbourn, of the British navy, who was killed in the great battle between Admiral Graves and Count de Grasse, which occurred shortly after the close of the Revolutionary war. Mrs. Melbourn before her marriage had a small estate, which was secured to her in the English funds, amounting to £3000 sterling; and after her husband's death she received a pension, during her life, of £200. She was an educated woman, and very pious, being a zealous member of the Methodist Society; and there is reason to believe that the illiberal treatment which that sect, in common with other dissenters, received from the government, induced her to turn her attention to America, and produced in her mind a train of reflection upon the civil and religious rights of man. Mrs. Melbourn had but one child, and that was a son, who, at the death of his father, was about seven years old; and she was so pleased with the sentiments put forth on the subject of the rights of man by the American orators and statesmen, at the commencement and during the American revolution, that she determined to remove to America, and educate her son in the United States. She therefore, within a few years after the death of Lieut. Melbourn, made such arrangements of her pecuniary affairs in England, as enabled her to put in execution her scheme. There were few persons in America to whom she was known. She had, however, a slight acquaintance with Mr. Gale, a printer, who emigrated from England, and who then had recently commenced the publication of a newspaper in North Carolina.*

* Joseph Gale, Esq., who has so long, and with such distinguished ability, been the senior editor of the National Intelligencer, is probably the son of this gentleman.—Editor.

On a visit to Mrs. Johnson, when I was, as I have stated, about five years old, Mrs. Melbourn saw me, and was so pleased with me that she purchased me of Major Johnson. Her religious and political principles rendered her zealously opposed to slavery, and she purchased me with the intention of causing me to be educated and giving me my freedom. Under her charge I was well provided for, and received a good English education. She brought with her from England Lieut. Melbourn's private library, which was remarkably well selected. It contained, among other valuable books, all the British classics, an excellent collection of Ancient and Modern History, and the best works of fiction then extant. To this library I had free access, and from it I derived much amusement, and I hope some profit.

When I was ten years old, Mrs. Melbourn sent me to a select school in the vicinity of Raleigh; but, on account of the African blood in my veins, I was not permitted by the managers of the school to remain there long; so that the education I afterwards acquired, was obtained from the instructions of a Methodist preacher, who was an almost constant inmate of our family, and from Lieut. Melbourn's library.

Mrs. Melbourn's son, whose name was Edward, when I was little more than twelve years old, was sent to finish his education at Princeton College, in New Jersey; and as Mrs. M. kept an English man-servant, I had abundance of leisure to pursue my studies; and the boys of my age declining to associate with me on such terms of equality as I thought I was entitled to, it is probable I spent less time in the pursuit of amusement, and more hours in study, than I should have done had I been treated by those white children of my own age in such a manner as to render my association with them agreeable.

There resided near Raleigh a gentleman by the name of Boyd, then somewhat advanced in years, who was the owner of a considerable estate, and who, during the first part of the existence of the state government, had been an active and influential politician, but had, for several years before the time of which I speak, retired from all public employment.*

* During the revolutionary war he commanded a regiment of militia, and on several occasions distinguished himself for his bravery, and as a judicious military officer.

Col. Boyd's wife had died many years before, and had left him an only child, a daughter, who was now about fifteen years of age, and a most lovely girl. I have no talent at describing the persons of individuals; and if I had, beautiful females have been so often described by writers, (and really, as they appear in books, they all seem to me to look very much alike,) that if I could describe well, I would not take up the time of the reader in an attempt to draw the portrait of Laura Boyd. It must suffice to say, that she was beautiful, and that the elegance and purity of her mind increased the interest which was excited in her favor by her personal charms.

