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De will ob de bressed Lord be done."
But, trying as this separation was, it proved to be the first link in that chain of loving-kindnesses by which this little slave-child was to be drawn towards God. Do you remember this verse in the Bible: "I have loved thee with an everlasting love; therefore with loving kindness have I drawn thee"?

CHAPTER III.
SUNSHINE.
IF ever there was a sunshiny corner of slavery, it was that into which a kind Providence dropped this little, helpless babe, now but a little more than two years old.
It was a pleasant day in early spring when Colonel Lee alighted from his gig before the family mansion at Rosevale, and laid the child, as a present, at the feet of his daughter Matilda.
Miss Matilda Lee was about thirty years of age,-- as active and thrifty a little woman as could be found any where within the domains of this cruel system of oppression. Slavery is like a two-edged knife, cutting both ways. It not only destroys the black, but demoralizes and ruins the white race. Those who hold slaves are usually indolent, proud, and inefficient. They think it a disgrace to work by the side of the negro, and therefore will allow things to be left in a very careless, untidy way, rather than put forth their energy to alter or improve them. And as it is impossible for slaves, untaught and degraded as they are, to give a neat and thrifty appearance to their homes, we, who have been brought up at the North, accustomed to work ourselves, assisted by well-trained domestics, can scarcely realize the many discomforts often to be experienced in Southern houses. But Miss Lee was unusually energetic and helpful, desirous of having every thing about her neat and tasteful, and not afraid to do something towards it with her own hands.
Being the eldest daughter, the entire charge of the family had devolved upon her since the death of her mother, which had occurred about ten years before. Within this time, her brothers and sisters had been married, and now she and her father were all that were left at the old homestead.
Their servants, too, had dwindled away. Some had been given to the sons and daughters when they left the parental roof; some had died, and others had been sold to pay debts and furnish the means of living. Old Rosa, the cook, Nancy, the waiting-maid, and Methuselah, the ancient gardener, were all the house-servants that remained. So they lived in a very quiet and frugal way; and Miss Matilda's activities, not being entirely engrossed with family cares, found employment in the nurture of flowers and pets.
The grounds in front of the old-fashioned mansion had been laid out originally in very elaborate style; and, though of late years they had been greatly neglected, they still retained traces of their former splendor. The rose-vines on the inside of the enclosure had grown over the low, brick wall, to meet and mingle with the trees and bushes outside, till together they formed a solid and luxuriant mass of verdure. White and crimson roses shone amid the dark, glossy foliage of the mountain-laurel, which held up with sturdy stem its own rich clusters of fluted cups, that seemed to assert equality with the queen of flowers, and would not be eclipsed by the fragrant loveliness of their beautiful dependents. The borders of box, which had once been trimmed and trained into fanciful points and tufts and convolutions of verdure, had grown into misshapen clumps; and the white, pebbly walks no longer sparkled in the sunlight.
Still Miss Matilda, by the aid of Methuselah, in appearance almost as ancient as we may suppose his namesake to have been, found great pleasure in cultivating her flower-beds; and every year, her crocuses and hyacinths, crown-imperials and tulips, pinks, lilies, and roses, none the less beautiful because they are so commonly enjoyed, gave a cheerful aspect to the place.
Her numerous pets made the house equally bright and pleasant. There was Sir Walter Raleigh, the dog, and Mrs. Felina, the great, splendid, Maltese mother of three beautiful blue kittens; Jack and Gill, the gentle, soft-toned Java sparrows; and Ruby, the unwearying canary singer, always in loud and uninterpretable conversation with San Rosa, the mocking-bird. The birds hung in the broad, deep window of the sitting-room, in the shade of the jasmine and honeysuckle vines that embowered it and filled the air with delicious perfume. The dog and cat, when not inclined to active enjoyments, were accommodated with comfortable beds in the adjoining apartment, which was the sleeping-room of their mistress.
The new household pet became an occupant of this same room.
"Laws, now, Miss Tilda, ye a'n't gwine to put de chile in ther wid all de dogs and cats, now. 'Pears ye might