Heaven, God's Home and Ours. 287 boasting of the vastness and extent of his father's lands? and have you no song in which you can blazon forth the praises of your Heavenly Father's name? Can you not sing of what 'Our Father's' might has done, and of 'Our Father's' inheritance? Oh yes. You stupendous sky of blue which bangs at midnight over the earth,Our Father' at home. We are not chasing away the gloom by the radiance of its countless lights, 'Our Father' made. Yonder sun, monarch of day, derives its resplendent effulgence from Him. His band robed the moon in ber queenly vestments, and marked out a starlit pathway for her nightly promenade. It was He who hung the firmament with its gorgeous drapery of clouds and girded the earth with a crystalline atmosphere, in which at His pleasure the lightnings flash and the thunder roars. It was He who scooped out the valley of the ocean, and bound its majestic waves by the fiat, Thus far, and no farther. He piled up the mountains, whose snowclad summits kiss the heavens. His arm reared the towering forests of Lebanon, and His hand pencilled the rose. He gave to the songsters of the wood their thrilling melodies, to the butterfly its wings of gold, and to the lion his colassal strength. Yea, whatever is beautiful, whatever is grand, and whatever is good and useful Our Father' made, and His dominions extend far beyond the range where planets roll or comets sweep, and His empire is the illimitable domain of immensity. innumerable suite of angelic servants, each one more glorious than earth's greatest monarch. It is there where Our Father' reigns and lives in state with His dearest, eldest Son, our elder brother at His right hand. It is His home. It is ours also. It will be our privilege to call God there yet, but we are going, and shall see Him as He is; and there love and worship Him as 'Our Father.' We are now at school, in this far off province; but like children who are enchanted by the prospect of release from the irksome restraint of school, because they love home, love its freedom, love its pleasures, love its father and love its brotherhood, so we are enchanted amid the darkness and sorrows of life by the prospect of everlasting release therefrom in the home of our Heavenly Father; and like the foud merry children of earth we love our home, love its father, love its brotherhood, love its pleasures, and love its freedom. Heaven is God's dwelling place; not the blue starlighted sky our eyes gaze upon, but some superb world located far beyond, transcending in the bliss of its enjoyments, in the beauty of its inhabitants, and in the gloriousness of its architecture, all the fabled elysiums of paganism and myth ology, with none of their carnal enjoyments and enchantments nor voluptuous corruptions. It is an Eden of innocence and peace. It is the metropolis of God's universal empire. Hence, its right royal order and holiness. It is the palace of the Great King, where is seen in fullest glory the magnificence of His loyalty and greatness, and where waits in humble homage His But again, children away from the father and the home they love, hold correspondence. They send home their honest expressions of love, it may be of home sick love sometimes; they send them notwithstanding. They send also their little prayers for what they want, in the fullest undoubting expectation of receiving pleasing replies. This is, Christian reader, an illustration of how we should act towards our Heavenly Father. Our sonship to Him gives us this blessed privilege with its full benefits. Being away from home we should correspond with 'Our Father.' We should send in the fragrant breath of adoration our honest utterances of love and thankfulness. We should send our prayers, believing that He is so good and wise a Father that He will withhold nothing that we need or will promote our happiness and good. Let us ever repose in the bosom of His parental love, being confident that whatever be our earthly fate, however rugged and chequered our career, God's home shall be, will be our heaven-home if we endure faithfully unto the end. Let us daily exercise the privilege of our filial relationship in closest communion with Our Father, seeking His counsel and blessing to realize the fulness of the grace and dignity of our position, that we may live worthily and usefully as the children of God. May our life's as- Home, home, sweet sweet home, SAMSON, THE VIRGINIAN SLAVE. CHAPTER I.