Edward Melbourn, when at home during his college vacations, spent much of his time in hunting and fishing with Col. Boyd, and soon became with him a great favorite. The lively conversation and fascinating address of Edward gradually inspired the old gentleman with that fondness for him which is not unfrequently produced in the minds of elderly men for young men who happen to please them. In the mean time an attachment grew up between Edward and Laura Boyd, which resulted in a matrimonial engagement, which Col. Boyd consented should be consummated as soon as Edward should complete his collegiate studies and be admitted to practice in one of the learned professions. In one year from that time he graduated at Princeton College, and was gratified by having conferred on him the highest honors of his class. Upon leaving college he returned to Raleigh, and lingered there nearly the whole of the following year, enjoying the society of his mother and Col. Boyd, and fascinated by the charms of the lovely daughter. Roused, at length, by the consideration that his time was wasting away, and that before he could settle in life he must acquire a knowledge of a profession, he tore himself from these interesting and beloved friends, and went to Charleston in South Carolina, where he commenced the study of law, in the office and under the direction of Mr. Desausseaur, an eminent lawyer, who has since held, with distinguished reputation, a high judicial station in that state.

Young Melbourn remained in Mr. Desausseaur's office until he completed his professional studies; but on the day of his examination, at a convivial dinner-party, an altercation between him and a fellow-student occurred, which resulted in a challenge to a duel, and in the combat which ensued Edward was unfortunately slain. The news of this sad catastrophe reached Mrs. Melbourn on the very day he was expected home.

He had written to his mother that he should arrive at home on the first day of November. The evening of that day Colonel Boyd and his daughter called on Mrs. Melbourn; he was in high spirits, and felicitated himself on the agreeable surprise Edward would experience on seeing the improvements he had made the preceding summer, in his mansion-house, his garden, &c., and the addition he had made to his pack of hounds. Laura was silent, but her fine blue eyes spoke hope and joy. It was one of the fine moonlight evenings of a Southern autumn. I do not believe the celebrated blue skies of Italy excel in beauty that of the Carolinas. Mrs. Melbourn invited her visiters to take a walk on the lawn connected with the garden. She seemed almost gay, and as she viewed the scene before her, she repeated in a low voice to Laura, those beautiful lines of Milton—

While the party were thus happy on the green, I heard a knock at the front door, and hastened to open it. A stranger was standing there who inquired for Mrs. Melbourn. I answered she was at home and I would call her. With evident marks of agitation he inquired if she had company. I replied a neighboring gentleman and his daughter were with her. “I pray you,” said the stranger, “not to think me impertinent, but for particular reasons beg you to tell me the name of the gentleman.” I was surprised at his request, but more at his manner, which was embarrassed and confused. Upon learning that it was Colonel Boyd, he requested that the colonel might be informed a gentleman wished to speak with him. The colonel, on receiving the message, immediately came into the house, and saluted the gentleman, who was still standing at the door. They stepped a few paces aside, and conversed together in a low voice for the space of two or three minutes. Colonel Boyd then turned, with a face pale as death, and I heard him say: “I cannot; upon my soul I cannot tell her this dreadful news.” The thought like a flash of lightning came into my mind that Edward was dead. Colonel Boyd, however, in a moment seemed to be more calm and collected, and walked into the garden with the stranger, whom he introduced to Mrs. Melbourn. “Mr. Warren,” said he, in a solemn voice, “brings sad news from Edward.” “Merciful God!” said my mistress, “what of my son?” The stranger hesitated, and Colonel Boyd stood silent and immoveable as a block of marble. Mrs. Melbourn clasped her hands in deep agony. “He is dead,” said she, “and you dare not tell me!” They continued silent. My mistress fell back on a seat which was near her. In the mean time, Laura, of whom no notice had been taken, fell prostrate on the ground; her father sprang to her and raised her up in his arms. She was apparently lifeless. I ran for water and gave it to her father, but it was some time before she manifested any signs of life. My mistress was still seated, but she seemed like a statue; her eyes appeared glazed and immoveable. I knelt before her, took one of her hands, and implored her to speak to me. I reminded her that afflictions were ordered by a kind Providence for wise purposes, and entreated her, in this sudden and unspeakable calamity, to look to Him, who, I had often heard her say, would never leave nor forsake us. A flood of tears came to her relief. I said, “My dear mistress, your grief and the cause of it is great, but do not despair. God is just. There must be consolation, there must be good days yet in store for so good, so benevolent, so holy a being as you are.” “Never—never on earth,” said she, “my last prop, my only earthly hope is gone, and I must look for quiet in the grave, and comfort only in heaven.”

