beyond that they might be toiling, groaning, bleeding, starving, dying
beneath the oppressor's lash in the deadly swamp, or in the teeth of the
cruel hounds, and she could not have the privilege of ministering to the
least of their wants, of soothing one of their sorrows, or even dropping
a silent tear beside them. If she could have heard only _one_ fact about
them it would have been some relief. But she could not enjoy even this
poor privilege. And then came the dead, heavy stillness of despair
creeping over her spirits.

Do you wonder that she became perfectly wild, and beside herself at
times? How would you feel if all you loved best were carried off by a
cruel slave-driver, and you had _no hope_ of hearing from them again in
this world?

During these dreadful fits of insanity she would bewail the living as
worse than dead, and pray God to take them away. Then she would curse
herself for being the mother of slave children, declaring that it would
be far better to see them die in their childhood, than to see them grow
up to suffer as she had suffered.

She lived only a few miles from her old home; but her new master was an
uncommonly hard man, and would not permit her to go and see her
children. He said it would only make her worse, and his slaves should
learn that they were not to put on airs and have whims. It was their
business to live for him. Didn't he pay enough for them, and see that
they were well fed and clothed, and what more did they want? This he
called kind treatment. Very kind, indeed, not to allow a mother to go
and see her own children! But when she was taken with those insane
spells, and would go on so about her children that she was not fit to
work, indeed could not be made to work, it was finally suggested to him