enth Louisiana African regiment, and were under the command of Colonel Lieb. They had never been in a fight before. The "chivalry" came on, expecting to see their former bondsmen crouch and tremble at the first imperious word; but, to the dismay of the Rebels, they were met with such splendid bravery, that they turned and fled, and the Illinois men were saved.

The next day nine hundred and forty-one troops of African descent had a hand-to-hand engagement with a Texan brigade, commanded by McCulloch, which numbered eighteen hundred and sixty-five. Three hundred and forty-five of the colored troops were killed or wounded, though not till they had put hors de combat twice that number of Rebels. The gunboat Choctaw finally came up to drive off the enemy.

Conspicuous for intrepid conduct on both these occasions was a black man, slightly above the middle height, but broadshouldered, well-formed, and athletic. Across his left cheek was a scar as if from a sabre-cut. This man had received the name of Peculiar Institution, but he was familiarly called Peek. On the second day his words and his example had inspired the men of his company with an almost superhuman courage. Bravely they stood their ground, and nowhere else on the field did so many of the enemy's dead attest the valor of these undrilled Africans.

One youth, apparently not seventeen, had fought by Peek's side and under his eye with heroic defiance of danger. At last, venturing too far from the ranks, he got engaged with two Rebel officers in a hand-to-hand encounter, and was wounded. Peek saw his danger, rushed to his aid, parried a blow aimed at the lad's life, and shot one of the infuriate officers; but as he was bearing the youth back into the ranks, he was himself wounded in the side, and fell with his burden.

The boy's wound was not serious. He and Peek were borne within the protection of the guns of the Choctaw. They lay in the shade cast by the Levee. The surgeon looked at Peek's wound, and shook his head. Then turning to the boy he exclaimed, "Why, Sterling, is this you?"

At the name of Sterling, Peek had roused himself and turned a gaze, at once of awe and curiosity, on the youth; then sending the surgeon to another sufferer, had beckoned to the boy to draw near.

"Is your name Sterling?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where were you born?"

"In Montreal."

"And your mother's name was Flora Jacobs, and your father's Sterling! I am your father!"

Profoundly overcome by the disclosure, the boy was speechless for a time with agitation. But Peek pressed him to tell of his mother. "And be quick, Sterling; for my time is short." We need not give the boy's narrative in his own words, interrupted as it was by the inquiries put by Peek, while his life-blood was ebbing. The story which Clara Berwick had heard at school, and communicated to Mrs. Gentry, was the story of Flora Jacobs. Those who hate to think ill of slavery sneer at such reports as the exaggerations of romance; but the great heart of humanity will need no testimony to show that, in the nature of things, they must be too often true.

Flora and Sterling, mother and son, were held as slaves by one Floyd in Alabama. Flora had religiously kept her oath of fidelity to Peek, much to the chagrin and indignation of her master, who saw that he was losing at least fifty per cent on his investment, through her stubborn resistance to his demands that she should increase and multiply after the fashion of his Alderneys and Durhams. At last it happened that Sterling, who had been inspired by his mother with the desire to seek his father, ran away, was retaken, and tied up for a whipping. Ten lashes had been given, and had drawn blood. And there were to be one hundred and ninety more! The mother, in an agony, interceded. There was only one way by which she could save him. She must marry coachman George. She consented. But a month afterwards Floyd learnt that Flora had made the marriage practically null, and had not suffered coachman George to touch even the hem of her robe. Floyd was enraged. He wrought upon the evil passions of George. There were first threats, and then an attempt at violence. The attempt was baffled by Flora's inflicting upon herself a mortal stab. As she fell on the floor she marked upon it with her own blood a cross, and kissed it with her last breath. - all just as it should be," murmured Peek.

66

""T is all right,

!

"God knew best.

PECULIAR.

Bless him always for this meeting, Sterling. Hold the napkin closer to the wound. There! I knew she would be true! So! Take the belt from under my vest. Easy! It contains a hundred dollars. 'Tis yours. Take the watch from the pocket. So! A handsome gold one, you

see.