I was myself deeply affected by the distress of this amiable and excellent woman. Besides, the death of Edward was to me like the untimely loss of an elder brother tenderly beloved; and my own private grief was rendered more poignant when I afterwards learned that the cause of the fatal encounter was, that Edward's antagonist reproached him with the conduct of his mother, for bringing me up and educating me as a gentleman, who was born a slave.

Mrs. Melbourn for a long time after the death of her son seemed prostrated by the affliction. Her grief, though silent, was profound, and her health seemed sinking under her distress of mind. I much feared that her corporeal powers were too feeble to resist the shock; indeed I think she would have sunk under it, had it not been for the consolations of religion, and her firm, unshaken faith that her heavenly Father would in the end order all things for the best and for the greatest good. Her faith and resignation to the will of God were greatly assisted by the advice and exhortations of Mr. Smith, a methodist preacher, a native of Virginia, who spent much of his time at our house, and who was not only a zealous Christian but a very judicious and discreet man.

Colonel Boyd felt the death of Edward as an affliction the most painful. This young man had become connected with all his plans for the future enjoyment of life. His untimely death had disconcerted all those schemes, and had left the old veteran depressed with a feeling of utter and gloomy solitude. He often said he felt that he resembled a dry tree standing alone in the field, exposed to be prostrated by every gust of wind. The deep and corroding melancholy of Laura added to the Colonel's depression of spirits, and his anxiety was increased by the apprehension that her constitution was incapable of sustaining her against the sea of troubles with which she was overwhelmed. Laura perceived the anxiety of her father, and became alarmed at his condition. She justly suspected that much of his depression was owing to his solicitude for her, and, with the hope of saving the life of her father, she endeavored to appear to forget the death of her lover. Time and these laudable efforts gradually mellowed the grief of the one, and diminished the gloom and despondency of the other.

In the mean while I pursued my studies of general literature; and three years more passed away without the occurrence of any incident worth relating.

In the winter of 1806, the good Mrs. Melbourn procured the consent of the proper authorities, and the deed for my emancipation was duly executed by her. She did this, as I afterwards learned, to guard against any legal objection which might be raised, after her death, against the provisions contained in her will for my emancipation; and because Mr. Smith had suggested to her, that by the law of North Carolina I was, while a slave, personal property—that is to say, a mere thing—and would be adjudged incapable of taking by bequest or devise any property she might think proper to bequeath to me.

During the three years last mentioned, Mrs. Melbourn sent me frequently with messages to Laura Boyd and her father. In the course of these visits I became acquainted with a mulatto girl by the name of Maria, a slave of Colonel Boyd, whom he had given to his daughter as a dressing-maid. Maria was born the property of Colonel Boyd, and in his house. Her mother was a favorite house-slave; she did not live long after the birth of Maria, who was her only child. Maria had been tenderly brought up, and taught to read and write, and the use of the needle.

Her mother, though a slave, was a quadroon, and her father was a white man. Maria therefore was allied to the African race only in the eighth degree. I hardly need mention that the difference in appearance between her and those of pure Saxon blood was so slight as to be almost imperceptible. Indeed it was quite so to an ordinary observer. Yet she was a slave—a thing—an article of merchandise!—by the laws of the free, democratic state of North Carolina!! She was about fifteen years old when I first became acquainted with her.