-HIS EARLY LIFE AND TRAINING. IN one of the northern counties of Virginia, there lived two years ago, and perhaps still lives, a man whom we will call Mr. Matson. This man was known in all that region as a gambler, and a villain generally. He had risen from the position of overseer on a plantation, to the honour of owning some property, a fact on which he rested his right to be considered a gentleman. He kept some fast horses for racing, a famous hound for hunting negroes, and a slave named Samson, whom he had trained as a pugilist. He had purchased him when about twenty years old, on account of his extraordinary size, and strength, and had kept him to bet on, as he did his horses. Now this Samson was a peculiar specimen of the peculiar kind of property common in that region. His grandfather was an African chief, who was brought into America before the revolution. He was a man of gigantic size and strength, possessing withal more will of his own than generally falls to the lot of his race. He never took kindly to his white conquerors; but keeping in his heart the memory of his former liberty and power, he received their kindness or their cruelty alike, with sullen indifference or contempt. He was called 'a vicious nigger,' and sold about from one to another, who severally exhausted their ideas of discipline on him, with no other effect than to make him more sullen and revengeful. It was a wonder what hailed the fellow, that they could not break him in. Could they not see that the same love of liberty, the sense of wrong, and the resistance to opposition, in which the white man glories, were working in his savage heart, defying all their power? The old Congo chief was strikingly reproduced in our hero Samson. He J. F. possessed the same magnificent development of bone and muscle; which, on the banks of the Niger, would have made him a leader of his people, and a famous hunter of the lion and rhinoceros. He had grown up in the midst of professed Christians, he had seen the spires of churches pointing towards heaven, he had heard the Sabbath bells calling the people to prayer, yet he was as ignorant of Christianity as his heathen ancestors. The Pagan rites and superstitious ideas which they had brought with them from Africa had been nearly forgotten by their descendants, and he was not an idolater, but an atheistone for whose soul no man had cared. As we said, Mr. Matson had trained Samson as a pugilist, and usually took him to horse races, and other places where men of the baser sort do congregate, to make him fight whenever he could find an opponent. Of course he bet on him, and as Samson was supposed to be influenced by rewards and punishments, he had as much whiskey as he could drink when he was victorious, but if he failed, he got fifty lashes on his bare back. Now it always happened on such occasions that Samson thought himself misused, and harboured in his heart indignant and revengeful thoughts. We cannot say that he had any very clear ideas of his own rights as a man, but he could see that he was worse treated than the horses and dogs, whose peer, at least, he was. He fell into the habit of examining his strong arms, and his fists, which were like a blacksmith's hammer, and asking himself why he, with the strength of half a dozen ordinary men, was a mere tool, for ever using these muscles for the pleasure and profit of another, never for his own. Samson had never heard of the De The Sale. claration of Independence, or that any one had said, 'All men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.' On the contrary, some pains had been taken to impress him with the conviction that he and all his race were incapable of self-government, and unworthy of self-possession that they had no wants beyond those of the beasts, and no rights which a white man cannot alienate. Nevertheless he knew the lie which was being taught him, and would not accept the condition in which he found himself as either comfortable or just. The consequences were, a smouldering discontent which, year by year, grew more intense from the very necessity of concealment, and an equally increasing hatred of his master, and of all white people, whom he, with too much reason, came to regard as his natural enemies. Samson possessed the cunning and duplicity generally attributed to his race, traits of character which, if they are peculiarly common to the African mind, certainly owe much of their growth to the circumstances under which they are developed. He was careful to conceal his aspirations and his feelings; and if he had been asked if he wanted freedom, he would have answered, 'What dis nigger want freedom for? Love massa and de' ole place too well for dat ar nonsense.' Yet there were times when the fire within him sent sparks and flashes to the surface. Mr. Matson had noticed for months that he mingled less and less in the sports of his fellow servants, that while they sung and danced he stood gloomily apart, like one who has a thought that troubles him. Though he grew more powerful and expert as a pugilist, so that now he rarely found an