heard a slight crackling sound, as if John Evans was performing this operation somewhat nearer to his house than seemed prudent. And as I hurried onwards, longing to meet some one or hear voices in the hospitable abode, an unexpected gap meet my eyes, where there should have been a house-wall, and roof, and chimneys. I stood a moment confused and amazed; then a light puff of smoke came out of the ground; I rushed forward, rounded the corner-and there was no house-the house was gone! Burnt to the ground-not a spar left-not a wall standing. The edifice had been of wood, and was utterly consumed; all that remained were the stone doorsteps, which led now to nothing but ashes and smouldering beams. The sun was shining gaily on the scene, and every now and then a tongue-like fame shot up, but was scarcely seen in the dazzling light; everything was perfectly still, not a ereature was near to watch the spot. I cannot call it a ruin for ruin implies that something was left to show what had been; here nothing was left but the site. No efforts seemed to have been used to check the flames no water had been thrown-no furniture whatever had been savednothing lay about which bore any appearance of having been taken out of the house. In my distress I looked here and there to discover, if possible, the meaning of this frightful sight and utter desertion. I saw that the fire was of very recent origin; it must have taken place in broad daylight, therefore I might reasonably hope that no lives had been lost. But what a piteous sight it was! the young green leaves of the trees were seared; the rich damask roses, just opening their first buds, were whitened with ashes; the ground was dry and hard, and here and there a few blackened sticks, standing close to the site of the house, showed what had been some flourishing shrub a few hours previously. I shouted, but no voice answered; and I walked about the premises, but could find no one. I will not detail all the events of that miserable afternoon, nor dwell upon my searchings in the ravine and by the river. I came upon a broad tract, trampled, and evidently of recent formation; it led to the dell hard by where Estelle and I had breakfasted two years previously, and here there had evidently been a fray; but there was no one lingering bout the place; so at last I left it, and made my way to the nearest house, where, only by slow degrees, and with many contradictions, I heard the sad story of the morning. I will not tell it as I then became acquainted with it, but relate it as shortly as I can. The feeling of suspicion and ill-will had long been growing to an alarming height against John Evans, though, as he declared, it had not for a long while fallen in his way to take the part of a slave against his master. However, about a week previously to my arrival, a man, who in the North had lectured against slavery, had the temerity to make his appearance at the nearest town, and though he did not attempt to open his lips on the subject, he was recognised and told to quit the place at once. He went to John Evans, and being a minister, and a most peaceable man, he was not denied an asylum, and might have stayed there quietly enough, but that five days after his withdrawal two most valuable slaves, of great intelligence and little admixture of negro blood, disappeared. The hue and cry was immediately raised, the town turned out and poured forth into the forest; John Evans was immediately suspected, the riotous mob poured into his grounds and began to search his woods, while a detachment surrounded his house and demanded the abolitionist minister. The doors were locked, as my informant told me, but when John Evans found that they would soon be battered down, he came to an upper window, his wife and grandmother standing behind him, each with a child in her arms. "The minister, the minister!" shouted the mob; "give him up, or we will tear your house down." "He is not here,” replied the undaunted Evans. "Then he is in the cave," screamed the ringleaders; 66 we know there is a cave; you and your wife have hidden runaways there before now:-come down and show us the cave, or we'll burn the house over your heads." "I will come down," he replied, "and show you the cave, but I warn you beforehand that there is no one there." "Come down, come down!" they shouted; and he came down, the two women following. Estelle, as I was told, was white, and her limbs trembled, but she and her grandmother gave the children to their servant and followed John Evans; perhaps from a feeling that the mob would not injure him in their presence-perhaps from an added motive. "Now," said they, seizing him and hurrying him down the steep, "give them up to us, one and all, or we shall hurl you into the river." In hot haste, with curses and execrations, the raging mob came down, partly dragging Evans, and yet guided by him to the neighbourhood of the cave. Kilmer was among those who had waited below; but though he knew how to find the cave, he had not pointed it out; and when he saw Estelle, he came up to her and entreated her, if she knew it, to point