I am aware that many persons in America, some of whom perhaps may honor me with a perusal of this history of my life, may feel disgusted and indignant at an attempt to describe a female who was tainted with African blood, as beautiful. But nevertheless I am sure there are those, both in England and the United States, who claim to be competent judges, who admit that the most beautiful human forms they ever saw were mulatto girls, and especially those of Richmond, Va. That Maria was one of this description, all who ever saw her admitted. Her tall, erect figure, her sparkling eye, her polished high fore-head, the intellectual, the kind and affectionate expression of her countenance, her graceful movements, and enchanting smile, were to me irresistibly fascinating. I first admired her for the charms of her person, but as my acquaintance and my intimacy with her advanced, I loved her for the qualities of her heart and the superiority of her mind. Maria could not, and indeed did not, have any consciousness of her condition as a slave. She knew, it is true, that she belonged to Laura Boyd, but her situation with that young lady was the precise situation she would have chosen, if the whole world had been open to her choice. She was, practically, as free as the mountain deer. Laura required no more of her than she would have done had her actions depended entirely on her own volition, and indeed she was wholly unconscious of doing any thing or remaining anywhere by compulsion. In the fall of 1807, I communicated my feelings and wishes to Maria, who, being a slave, of course had no acquaintance with educated and well-bred men, and her own education and taste prevented her from the least association with the slaves or the free colored young men in the neighborhood. The manners of this latter class were rude and vulgar, and most of them were licentious and vicious in their habits. I was the only civil male person, except the venerable Colonel Boyd, with whom Maria had ever conversed, and therefore she was pleased with me.

When I made known my attachment to her, she heard me with cordial delight, and confessed her heart had long been mine. She said she would ask her mistress to consent to her marriage with me. “But,” said Maria, hesitating, “what if she or my old master should refuse?” A livid paleness overspread her cheek, and apparently, for the first time in her life, poor Maria felt that she was not her own. Now, for the first time, the degradation and misery of slavery presented themselves to her disturbed and agitated mind. After a moment's silence she added, “But they are too good, too kind—I am sure they will not refuse.”

In fact, Maria did not over-estimate the kindness of Colonel Boyd and her mistress; they readily granted their consent, but insisted that the marriage should be postponed until I should be twenty-one years of age. This was but reasonable, and, although sorely against my inclination, I was fain to acquiesce in this decision, mainly, I confess, because I saw no way of successfully resisting it. I was then seventeen years old.

From this time I was a frequent visiter at Colonel Boyd's, and I was uniformly kindly received by that gentleman and his amiable daughter, and treated, notwithstanding my African blood, more like a relative of the family than a servant of a neighboring friend. The countenance of Maria always brightened at my approach, and, when with her, I forgot every other human being. Thus passed two of the happiest years of my life. Alas, those blissful days passed rapidly away, to be succeeded by years of suffering and misery. I perceived with deep regret and painful apprehension that the health of Mrs. Melbourn was gradually declining. The fervor of her piety increased, but the wound produced by the death of her son, instead of being healed by time, was cankering and corroding her heart's core. Although endued with holy resignation and heavenly hope, her nervous system was too susceptible to endure the sight of an article of clothing that had been worn by Edward, or even a book which he had been fond of reading.

In the summer of 1809, a young gentleman from Norfolk, Virginia, by the name of Alexander St. John, stopped a few days at Raleigh and paid a visit to Colonel Boyd. His father was a man of wealth and respectability, and, with Colonel Boyd, during the Revolution had served in the army of General Washington, and were both personally known and highly esteemed by that great and good man. After the termination of the Revolution, Colonel Boyd and Major St. John still continued their friendly intercourse, and their friendship increased with their age. This intimacy afforded them the greater pleasure as they belonged to the same political party, both being Federalists of the old school. In the preceding autumn Major St. John had died suddenly, leaving the whole of his large estate to Alexander, his only surviving child.

