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Antislavery Poetry from San Francisco

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The Pacific Appeal was the leading African American newspaper on the West Coast during the early 1860s.  A newly-published set of eight antislavery poems from the journal's inaugural 1862 volume captures the sense of expectancy within the African American community for the imminent end of US slavery.  These poems include the work of James Madison Bell, a San Francisco plasterer, brickmason, and poet.  Read more... 
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The Star of Freedom (XHTML)

A miscellany of juvenile antislavery stories and poetry, published by an anonymous author in New York; probably from 1840s. Digitized by the Antislavery Literature Project.

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William S. Dorr, Printer,

123 Fulton Street.


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This is an annotated text of The Star of Freedom , published by W.S. Dorr Co. in New York City during the 1840s.  Original spelling, punctuation and page citations have been retained; minor typographic errors have been corrected.

This electronic edition has been prepared for the Antislavery Literature Project, Arizona State University, a public education project working in cooperation with the EServer, Iowa State University.   Digitization has been supported by a grant from the Institute for Humanities Research, Arizona State University.

Prooftext by Joe Lockard.  Digitization by Noel Borde,

Mahesh Bhutkar, Nilesh Ralbhat, and Manoj Salvi of NetConnect India.  All rights reserved by the Antislavery Literature Project.  Permission for non-commercial educational use is granted.

[unnumbered page 4] CONTENTS.

The Traveling Tinman,------------------------------------      8

Soul-drivers,------------------------------------------------     17

The little Slave’s Complaint,-----------------------------     20

The little dead Slave,--------------------------------------     23

The Emancipated Family,--------------------------------      24

Hymn,-------------------------------------------------------      26

Prejudice,---------------------------------------------------      27

Hymn,-------------------------------------------------------      32

Mary French and Susan Easton,------------------------       33

The Shelter for Colored Orphans,----------------------       47

The Sugar plums,-----------------------------------------       51

Arms of the United States,------------------------------        52

Rose and Miss Belle,-------------------------------------       53

The little Colored Boy,-----------------------------------       55

The Negro Boy’s Petition,-------------------------------       59

Story of poor Jack,----------------------------------------       61

The penitent Slave,---------------------------------------        64

Letter from an Infant Slave,-----------------------------        65

Sugar, and Rice, and Cotton,----------------------------        68

The Petition of a Sugar-making Slave,-----------------       71

Little White Lamb, and little Black Lamb,------------        72

I dream of all things free,--------------------------------        76

An affecting Story,---------------------------------------         77

Praise for Christian Birth,-------------------------------         82

The Tree of Slavery,--------------------------------------        83

The Fugitive Slave,---------------------------------------        84

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     Mr. Warner owned a small farm in the state of Pennsylvania, not far from

Maryland. He and his wife were Quakers. They had one son and two daughters, whose names were Israel, Amy, and Orphy.

      One beautiful evening, at the close of the month of August, they heard the noise of a tin trumpet. Soon they saw the cart of a tin-pedler rattling down the hill at a brisk trot. The tin-man came blowing his horn to the steps of the porch. After buying some articles, the farmer invited him to sit down and


[The following story is from a work of Miss Leslie. She told a friend that the kidnapped child was actually brought, in the manner described, to the house of a farmer in the western part of Pennsylvania, in whose neighborhood she boarded. The story is here shortened, and a little altered.]

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take supper with the family. He accepted the invitation very quick.

     While the pedler led his horse into the barn-yard to carry him a bucket of water from the pump; and to feed him by the light of the moon, the girls went to the back of the cart, when they were startled at seeing something alive, moving behind the round opening of the cover.

     In a moment the head of a little black child peeped out of the hole. — The girls were so surprised that they could not utter a word. The young negro, afraid of being seen popped down its head among the tins.

     “Amy, did thee see that!” —asked Orphy, in a low voice.

     “Yes, I did so,” replied Amy, “what can the man be doing with that little negro, and why does he hide it? Let’s go and ask the child.”

     “No, no!” exclaimed Orphy, “the tin-man will be angry.”

     “And who cares if he is?” said Amy,

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“he has done something he is ashamed of, and we need not be afraid of him.”

     They then went quite close to the back of the cart, and Amy said, “Here, little one, show thyself and speak; and do-not be afraid, for nobody’s going to hurt thee.’’

     “How did thee come into this cart?” asked Orphy, “and why does the tin-man hide thee? Tell us all about, it, and be sure not to speak loud.”

