I dropped off to sleep, and waked in the morning only to find my mother gone, and myself left at the mercy of the sable virago, dominant in my old master's kitchen, whose fiery wrath was my constant dread.
I do not remember to have seen my mother after this occurrence.

Death soon ended the little communication that had{44} existed between us; and with it, I believe, a life judging from her weary, sad, down-cast countenance and mute demeanor--full of heartfelt sorrow.

I was not allowed to visit her during any part of her long illness; nor did I see her for a long time before she was taken ill and died.

The heartless and ghastly form of _slavery_ rises between mother and child, even at the bed of death.

The mother, at the verge of the grave, may not gather her children, to impart to them her holy admonitions, and invoke for them her dying benediction.