'T was given me by Mr. Vance. The name's engraved on it. Can you write? Good. Your mother taught you. Write by the next mail to William C. Vance, Washington, D. C. Tell him what has happened. Tell him how your mother died. He'll be your friend. You fought bravely, my son. What sweetness God puts into this moment! Take no trouble about the body I leave behind. Any trench will do for it. Fight on for freedom and the right. Slavery must die. All ll wrong must die. You can't wrong even a worm without wronging yourself more than it. Remember that. Holy living makes holy believing. Charity first. Think to shut out others from heaven, and the danger is great you 'll shut yourself out. Don't strike for revenge. Slay because 't is God's cause on earth you defend; and don't fight unless you see and believe that much, let who may command. Love life. 'Tis God's gift and opportunity. The more you suffer, the more, my dear boy, you can show you prize life, not for the world's goods, but for that love of God, which is heaven, - Christ's heaven. Think. Not to think is to be a brute. Learn something every day. Love all that's good and fair. Love music. Love flowers. Don't be so childish as to suppose that because you don't hear or see spirits, they don't hear and see you. Remember that your mother and I can watch you, can know your every thought. You'll grieve us if you do wrong. You'll make us very happy if you do right. Ah! The napkin has slipped. No matter. There! Let the blood ooze. See! Sterling! Look! There! Do you not see? They come. The angels! Your mother-my mother and beyond there, high up there one Ah, God! Tell Mr. Vance tell him-his-his

Peek stood up erect, lifted his clasped hands above his head, looked beyond them as if watching some beatific vision, then dropped his mortal body dead upon the earth.

"Heureux l'homme qu'un doux hymen unira avec elle ! il n'aura à craindre que de la perdre et de lui survivre.” — E - Fenelon.

IT

T was that Fourth of July, 1863, when every sincere friend of the Great Republic felt his heart beat high with mingled hope and apprehension. Tremendous issues, which must affect the people of the American continent through all coming time, were in the balance of Fate, and the capricious chances of war might turn the scale on either side. Gettysburg, Vicksburg, Port Hudson, Helena! The great struggles that were to make these places memorable had reached their culminating and critical point, but were as yet undecided.

Lee's Rebel army of invasion, highly disciplined, and numbering nearly a hundred thousand men, was marching into Pennsylvania. General Lee assured his friends he should remain North just as long as he wished; that there was no earthly power strong enough to drive him back across the Potomac. He expected "to march on Baltimore and occupy it; then to march on Washington and dictate terms of peace." Such was Lee's plan. Its success depended on his defeating the Union army; and of that he felt certain.

The loyal North was unusually reticent and grave; "troubled on every side, yet not distressed; perplexed, but not in despair." A change of commanders in the army of the Potomac, when just on the eve of the decisive contest, added to the general seriousness.

Clara, since her parting from Vance, had addressed herself thoughtfully to the business of life. Duties actively discharged had brought with them their reward in a diffusive cheerfulness.

On the morning of that eventful Fourth of July, the ringing of bells and the firing of cannon roused her from slumber

somewhat earlier than usual. On the piazza she met Netty Pompilard, and Mary and Julia Ireton, and Master and Miss Purling, and they all strolled to the river's side, then home to breakfast, then out to the mown field by the orchard, where a mammoth tent had been erected, and servants were spreading tables for the day's entertainment, to be given by Clara to all the poor and rich of the neighborhood. Colonel Hyde, having been commissioned to superintend the arrangements, was here in his glory, and not a little of his importance was reflected on the busy cripple, his nephew.

Clara's thoughts, however, were at Gettysburg, where brave men were giving up their lives and exposing themselves to terrible, life-wasting wounds, in order that we at home might live in peace and have a country, free and undishonored. She thought of Vance. She knew he had resigned his colonelcy, and was now employed in the important and hazardous, though untrumpeted labors of a scout or spy, for which he felt that his old practice as an actor had given him some aptitude. We subjoin a few fragmentary extracts from the last letter she had received from him:

"Poor Peek, rather let me say fortunate Peek! He fell nobly, as he always desired to fall, in the cause of freedom and humanity. His son, Sterling, is now with me; a bright, brave little fellow, who is already a great comfort and help.”

6

"Until the North are as much in earnest for the right as the South are for the wrong, we must not expect to see an end to this war. It is not enough to say, "Our cause is just. Providence will put it through.' If we don't think the right and the just worth making great sacrifices for,- worth risking life and fortune for, we repel that aid from Heaven which we lazily claim as our due. God gives Satan power to try the nations as he once tried Job. 'Skin for skin,' says Satan; yea, all that a man hath will he give for his life.' Unless we have pluck enough to disprove the Satanic imputation, and to show we prize God's kingdom on earth more than we do life or limb or worldly store, then it is not a good cause that will save us, but a sordid spirit that will ruin us. O for a return of that inspiration which filled us when the first bombardment of Sumter smote on our ears!"

"The President will soon call for three hundred thousand more volunteers. O women of the North! — ye whose heart