     The black child again peeped put of the hole, and looking round, said, Are you quite sure the naughty man won’t hear us?”

     “Quite sure,” answered Amy, “but is thee boy or girl?”

     “I’m a little gal,” replied the child, “and my name’s Dinah, and I’m five year old, and my daddy and mammy are free colored people, and they lives a big piece off, and daddy works out, and mammy sells gingerbread and molasses-beer, and we have a sign over the door with a bottle and cake on it.”

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     Amy. But how did this man get hold of thee, if thy father and mother are free people? Thee can’t be bound to him, or he need not hide thee.

     Dinah. O, I know I an’t bounded to him—I expect he stole me.

     Amy. Stole thee! What here in the free state of Pennsylvany?

     Dinah. I was out picking huckleberries in the woods up the road, and I strayed off a big piece from home. Then the tin-man comed along, driving his cart, and I run close to the road-side to look, as I always does when any body goes by. So he told me to come into his cart, and he would give me a tin mug to put my huckleberries in, and I might choose it myself, and it would hold them a heap better than my old Indian basket. So 1 was very glad, and he lifted me up into the cart, and I choosed the very best and biggest tin mug he had, and emptied my huckleberries into it.

     And then he told me he’d give me a


ride in his cart, and then he set me far back on a box, and he whipped his beast, and druv and druv, and jolted me so that I tumbled all down among the tins. And then he picked me up, and tied me fast with his handkercher to one of the back posts of the cart to keep me steady, he said. And then, for all I was steady, I couldn’t help crying, and I wanted him to take me home to daddy and mammy. But he only sniggered at me, and said he wouldn’t, and bid me hush; and then he got mad, and because I couldn’t hush up just in a minute, he whipped me quite smart.

     Orphy. Poor little thing!

     Dinah. And then I got frightened, for he put on a wicked look, and said he’d kill me dead if I cried any more or made the least bit of noise. And so he has been carrying me along in his cart for two days and two nights, and he makes me hide away all the time, and he won’t let nobody see me. And I


hate him, and yesterday, when I know’d he didn’t see me, I spit on the crown of his hat.

     Amy. Hush!—thee must never say thee hates any body.

     Dinah. At night I sleeps upon the bag of feathers; and when he stops any where to eat, he comes to the back of the cart and pokes in victuals, (he has just now brung me some,) and he tells me he wants me to be fat and good-looking. And I’m almost all the time very sorry, only sometimes I’m not, and then I should like to play with the tins, only he won’t let me. I don’t dare to cry out loud, for fear the naughty man would whip me; but I always cry when we’re going through woods, and there’s nobody in sight to hear me. He never lets me look out of the back of the cart, only when there’s nobody to see me, and he won’t, let me sing even when I want to.

Amy. Now, Orphy, what’s to be done! The tin-man has, of course,

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kidnapped this black child to take her into Maryland, where he can sell her for a good price; as she is a fat, healthy-looking thing, and that is a slave state. Does thee think we ought to let him take her off?

     Orphy: No, indeed! Yonder’s Israel coming to turn the cows into the clover-field. Little girl, lay quiet, and don’t offer to show thyself.

     Israel now advanced—”Well, girls,” said he, “what’s thee doing at the tin-man’s cart? Not meddling among his tins, I hope?”

     “Israel,” said Amy, “step softly— we have something to show thee.”

     The girls then lifted up the corner of the cart cover, and displayed the little negro girl, crouched upon the bag of feathers—a part of his goods which the tin-man had not shown.

     The young man was much amazed, and his two sisters began both at once to relate to him the story of the black child. Israel looked angry. His sis-


ters said to him, “To be sure we won’t let the man carry this child off with him.”

     “I judge we won’t,” answered Israel. “Then,” said Amy, “let us take her out-of the cart, and hide her in the barn or somewhere, till he has gone” “No,” replied Israel, “I can’t say I feel free to do that. It would be too much like stealing her over again. Put her down in the cart, and let her alone. I’ll have no underhanded work about her. Let’s all go back to the house. But say nothing.”

The girls cautioned Dinah not to let the tin-man know that they had seen her, and to keep herself quiet; and they then went with their brother to the house, feeling very uneasy.  “Israel,” said his mother, as he entered, “this friend is making the china as good as new, only, that we can’t help seeing the join; and we are going to give all the mended things to thee”

The tin-man having finished his work

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and been paid for it, said it was high time for him to be about starting, and he must go and look after his cart. He left the house for that purpose; and Israel looking out at the end window, said, “I see he’s not coming round to the house again, but he’s going to try the short cut into the back road. I’ll go and see that he puts up the bars after him.”