Colonel Boyd received the visit from the son of his old friend with great pleasure, and at his persuasion, Mr. St. John was induced to remain longer in our neighborhood than he had originally intended. He at times showed some traits of libertinism in his character, and talked more about games and horseracing than was agreeable to Colonel Boyd, who, speaking of him to Laura in my presence, after expressing his dislike to those little foibles, as he called them, said his dislike was perhaps occasioned by the circumstance that he had become old and had lost a relish for pleasures which might have charmed him when young. “That may be so,” said Laura, “but I am sure my father was never charmed with vicious pleasures.” “I do not think,” said her father, more gravely, “that an indulgence in vice, either by young or old, deserves the name of pleasure.” “I wish all the world were of your opinion,” said Laura. “There is certainly a great difference,” continued she, after a short pause, “between Mr. St. John and”—she sighed—“many of our North Carolina young gentlemen.”

Alexander St. John had been brought up as a rich man's son, and was in fact a spoiled child. His father had made liberal provision for his education, but he, by one excuse and another, avoided any serious application to study, and like most young men of fortune at that day, in Virginia, had imbibed a hearty contempt for the learned professions, and indeed for all classes of business men. From habit and taste he had become fond of horseracing, gambling, and at times a very free indulgence in drinking. Although he liked rows and was sometimes engaged in brawls, he was considered what was denominated a clever fellow. He was very tenacious of the word called honor, and was ready at all times to gamble, drink, laugh, or fight with you.

This young man professed a violent attachment to Laura, and solicited the consent of her father to pay his addresses to her. Laura learned the proposal with pain and regret; the more so, because she perceived her father was inclined to favor the wishes of Mr. St. John. She knew he would on no account urge her to do an act entirely contrary to her inclination; his only object was her happiness, and that very knowledge rendered her extremely unwilling to refuse her consent. But in the whole deportment of Mr. St. John she thought she discovered a total disregard to religion and virtue, an air of libertinism, and a careless assurance nearly amounting to impudence, very revolting to her feelings. She confessed these impressions to her father, which he heard with regret. He replied, that she was the only treasure left to him on earth; that on her happiness depended his own; he knew she had once loved an object worthy of her, but he was no more: would it be in accordance with her duty towards society, would it be wise to bury herself at her age? Mr. St. John belonged to a family of great respectability, of unstained honor, and large estate. The latter circumstance he cared little about, as had been proved to Laura on another occasion, but it was a circumstance which ought to have some weight in deciding upon Mr. St. John's proposal, because an increase of wealth would enable them to be more useful to their fellow-beings. “You are already,” said he, “near the end of the spring-time of life, and, my dear child, I will confess to you that I am unwilling that my family should end with you and me.” Here his voice trembled, and Laura perceived that he had touched a string which vibrated through his heart. She was much distressed, and begged her father not to press her further at that time, but to advise Mr. St. John to return to Virginia, and she would give the subject the consideration which its importance demanded, and which her love and duty to her kind good father required. “Be it so,” said he, pressing her hand, “but do not make yourself unhappy to please me.”

This last remark sunk deep into the heart of Laura. Could she act contrary to the wishes of her only parent, and that parent so kind, so affectionate? St. John was extremely pressing for a more favorable answer, and not obtaining it, prepared reluctantly to return to Virginia.

Soon after this conversation Mr. St. John made his addresses to Laura, and solicited her hand in marriage. She heard him with deep and painful regret; nevertheless, the ardent solicitude of her father that she should be settled in life finally wrung from her a reluctant consent, but that consent she did not yield until she had consulted Mrs. Melbourn, who earnestly advised her that her duty to society and to her father required her to accede to the proposals of Mr. St. John; and she soon after became his wife.

It was now the latter part of the year 1809; and as the cold weather approached, Mrs. Melbourn, who had been gradually sinking, in consequence of a melancholy which followed the death of her son, and which could not be overcome, was attacked with a cough of a character evidently indicating that her lungs were affected.

