But at midnight — strange, mystic hour, when the veil between the frail present and the eternal future grows thin — then came the messenger. - Harriet Beecher Stowe

...for twenty years or more, nothing but loving words, and gentle moralities, and motherly loving kindness, had come from that chair; — headaches and heartaches innumerable had been cured there, — difficulties spritual and temporal solved there, — all by one good, loving woman, God bless her!

Her face was round and rosy, with a healthful downy softness, suggestive of a ripe peach. Her hair, partially silvered by age, was parted smoothly back from a high placed forehead, on which time had written no inscription, except peace on earth, good will to men, and beneath shone a large pair of clear, honest, loving brown eyes; you only needed to look straight into them, to feel that you saw to the bottom of a heart as good and true as ever throbbed in woman's bosom. So much has been said and sung of beautiful young girls, why doesn't somebody wake up to the beauty of old women?

Legree had had the slumbering moral elements in him roused by his encounters with Tom, — roused, only to be resisted by the determinate force of evil; but still there was a thrill and commotion of the dark, inner world, produced by every word, or prayer, or hymn, that reacted in superstitious dread.