     Israel went out, and his sisters followed him to see the tin-man off.

     The man came to the bars, leading his horse with the cart, and found Israel there before him. “Are you going to let down the bars for me?” said the tin-man.

     “No,” replied Israel, “I’m not going to be so polite; but I intend to see that thee carries off nothing more than belongs to thee.”

     “What do you mean?” exclaimed the tin-man changing color.

     “I expect I can show thee,” said Israel. Then stepping up to the back of

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the cart and putting in his hands, he pulled out the black child and held her up before him, saying, “Now, if thee offers to touch this girl, 1 think we shall be apt to differ.”

     The tin-man then advanced towards Israel, and with an angry look raised his whip; but the fearless young Quaker (having handed the little girl to his sisters, who held her between them) broke a stick from a tree that grew near, and stood with a look of calm resolution.

     The man went close up to him with his whip; but before he had time to strike, Israel seized him by the collar, and swinging him round to some distance, flung him to the ground with such force as to stun him, saying, “Mind, I don’t call myself a fighting character: but if thee offers to get up, 1 shall feel free to keep thee down.”

     The tin-man began to move, and the girls ran to the house for their father,

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leading the little black girl, whose screams were loud enough.

     In an instant the stout old farmer was at the side of his son, and notwithstanding the struggles of the tin-man, they drew him by main force to the stable, into which they fastened him for the night.

     Early next morning, Israel and his father went for a warrant and a constable, and were followed home by half the township. The county court was then in session; the tin-man was tried, and convicted of having kidnapped a free black child, with the design of selling her as a slave in one of the southern states; and he was punished by fine and imprisonment.

     To conclude—an advertisement having been inserted in several of the papers, to tell where Dinah, the little black girl was to be found, and the tin-man’s trial having also been noticed in the public prints, in about a fortnight her father and mother (two very decent free

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people of color) arrived to claim her: having walked all the way from their cottage in the next county. The meeting was most joyful to them and to her. They told at full length every particular of their anxious search after their child which was ended by a gentleman bringing a newspaper to their house, containing the welcome news that she was safe at Micajah Warner’s.

     Amy and Orphy were desirous of keeping little Dinah in the family; and; as the child’s parents seemed very willing, the girls urged their mother to keep her instead of Cloe. But Israel declared that he chose to have little Dinah himself, if her parents would bind her to him till she was eighteen.

     Israel was soon married, and lived in the house near the saw-mill. He prospered; and in a few years was able to buy a farm of his own, and to build a stone house on it. Dinah turned out very well, and the Warner family still talk of the night when she was found in the cart of the travelling tin-man.

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The following extract of a letter to a little girl six years old, will explain what is meant by the word soul-drivers:

Dear Cousin Harriet:

You have heard me speak of soul-drivers. Perhaps you do not know, exactly what is meant by such a name. I will tell you.

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     There are men who go about, in Slave States, “buying up stock,” as they call it. That is, they buy men, women, and children, to stock their, farms and plantations, or to sell to planters and farmers. Sometimes they come and buy a little colored child not so old as you are, and snatch him from his mother’s arms. And when the poor child screams, they whip him, and tell him to be still.

     Then when he holds his breath, and struggles to get away, reaching out his little hands to his mother, they shake him, and whip him again. This makes the mother shriek, wring her hands, and lift them to heaven, and then they whip her, curse her, and tell her to be still. They then drag the child from her sight for ever, while the poor creature sobs as if its little heart would break. These men are called “Soul-Drivers.”

     As I was one day sitting at my window in Nashville, Tenn., I saw one of

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these soul-drivers pass by. He was riding on horseback, and had one little colored boy before him, and another behind him.”  They looked very sorrowful.

     Then, in an old wagon having some hoop-poles bent over the top, were several little children, some of them only two, and three, and four years old. There were a number more, who were a little older, that had to go behind the wagon, and help push it along. They all looked as if they had come a great way.

     You do not wonder, Harriet, that such a sight made me weep. Ah! and when I remember how you used to feel when little innocent lambs and calves were taken away from their mothers, I know you will feel for the poor slave children. It is right for you to feel for them, and to go and pray for them. Yes, and when I think that Jesus took little children in his arms and blessed them— even children as dark as many of the

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slaves—I know you will wish to give something to get the poor slave children out of slavery, so that they can be taught to read about Jesus.

