"_Little children_ will be there, Who have sought the Lord by prayer, From every Sabbath school. Oh, that will be joyful, &c. "_Teachers_, too, shall meet above, And our _pastors_, whom we love, Shall meet to part no more. Oh, that will be joyful," &c. The coffin was then opened, and we took the last, lingering look at a face whose heavenly lineaments I can never forget. In long procession, in which her recent charge bore a prominent part, we accompanied her to her resting place. The place of her sepulture is about a hundred yards north of the seminary, on the bank of the inlet. A live-oak tree stands at her head, projecting its emblematic evergreen foliage over the sod-roofed tenement. The departed selected, as a remembrance of her immortality, the 17th verse of the 118th Psalm, "I shall not die, but live." The thirty-nine years of her earthly existence were but the prelude to a life beyond the sky; and while her spirit survives the ravages of death, her name shall live in memory. * * * * * In this unpretending memoir may its subject live again, and not in vain. May teachers gather from her example fresh inspiration, and the benevolent Christian fresh impulses in doing good. May they who enjoy advantages superior to those of her proscribed race, take heed lest the latter, by the better improvement of the little light enjoyed, rise up in the judgment and condemn them. Let Sabbath scholars, and children of pious parentage and Christian education, who from earliest years have not only been taught to lisp the Saviour's name, but to read it, pity the slave child, shut out from such advantages, and give heed to instruction, lest, having more given and unimproved, they be beaten with many stripes. Let all who have an interest at the throne of grace remember little Daisy, and pray that she may walk in her mother's footsteps, as far as she followed Christ, only following more closely, attaining still greater excellence, achieving still greater usefulness, and winning a still brighter crown of glory. As the enlarging harvest field whitens into ripeness, may the Lord of the harvest send forth an increasing number of laborers. Oh, who will give ear to the echoing cry, "Come over and help us"? Come to the harvest work, and you too, with arms full of golden sheaves, shall shout the harvest home. Who will pay the hire of the laborers? Who will lend to the Lord the capital needful to secure the harvest in season and well? For such there shall be untold riches laid up in heaven. And who will sustain those who bear the burden and heat of the day, by the buoyancy of prayer? This is a work thrice blessed to all concerned. APPENDIX. MISSION TO THE FREEDMEN.