out the place where the fugitives were concealed. Estelle was leaning against the trunk of a large tree, her arms folded across her bosom, and her dark eyes intently fixed on her husband's face, as if for encouragement or direction. "Give him up, and let him be shot!" shouted the more excited among the slave-hunters. "Where's the cave ?" "Show it them, Kilmer," cried Evans, who now perceived for the first time his own extreme danger, and perhaps hoped to create a little delay. Kilmer advanced to the river. Evans stood still, firmly fronting his adversaries. Estelle never took her ardent gaze from her husband's face. It was soon evident that the cave was empty, and they poured forth again more enraged than ever. 66 They will take your word, Evans," cried Kilmer, " don't throw away your life; if the runaways are not on your pre mises, say so.' Evans was silent. you "If have not harboured this lecturing fool, say so," cried Kilmer; "pacify them, for pity's sake, if you can.” Still silence; but rifles were pointed at Evans. Stop!" cried Kilmer; "try his wife, friends; speak out while you have time, young woman." "Will you spare the minister's life if I promise that he shall go North immediately that you withdraw?” asked Evans. 66 A roar of laughter, derision, and curses, followed this speech. They shall all be flogged within an inch of their lives," cried the ringleader, "and then he shall be shot for a warning." Still Kilmer urged Estelle to speak, and as he did so Evans drew nearer; he was now aware of his danger; perhaps he wished to reassure her, for he looked her in the face with calm and steady eyes. Perhaps the infuriated mob thought that the husband and wife would consult together to betray the wretched slaves, and the still more unfortunate minister, but instead of that, stooping quietly, he kissed her pale face, and she was heard to say, "What is this for, John ?" 66 Because, my beloved," he replied, "it seems that we must part." "Speak out, speak!" cried Kilmer, taking advantage of the now awful silence. "Come on, then, you murderers," cried Evans, turning from his wife, "but not here, don't shoot me down under my wife's eyes; let her stand where she is, and now do your worst." He sprang away as he spoke with unexampled bravery, as it afterwards appeared; desirous to lead the now raging and infuriated mob away from the tree, and meet his fate at a distance. He had reached the top of a knoll when they overtook him, and he was forced to turn and face them. They all cried, "Shoot him down, pull him down!" but unable either to defend himself or escape, he stood erect, and seemed about to speak, when a rifle was lifted close behind him and the trigger pulled. Kilmer, who was unable to see his neighbour shot down, knocked it aside; it was discharged, and Evans stood unhurt; but a long, loud cry arose from behind; horror, and rage, and triumph, seemed to mingle in it. Alas! the rifle had done its deadly work: at the foot of the tree lay Estelle, scarcely paler now than when she had received her last kiss-but dead, shot through the heart. And in her fall had become visible a hollow place in the tree, which her flowing skirts had concealed, and which only in dying she had ceased to guard. The awestruck crowd flew back for an instant, but rushed on again with curses and execration; for out of the gap, and over her prostrate figure, sprang the three fugitives, and flew for their lives from their infuriated pursuers. Many of the more eager searchers had dismounted, the better to beat about in the brushwood. The unhappy men had therefore the rare good fortune to find saddled horses at their elbows; desperation made them active; they were on them, and some distance off, before the astonished people could pursue them; but they soon gathered themselves together, and loosed their hounds and horses forth after them, leaving Evans and the grandmother alone with their dead. The flames were already rising from the burning house, but no one knows who set fire to it. I never heard any further particulars respecting that dreadful day; neither my old friend nor Evans would hear the least allusion to it. Wonderful to relate, both the minister and the two slaves made good their escape, so that the life of the lovely Estelle was not sacrificed in vain. I saw her beautiful remains the day after her death; they, with her family, had been removed to her father-in-law's house. Very calm and peaceful was the expression of her youthful features; no trace of dread remained upon them, nor of the fearful anxiety that must have clouded her last moments. All was happy and still-her work was done; she had not fainted in her day of trial. Evening was now come, and she was gone to rest, but she had carried with her to her couch one of the weapons of her warfare; for on her arm she still wore the simple ornament given to her by her husband—the bracelet, with its heart-inspiring words" The Lord is my rock." THE WIDOW OF NAIN. Luke vii. 11-16. IT is the holy sunset hour- But coldly falls that glorious ray On one poor, pallid, aching brow; It seems a saddening mockery, |