     I have not time to write more now; so good-bye.

     Your affectionate cousin,





Who loves the little slave? Who cares

If well or ill I be?

Is there a living soul that shares

A thought or wish for me?

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I’ve had no parents since my birth,

Brothers and sisters—none;

O, what is all this world to me,

Where I am only one!

I wake, and see the sun arise,

And all around me gay;

But nothing I behold is mine,

No—not the life of day!

No! not the very breath I draw—

These limbs are not my own;

A master calls me his by law,

My griefs are mine alone.

Ah, these they could not make him feel—

Would they themselves had felt

Who bound me to that man of steel,

Whom mercy cannot melt.

Yet not for wealth or case I sigh,

All are not rich and great:

Many may be as poor as I—

But none so desolate.

For all I know have kin and kind,

Some home, some hope, some joy;

But these I must not look to find—

Who knows the colored boy?

The world has not a place of rest

For outcasts so forlorn—

Twas all bespoken, all possest—

Long before I was born!

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Affection, too, life’s sweetest cup,

Goes round from hand to hand;

But I am never asked to sup—

Out of the ring I stand!

If kindness beats within my heart,

What heart will beat again?

I coax the dogs,—they snarl and start,—

Brutes are as bad as men.

The beggar’s child may rise above

The misery of his lot,

The gipsy may be loved and love

But I—but I—must not.

Hard fare, cold lodgings, cruel toil,

Youth, health, and strength consume;

What tree could thrive in such soil?

What flower so scathed could bloom?

Should I outgrow this cripling work,

How shall my bread be sought?

Must I to other lads turn Turk,

And teach what I am taught?

O! might I roam with flocks and herds

In fellowship along!

O! were I one among the birds—

All wing, all life, all song!

Free with the fishes may I dwell,

Down in the quiet sea;

The snail in his cobcastled shell—

The snail’s a king to me.

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For out he goes in April showers,

Lies snug when storms prevail,

He feeds on fruits, he sleeps on flowers—

I wish I was a snail.

No; never! do the worst they can,

I may be happy still;

For I was born to be a man—

And with God’s leave, I will.



     A little slave had died. He was dressed for the grave, when his mother came to look for the last time upon her son. She was a slave upon the same plantation.

     She gazed at the corpse. Some one heard her voice in prayer to God. She thanked Him that her little boy was dead, for now he would never feel how dreadful it was to be a slave. “There are,” said she, “no slaves in heaven.”

“—I thank Thee that my child is dead,

That in the grave he’ll lay his aching head;

The fettered slave hath found a sweet release.

And now, with freedom blest, with God at peace,

No tyrant’s frown, no proud oppressor’s rod,

I found within the dwelling place of God.”

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     The picture shows how a family of slaves will look when emancipated. Ah, there will be no cruel whippings then, no chains to put around the legs or the wrists, no gags to put in the mouth. Freedom has nothing to do with such things.

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     But when the slaves are free, “they shall sit every man under his vine, and under his fig-tree; and none shall make them afraid,” as the Bible beautifully says. The Bible Society will give Bibles and Testaments to the emancipated families. The father will put his Bible on his knees, and will read it to his wife and little ones. He will teach them to read this precious book. And they can all kneel down at the family altar, and pray to God.

     The mother will not be obliged to work in the field then, with a brutal driver behind her with his whip. She will not have to leave her little children all day, with no dear mother to see to them. No—no. She will stay in the house, and take care of her little family. Her heart will then be glad. Her children will be happy. They will play like little kittens. Then they will be glad to read the Slave’s Friend, and other pretty books.

     What happy, happy times there will

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be then ! Oh, I long to see that day! I should like to peep in and see the “emancipated family!”



Of colored Orphans, under the care of a Female Charitable Society, and was sung at the celebration of a society of Ladies, who have a few colored children under their care

Scorn not the darken’d brow,

Ye of that happier race,

Who wear the rose-tint on your cheek

With beauty’s fairest grace.

Nor let our humble claim,

Who bear the orphan’s lot,

Be disregarded in your prayers,

Or in your alms forgot.

For when before their Judge

The gather’d nation stand,

And Afric, long on earth oppressed,

Shall raise the unfettered hand;

And with a wandering eye

Heaven’s perfect justice share,

The mercy that to us you show,

Shall be remembered there.

                    L.H. S.

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     When Mary was six years old, she went to live with her aunt, who was a good woman. One day little Mary was sitting at the window with her aunt. She saw a poor aged colored woman go by.