equal in the ring, yet he manifested no pleasure or interest in the victories he won. Mr. M. was accustomed to deal his slaves a word and a blow, the blow generally coming first, but he had seen a flash in Samson's eye which had startled him and made him cautious how he struck. If he had seen the same symptoms in another slave, he 289 would have applied the lash till the most desirable docility had been secured; but a fear of Samson had gradually stolen over him, till it had taken full possession of his heart, and he no longer dared to anger him. Samson had noticed this, and eagerly and silently master and slave watched each other. Both knew that a change must come, and each tried to deceive the other. Mr. Matson had made up his mind to sell Samson to a trader, and have him carried out of the State, and only waited the opportunity. Samson had made up his mind to strike for freedom, and also waited the opportunity. Meanwhile there was unusual kindness on one side, and humility and devotion on the other; by which, however, neither were deceived. CHAPTER II.-THE SALE. It was a warm morning in the early part of March, 1859-I am writing a true story, and may as well be exact as to the time-when Mr. Matson sent for Samson to come to his room. The slave soon made his appearance, and the master, with more than usual condescension, said, 'Good morning, Samson. Have you looked after Ponto this morning, and seen that the stables are all right?' Samson doffed his ragged hat, and, bowing, replied, 'Yes massa, de dogs and horses 'pears all right.' 'Well then, you may take this paper and go to the Eldridge House. Inquire there for Mr. Jeffrys, and give it to him. Mind Samson, you are to give it to him yourself.' Samson took the paper with another bow, saying 'Yes massa'-but before he turned to leave the room, the eyes of the two men met, and in that glance, each read the heart of the other as an open book. The lip may utter falsehood, and wreathe itself in smiles, when the heart is full of hatred and revenge, or breaking with secret grief, but the eye is more truthful, and cannot easily be trained, to lend itself to deceit. Samson felt as that paper touched his hand, that there was mischief in it. He looked on the written characters, whose meaning was a sealed mystery to him, and turned from that to his master's face, whose language the subtlest scholar could not read more correctly. He saw his eye fixed on him with a look, half of triumph, half of fear, and he answered it with a flash of hatred and defiance. Samson started immediately for the house to which he had been directed. He felt sure that he was sold; sold, too, to a trader who would take him to the rice swamps, or the cotton fields; but he would know certainly. As he went along he examined his strong limbs with something of the same feeling with which a man who suspects danger examines the priming of his pistol, or the point of his dagger. He was calculating what dependence he might place on them. The examination seemed satisfactory, for he smiled grimly as he shook his clenched fist. When he reached the Eldridge House, he inquired for Mr. Jeffrys, and was told to go into the bar room. He entered, and having delivered the paper, turned to depart. Sit down, Samson, sit down. I want to look at this a minute,' said Jeffrys, motioning him to a chair. Samson cast a glance around the room. There were six men present whose eyes all seemed directed to him. He placed a chair against the open door, and sat down. of pretended kindness. He knew they were afraid of him, and were trying to get him under the influence of drugs, that they might fasten the manacles on his limbs, which he saw half concealed in one corner of the room. Now or never be must strike for freedom. Resolutely declining the brandy, he rose and made a move towards the door. The six men rushed at him. They saw that their stratagem had failed, and resolved to secure him by force. Mr. Jeffrys seized a chair and struck him over the head. He was now fairly roused, and dealt such blows among them, that in less time than it takes me to tell it, he laid them all helpless, if not insensible, on the floor. Why did they not shoot you?' asked a friend to whom he told this story in the State of New York, and to whom he showed the wound, yet unhealed, which he then received on his head. His reply was, 'I's worth twelve hundred dollars; 'spect they didn't like to throw away such a heap o' money as dat ar.' He rushed from the house, the blood streaming over his face from the wound in his head. We should suppose he would have fled immediately to a place of concealment; but he did not. There was a feeling in his heart, which for the moment swayed him more than the love of life or liberty. He would gratify his hatred; he