“Oh! master, its sweet for me to die, for Jesus is my friend; he makes all about me friends too, for it seems to me that you and Miss Janet, and all of you are my friends.  Poor Bacchus! he takes on sadly about me; he always was a tender-hearted soul.  Master, when I am gone, I know you will be good to him and comfort him, but, please sir, do something else.  Talk to him, and pray for him, and read the blessed Book to him!  Oh! if he would only give up liquor!  I trust in the Lord he will live and die a sober man, else I know we’ll never meet again.  We won’t be on the same side at the Judgment Seat.  There’s no drunkards in that happy place where I am going fast.  No drunkards in the light of God’s face—­no drunkards at the blessed feet of Jesus.”

“I think Bacchus has perfectly reformed,” said Mr. Weston, “and you may feel assured that we will do every thing for his soul as well as his body, that we can.  But, Phillis, have you no wishes to express, as regards your children?”

Phillis hesitated—­“My children are well off,” she said; “they have a good master; if they serve him and God faithfully they will be sure to do well.”

“If there is any thing on your mind,” said Mr. Weston, “speak it without fear.  The distinction between you and me as master and slave, I consider no longer existing.  You are near being redeemed from my power, and the power of death alone divides you from your Saviour’s presence.  That Saviour whose example you have tried to follow, whose blood has washed your soul from all its sin.  I am much older than you, and I live in momentary expectation of my summons.  We shall soon meet, I hope, in that happy place, where the distinctions of this world will be forgotten.  I have thought of you a great deal, lately, and have been anxious to relieve your mind of every care.  It is natural that a mother, about to leave such a family as you have, should have some wishes regarding them.

“I have thought several times,” continued Mr. Weston, “of offering to set your children free at my death, and I will do so if you wish.  You must be aware that they could not remain in Virginia after they were manumitted.  In the Middle and Northern states free blacks are in a degraded condition.  There is no sympathy for or with them.  They have no more rights than they have as slaves with us, and they have no one to care for them when they are sick or in trouble.  You have seen a good deal of this in your occasional visits to the North.  In Washington, since the Abolitionists have intermeddled there, the free blacks have become intolerable; they live from day to day in discomfort and idleness.  I mean as a general thing; there are, of course, occasional exceptions.  Bacchus is too old to take care of himself; he would not be happy away from Exeter.  Consider what I say to you, and I will be guided by your wishes as regards your children.

“They might go to Liberia; some of them would be willing, no doubt.  I have talked to William, he says he would not go.  Under these circumstances they would be separated, and it is doubtful whether I would be doing you or them a favour by freeing them.  Be perfectly candid, and let me know your wishes.”