“Oh, aunt,” said she, “I do not love that old woman at all!” “Why not, Mary?” said her aunt. “Because she is black; I do not like any body that is black.”

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     Her aunt said, “Mary, Mary I am sorry to hear you talk so. It is foolish; it is wicked, my child.”

     Mary looked very serious. Then she said, “‘Why is it wicked, aunt?” “It is wicked, my dear, because God has told us to love every body in the world. God made that poor woman as well as you. I will call her in to see you.”


     Mary was frightened. She said, “O no, aunt, if you please, do not call her in.” “Yes, my dear, I wish to teach you a lesson.” Then she raised the

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window, and asked the aged colored woman if she would please to come in.

     Mary’s aunt said, “Good woman, what do you think of this little girl?” “She looks like a dear little child, madam; may I give her an apple?” Then she took an apple out of her basket, and gave it to Mary.

     The little girl felt very much ashamed, and hung down her head. The old woman then said, “Once I had three little girls, but two are dead, and the other, if not dead, is in slavery. The Lord knoweth what is best. He will break the rod of the oppressor.” And the tears came into her eyes. Mary wept too.

     Then Mrs. Lovegood gave the woman some work to do, for she knew her very well; and Lilly left the house to go to her home.

     After she had gone, Mary said, “Aunt, I am sorry for being so foolish and naughty.  I will not hate colored people any more.”

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     Her aunt said, “My dear Mary, you should not hate any of God’s creatures. Get your little Testament, and I will show you what the apostle John says about this.” Mary got her Testament, and her aunt opened at the third chapter of 1st John, 15th verse, and Mary read, “He that hateth his brother is a murderer.”

     “All men and women are made of one blood. All are brethren. This poor colored woman was once a slave. The cruel men, put chains on her, and whipped her cruelly. Now she is free, but she is old, and very poor. But she is a good woman, and I am sure that Christ loves her. You ought to love her too, Mary, and do her all the good you can.”

     Mary said nothing, but after all she felt some dislike to poor Lilly. Not long after, Mary was very sick. She was in bed several weeks. I believe she had the scarlet fever. A great many children have had it this winter,

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and several have died. In New-York city, 37 died of it in one week.

     One morning, Lilly knocked at the door, and said, “Mrs. Lovegood, where is little Mary? I have not seen her go by to school lately.” Then Mrs. Lovegood told her that Mary was sick, and asked Lilly to go into the chamber with her, where Mary was.


     Lilly was very sorry; and she came and nursed Mary for seven days and nights. When God had blessed the means used for her recovery, and she

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was restored to health again, she said, “Dear aunt, I will never hate anybody again for having a skin darker than mine is. Good Lilly! She is a great deal better than I am. She took nice care of me, and prayed with me. I do love her very much.”



For a Juvenile Anti-Slavery Society.

With grief we hear a startling sound

Appeal from earthly wrong:

Our brother’s blood cries from the ground,

“How long, O Lord! how long!”

With light from heaven, oh, God of Truth,

Shine on our infant minds.

Help us that captive’s grief to soothe—

To loose the chain that binds.

We claim the blessing, by thy Son

To little children given—

“Forbid them not” the path to run

Which leads to truth and heaven.     M. W. C


We pray for slaves! to whom thy word

Of light, and love is never given;

For those whose ears have never heard

The promise and the hope of heaven.

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     Perhaps some of my little readers may remember seeing, about a year and a half ago, advertisements in the newspapers concerning a white child, who had been stolen, and afterwards discovered to have been stained black, and sold for a SLA VE.

     Mary French lived on the western shore of the Mississippi river. She was the only child of her parents. Paul Easton, a colored man, with his wife and his little daughter Susan, lived very near them.

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     He was an honest, industrious man, and his wife was a neat, good-humored woman. Susan was a bright, affectionate child; very merry and full of play, as colored children generally are.

     The little girls had joyful times together. They loved dearly to run in the woods, to gather berries and flowers.

     They had lifted a big flat stone, and placed it under a spreading oak; this served them for a table, on which they used to place acorns for cups and saucers.

     A small white rabbit with two black spots on his fur, was their favorite companion. They often seated him on the flat rock, while they gathered clover for him to eat. But Bunny was a timid little creature. One day he scampered off into the woods, because he was frightened by a little shaggy dog, barking at a wild turkey.

     Susan first overtook the poor rabbit; and she covered him up with her apron, and tried to comfort him; for his little heart beat violently.