It is a singular feature in the disease called consumption, that as the body declines the mind becomes more vigorous, or rather the intellectual vision becomes clearer, and the mental powers glow with greater and greater brilliancy till the lamp of life is extinguished. That was peculiarly the case with Mrs. Melbourn. Indeed, her tone of mind, by which I mean her fortitude, evidently increased as death approached. Although formerly she could not endure the sight of any thing which had belonged to Edward, now she directed his wearing apparel to be brought into her room, and also his letters to be read to her, which she had carefully preserved. She heard them with composure and pleasure. I could see sometimes, when reading those letters which contained ardent expressions of filial affection, a tear start in her eye; but it seemed her main reason for calling for these letters was to prepare her mind for that converse which she hoped soon to enjoy with her beloved child in another world.

One day, and it was less than a week before her death, she called me to her bedside, and motioned to the servants to retire. She said she had but few words to say to me, and these related only to worldly concerns. She wished me to marry Maria, and trusted I would do so. Although both Colonel Boyd and Laura had assured her that Maria should be emancipated at any time when it was thought best, and certainly when she was married to me, the new relations caused by the marriage of Laura to a stranger might produce obstacles not now anticipated, and she had thought it better to provide in her will the means of paying for Maria's freedom, and which Mr. Smith, who was her executor, was authorized to pay to me on my becoming twenty-one years of age. “The principal part of the legacy I intend for you,” said she, “is left in the hands of Mr. Smith, as a trustee, until you arrive at the age of twenty-five years.”

She died four days after. A great poet has said, that

If Mrs. Melbourn in her lifetime exhibited, as in truth she did, the beauties of the Christian religion, her death evidently proved its triumph. She was calm, self-collected, and possessed in full perfection her mental faculties, and her eyes shone with more than usual lustre. In her last moments she took the hand of Mr. Smith; “I knew,” said she, “that my Heavenly Father would not forsake me in this hour.” Her last words were, “My husband—my Edward—I come!”

After her death and burial Mr. Smith produced her will. She bequeathed an annuity of $100 to each of her English servants. She gave her watch and Bible to Laura; to the Methodist society $1000, to be paid as Mr. Smith should direct; and she bequeathed to me the residue of all her estate, amounting in value, as I afterwards ascertained, to a little more than $20,000. Of this sum Mr. Smith was immediately to pay me $400 to purchase the freedom of Maria, if it should be necessary to pay for her freedom, and a small sum annually for my expenses until I should be twenty-five years old, when the whole amount was to be delivered over to me.

Since the marriage of Mr. St. John with Laura he had claimed the house of Colonel Boyd as his home; and he did, in fact, spend the winter and early part of the spring of 1810 there, but in May he went back to Virginia to superintend, as he said, his estate in the neighborhood of Norfolk. Laura seemed more dejected after her marriage than before; and neither the entreaties of her husband or her father could induce her to mingle in society more than barely to avoid treating with apparent neglect the friends of the family. St. John during the winter had shown some slight indications that he had not abandoned his habits of dissipation, and I thought there appeared a want of cordial good-feeling towards him on the part of Colonel Boyd. When in company with St. John, there was a formality and a constraint in his manner not exactly suited to the relations existing between them. I observed, too, that Maria appeared unhappy, and I sought in vain to learn from her the cause of her uneasiness. I informed Colonel Boyd of Mrs. Melbourn's bequest to purchase her freedom, and wished him to give his consent. He seemed offended at the overture. “He had,” he said, “told me she should be free on the day of our marriage, and hoped I did not mean to intimate that I doubted he would perform what he promised.” Of course I could not urge him further.

