"Good friends," he began, and now I noticed that his voice was weak and trembling, "I am about to leave you. On earth you will never see me again; but there is a better world, where I trust to meet you all. You have been faithful and attentive to me. I thank you from the bottom of my soul for it, and, if ever I have been harsh or unkind to you in any way, I now beg that you will forgive me. Do not weep," he continued, as their loud sobs began to drown his feeble voice. "Do not weep, I am going to a happy home, where trouble and pain will never harm me more. Now let me tell you, that my father has promised me that each of you shall be free immediately after my death."
This announcement was like a panic to the poor, broken-spirited wretches. They looked wonderingly at young master, and then at each other, never uttering a word.
"Come, do not look so bewildered. Ah, you do not believe me; but, good as is this news, it is true; is it not, father?"
"Yes, my son, it is true."
When Mr. Peterkin spoke, they simultaneously started. That voice had power to recall them from the wildest dream of romance. Though softened by sorrow and suffering, there was still enough of the wonted harshness to make those poor wretches know it was Mr. Peterkin who spoke, and they quaked with fear.
"In the new home and new position in life, which you will take, my friends, I hope you will not forget me; but, above all things, try to save your souls. Go to church; pray much and often. Place yourselves under God's protection, and all will be right. You, Jake, had better select as an occupation that of a farmer, or manager of a farm for some one of those wealthy but humane men of the Northern States. You, Dan, can make an excellent dray driver; and at that business, in some of the Northern cities, you would make money. Sally can get a situation as cook; and Ann, where is Ann?" he said, as he looked around.
I stepped out from a retired corner of the room, into which I had shrunk for the purpose of indulging my grief unobserved.
"Don't weep, Ann," he began; "you distress me when you do so. You ought, rather, to rejoice, because I shall so soon be set free from this unhappy condition. If you love me, prepare to meet me in heaven. This earth is not our home; 'tis but a transient abiding-place, and, to one of my sensitive temperament, it has been none the happiest. I am glad that I am going; yet a few pangs I feel, in bidding you farewell; but think of me only as one gone upon a pleasant journey from snow-clad regions to a land smiling with tropic beauty, rich in summer bloom and vocal with the melody of southern birds! Think of me as one who has exchanged the garments of a beggar for the crown of a king and the singing-robes of a prophet. I hope you will do well in life, and I would advise that you improve your education, and then become a teacher. You are fitted for that position. You could fill it with dignity. Do all you can to elevate the mind as well as manners of your most unfortunate race. And now, poor old Nace, what pursuit must I recommend to you?" After a moment's pause, he added with a smile, "I will point out none; for you are Yankee enough, Nace, to get along anywhere."
He then requested that we should all kneel, whilst he besought for us and himself the blessings of Divine grace.