The master took her to New Orleans, intending to have her taught music, that she might make money for him; but the poor child pined for "de ole plantation" and "de ole folks at home,"--the kind people--"my people," as she fondly called them--with whom she had been brought up. In the great city of New Orleans she was literally lost. She missed the free country air, the green trees, the sweet singing-birds, the fields blooming with early flowers, the meadows and the running brooks. It was easy to see that the little hunchback was not happy. She grew thinner and thinner, and her voice lost its flexible sweetness, its clear and liquid roundness of tone. At last she fell away to a mere skeleton; then sharp, burning fever set in, and little Ratie was taken down to her bed. Day and night, in the delirium of fever, she raved for "de ole plantation" and her own people. The new master promised, when she got better, to take her back to her old home,--at least for a little while. But, alas! she never grew any better. She faded slowly away, until one evening, just at sundown, in the gay city of New Orleans, little Ratie breathed her last. Just before she died, she lifted her head from the pillow, and, resting on her hand, she pointed eastward, saying: "Over dar is de ole plantation. Don't you see? How pretty and nice it looks! Dar is all de peoples at work. How busy dey is! But I'se not gwine dar. I doesn't want to, any more. Dere up dar is God's plantation, and it is betterer far. Dere is no slaves dar, but all is free and happy,--loving friends; and it is dar dat I wants to go; and I hopes dat all de plantation folks will come to me." And so little Ratie died. _From the New York Independent._ THE KINGDOM OF CHRIST. BY JAMES MONTGOMERY. Hail to the Lord's anointed! Great David's greater Son! Hail, in the time appointed, His reign on earth begun! He comes to break oppression, To set the captive free, To take away transgression, And rule in equity. He comes, with succor speedy, To those who suffer wrong; To help the poor and needy, And bid the weak be strong; To give them songs for sighing, Their darkness turned to light, Whose souls, condemned and dying, Were precious in his sight. To him shall prayer unceasing, And daily vows ascend; His kingdom still increasing,-- A kingdom without end. The tide of time shall never His covenant remove; His name shall stand forever,-- That name to us is Love. THE BEGINNING AND PROGRESS OF EMANCIPATION IN THE BRITISH WEST INDIES.