As an excuse for going frequently to the house of Colonel Boyd, I used to carry him his letters regularly from the post-office immediately after the arrival of the mails; and this practice I continued the whole of the autumn of that year. St. John had protracted his stay at Norfolk much longer than was expected. One evening, among the letters, I observed one post-marked Norfolk. Colonel Boyd opened that first: while reading it he appeared greatly agitated, which his daughter perceiving, begged him to acquaint her with the cause. He hesitated a few moments, and then said, “My dear child, I fear we have been deceived in Mr. St. John; at any rate, it appears from this letter, which is from an old friend of mine in Virginia, that his affairs in that state are totally ruined.” The letter was brief, but stated in substance, that soon after the death of his father he had indulged quite too freely in dissipation and profuse expenditure; that in less than six months after he came to the possession of his estate, he had mortgaged it for nearly one-third of its value, an act that was for some time kept secret; that during the last summer he had been guilty of gross licentiousness, and had become an associate with the most extravagant and reckless gamblers, who had swindled him out of all his estate, and left him in debt.

Colonel Boyd had the year before been attacked with a slight shock of apoplexy; his daughter was alarmed lest this news would discompose his nerves so as to produce a return of that fearful disease. She therefore said to him cheerfully, “Perhaps it is not so bad as your friend writes; and even if his property is gone, we have enough to live upon. I did not marry Mr. St. John for his money.” “No,” said her father, “you did not marry him for his money, but you married him because you loved me, and I urged you to it.” “Indeed you did not,” said she, “you left the matter to my own free will and—” “Mighty God!” said he, heedless of what she said, “that I should urge my dear child to marry a drunkard—a companion of swindlers—” As he said this, he rose suddenly from his seat, clasped his hands, and fell dead on the floor.

The scene was awful. I sprang to the colonel—attempted to raise him—used friction and other means to reanimate him. Alas! it was all in vain: the lamp of life was extinguished forever. Laura was insensible. Maria made every effort to restore her, which in a short time proved successful. What effect was produced upon the tender and affectionate heart of Laura by the sudden death of her only parent, can be better imagined than described. Her grief was silent, but it was most intense. The mind which is capable of overcoming one great misfortune—the heart which has been once lacerated by deep wounds, and whose dearest hopes have been crushed—if capable, by the strength of reason, to triumph and ride out the storm, acquires additional strength to encounter other and equally severe afflictions. The mind, though it may retain its sensibilities, acquires not exactly rigidity, but a tone which increases its capability to resist prostration on account of subsequent disappointments and grief: the flesh that becomes callous after a wound, will be less affected by a blow than that which has never been injured. So it was with Laura: she had survived the destruction of her fondest hopes in the death of her beloved Edward, and that experience encouraged her to hope, that time, and an humble resignation to the dispensations of a Divine Providence, would enable her to outlive the loss of her father.

Colonel Boyd died without a will. From that reluctance which all feel, while in health, to sit in judgment upon their own affairs after death, and make a final disposition of their property, he had from time to time, and from various causes, (most of which were merely pretences, which his unwillingness to engage in the business of making a will had conjured up,) put it off; although, on the very day of his death, he told Laura that he should go to town the next day for the purpose of having his will drawn; that he was admonished by the paralytic shock he experienced about a year before, that he might die suddenly; that he was alarmed at the habits and propensities he discovered in St. John, and that he meant to vest his estate in the hands of trustees for the benefit of his daughter, to be subject to her control. An inscrutable Providence defeated these prudential calculations and arrangements.