would have revenge for the wrongs he had suffered, even though it should cost him his only chance for either: and for that purpose he turned back to his old home. He entered the kitchen, and found Mrs. Matson there. She saw at a glance that something was wrong, and shuddered at the glare of hatred in his eyes. What is the matter, Samson?' she said with apparent concern; 'who has hurt you?'' He made her no answer, but she saw that there was a storm of passion in his bosom, and trembled before her bondman. She knew, however, that he had no reason to injure her, for she had always been his friend, and more than once, with womanly kindness, had dressed the wounds which he had received in those brutal contests into which his master forced him. Still Brooding revenge. hoping to soothe him, she offered him cakes which she had been making; and he, having silently suffered her to fill his pockets, left the house. Her kiudness had softened his heart, and for a moment, he resolved to flee immediately and abandon all thoughts of revenge for the past; but as he went through the carriage-house, he saw a whip, whose knotted cord was red with the blood of a slave who had been punished a few days before. The sight maddened him. Why should the blood of the negro alone flow? Why should not the white man learn that the worm which he crushes beneath his foot may sometime sting his heel? Mr. Matson usually kept his pistols in his trotting gig. Samson had seen them there this morning, and now resolved to take possession of them. Why, he asked himself, should he not secure the benefits which that little weapon confers on white men? He looked for them, but they were gone; and he knew that his master, suspect ing danger, had armed himself. This was an unexpected obstacle to his purpose, but taking an axe which lay in his way, he walked straight to the stable. His master was stooping to examine the foot of a horse, with his back to the door. With the axe in his band, he stole with noiseless step towards him. When he was within a few feet, the horse saw him and neighed, and Mr. Matson, rising up, turned towards bim. • What would you have done, Samson?' he was asked, when naively relating these circumstances. I was going to hit him wid de axe, on de head. Dat ar'd settled him.' 'But Samson, would you have killed bim?' 'Spect I would,' he answered as coolly as if he had spoken of the killing of a bird. There was no appearance of compunction for the murderous purpose, nor proof that he attached any idea of guilt to it. He would have killed his master, and there would have been no remorse-only a pleasant sense of satisfied justice, and the wiping out of a long account. We do not wonder at the terror which reigns in Southern society, nor 291 that, as the late President said, matrons are disquieted in their homes. Though Samson is not the ordinary type of the enslaved African, yet doubtless in every community, there are some who resemble him-men to whom neither justice nor mercy has ever been shown, whose deadliest passions are daily aroused, by such wrongs and outrages as brutes would resent, and who, when their hour shall come for vengeance, will not know the meaning of the words, humanity or mercy. You have cried to me for blood,' said the gladiator who led a servile war in Rome. You have taught me that human life is cheap, and that murder may be the amusement of a people, and now you shall have blood. You have taught me to use the sword for your amusement, I will use it now for my own.' Alas! for the slave cursed portion of America, when the poor blind Samson, who now grinds so patiently in the prison house, shall awake to a consciousness of his power, and begin, in his sightless fury, to feel for the pillars of the social structure. Samson, seeing himself foiled in his purpose, walked sullenly into the stable, and stood before his master, who saw at a glance, that his fears in regard to the difficulty of giving Mr. Jeffrys possession of his chattel, were realized. For a while the two men stood face to face silently regarding each other, the one with a nervous movement swinging the axe in his hand, the other instinctively grasping his pistol. Matson saw that something must be done, and did not exactly know what. He would have shot him, but as Samson supposed, he did not like to throw away so much money, so he determined to try the effect of soft words, and another stratagem. 'What's the matter, Samson?' he said in the kindest manner. 'Who's been abusing, my boy? If any body struck you, I hope you gave him his I'll bear you out in that any own. time.' 'Reckon I did dat ar,' said Samson grimly. Well Samson, wipe the blood from your face and go in here and break some flax. The women want some.' Samson walked into the room, were |