A special message was immediately dispatched for Mr. St. John, but he did not arrive at Raleigh until the day after the funeral. He had not been at home many days before he assumed the absolute control of the property of Colonel Boyd, all of which, both real and personal, he claimed in right of his wife as sole heiress. He put on new airs, and, indeed, seemed a different kind of man. He sold a considerable number of the slaves to raise money to pay off the balance of debts still existing against him in Virginia. A great part of his time was spent at political meetings and horse-races, or carousing at a hotel in Raleigh; and when at home, he was ill-natured and cruel to the slaves, and sullen and sulky at his own fireside. Thus it was that Laura, while overwhelmed with grief at her father's death, was distressed with the painful conviction that her husband, in whose absolute power the laws of the land placed her and her great estate—was becoming, if he had not already become, profligate in his principles and habits, and tyrannical and brutal in his character. His treatment of me was haughty and offensive, and he even intimated a wish that I would not visit at his house. Maria seemed more distressed than any other member of the family. Mr. St. John's entrance would constantly throw her into a tremor: the sound of his voice, or even the noise of his steps, would make her bosom throb with fear. As soon as I could speak with her alone, I reminded her of the agitation she had on several occasions manifested in presence of Mr. St. John, and entreated her to inform me of the cause of it,—which she declined doing. I told her that if her situation was in any respect painful, I would have her removed to some other place. “Alas!” said she, “there are two things which render such a step impossible. In the first place, she was the property of Mr. St. John, and therefore could not leave without his consent; and if he would yield such consent, she herself could not leave her mistress in her present condition.” I replied that there was money in the hands of Mr. Smith to purchase her freedom, and that, at all events, should be done immediately. “Julius,” said she, with a deep sigh, “I fear Mr. St. John will refuse to sell me.” Like a flash of light, it came into my mind that St. John cherished improper designs in relation to her. The horrid idea entered my soul like a barbed arrow. I said no more, but hastened to Mr. Smith, and communicated to him my apprehensions, and begged him immediately to apply to St. John for the purchase of Maria. He did so the next morning, and met with a prompt and peremptory refusal to sell her on any terms. In vain Mr. Smith represented the solemn engagement of Colonel Boyd, that he would set her free without money and without price; and that, at a proper time, she was to become my wife. The excuse rendered by Mr. St. John was, that the attendance of Maria on Mrs. St. John was indispensable. Having stated this, he immediately left the room. Mr. Smith then requested to see Mrs. St. John, and explained to her the nature of his business with her husband. Mrs. St. John said it was the intention of her father that Maria should be freed, which perfectly accorded with her own wishes; that she would speak to her husband on the subject, and she did not doubt he would consent that Maria, whenever she chose, should leave the family. The next day, Mr. Smith and myself called, and found Laura indisposed. She appeared to have been weeping. Maria was not in the room. Laura said she had been disappointed: she had been unable to persuade Mr. St. John to liberate Maria; she hoped, however, on reflection, he would be better disposed. St. John was then in the field, and we concluded to wait his return to the house. On his entrance into the room, Mr. Smith immediately rose and said to him, that it gave him great pleasure to learn that Mrs. St. John did not object to the discharge of Maria, which, from what passed yesterday, he trusted would remove the objection of Mr. St. John; and he added, that if the price was any object, he would, on his own responsibility, double the sum left by Mrs. Melbourn for the purchase of the freedom of Maria. St. John's eyes flashed with rage and fury. “Am I,” said he, “to sell my slave at the dictation of a fanatical old woman? You and your whole Methodist gang may go to the d—, with this fellow Julius, whom you have pampered to cut our throats. I will not, for all the wealth of your tribe, sell this girl,—by heavens, I will not!” Mr. Smith endeavored to calm him, and finally insisted that St. John was under a moral obligation to carry into effect the intention of Colonel Boyd. This increased his rage. “You scoundrel!” said he, “have I not a right to do what I please with my own property? Rascal! do you claim to direct me what I shall sell, or what I shall keep? There stands my roan mare—perhaps in your next sermon you will exhort me to sell her. Out of my house, and never let me see you here again.” We left the house, and the next day I received the following note from Maria: “MY DEAR FRIEND,

“I am very unhappy. I cannot, dare not, explain to you the cause. My poor mistress is very sick. She cannot write; if she could, I would never consent to write what I do now. My mistress says we must be married right away. I hope you will not think me too bold for writing this. I would not for the world have done so had not my kind, good mistress told me I must. She says Mr. St. John is going to the horserace to-morrow, and that you must come and bring with you Mr. Parker, the church minister, as she thinks Mr. St. John will not find so much fault with him for doing it as he would with Mr. Smith, because he is a Methodist and Mr. Parker is a Churchman. I am afraid you will think ill of me for writing this, but then I think there is something in your heart that will make you forgive your own distracted but true-hearted