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     While they were talking to the rabbit, they heard a voice call out, “Little girls, don’t you want to buy something pretty?” They turned round, and saw a pedler, with a case full of thimbles, beads, candy, &c. They told him they could not buy anything, because they had no money. The man asked where they lived; and when they told him, he said, “I have been there; and the women have bought some things.”

     Mary wanted to run home, to see if her mother had bought anything for her; but the pedler gave them some candy, and persuaded them to go to his cart, under the pretence of seeing a funny little monkey. When the poor children were out of sight of their homes, he stuffed handkerchiefs into their mouths, and tied them in his cart.

     In this way they traveled until night. Then the man uncovered their mouths, and gave them some bread and a piece of cold sausage: They cried very much, and said, “I want to go home to my

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mother.” But the man told them he would whip them, if they made the least noise. He would not untie them; and, the poor little girls were obliged to get such sleep as they could, sitting upright in the cart, as it jostled over the rough road.

     They were awakened by the man, who lifted them out, and carried them into a thicket, where he had kindled a fire. He spread some bags and blankets on the ground, and told them he was going to sleep there, and they might sleep too. They asked when he would carry them home; and he said they should certainly go in the morning.

     Delighted with this promise, they put their arms about each other’s necks, and soon fell into a sweet sleep. The wicked pedler tied their feet together, lest they should run away while he slept. But the innocent little creatures were too tired to wake early.

     The first thing Mary knew, the man seized her rudely, and ordered her to

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jump up. He led her to the fire, where he had a kettle full of black stuff, curling tongs, and a pair of shears. He tied her arms behind her, and began to cut off her hair.

     Little Susan was grieved at this; and cried out, “You shan’t cut off Mary’s hair! You are a kidnapper, I know; and I will tell her mother all about you.” Then the pedler was in a great rage, and beat her dreadfully with his horsewhip. The poor child screamed and screamed; but there was nobody in those lonely forests to help her. The man told her he would whip her to death, if she did not stop screaming. Then she tried to be still, and only gave a sob now and then, when the pain of the lashes was too great for her to bear.

     When the cruel pedler had beaten her as much as he pleased, he returned to Mary, who stood sobbing and crying on the spot where he had left her. He told her to dry up her tears very quick, unless she wanted such a whipping as

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he had given the other little saucebox. He cut her hair close, and curled it with the curling tongs. Then he rubbed her with soot and grease, simmered together, till she was blacker than Susan. He made her stand by the fire, till it was thoroughly dried in; and then he rubbed it on a second time. “There!” said he, with a brutal laugh, “Now you are almost as good-looking a nigger as ‘tother one.”

     The unhappy children did not dare to cry, for fear of being whipped. They were again tied in the cart, and rode nearly half a day without meeting any person.

     About noon, a man passed them with a large boat on wheels. Mary tried to call loud enough for him to hear; for on this lonely road the pedlar had not taken the precaution to cover their mouths. The traveler stopped to ask what was the matter. “Oh,” said the pedler, “it is only a couple of young slaves, that are noisy.” “Give them a


touch of the whip; that will make ‘em quiet,” replied the other. Having made, this unfeeling speech, he drove on, without taking any further notice.

     Before evening, the pedler came in sight of a plantation, where a good many negroes were at work, while the driver stood over them, cracking his whip and smoking his cigar. The children heard him ask this man whether the planter would buy a likely young slave. The driver said, he thought it was very probable he would.

     Then the pedler untied Mary, and told her to do as she was bid, or he would make her sorry for it. The poor child trembled, and did not dare to make any answer. She only ventured to say, “Ain’t Susan going with me?”

     He lifted her out of the cart, without making any reply. “Oh, Susan,” said she, “if you ever get home again, tell mother all about it; and take good care of my spotted rabbit.” Poor Susan sobbed, as if her heart would break.

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The pedler held his whip over Mary’s head, and ordered her to dry up her tears instantly. Thus were these innocent little playmates separated, never to meet again.

     The planter gave the pedler fifty dollars for Mary, and ordered old Dinah to take her to the negro huts. Mary told Dinah that she was a white child, whom a wicked kidnapper had stolen from her home. She looked so black, that the kind-hearted old slave did not, at first, believe her.

     “Hush, hush, poor child,” said she: “If the overseer hears you talking so, he will have you tied up and whipped. You needn’t feel so bad; Dinah will be the same as mother. Dinah’s got no children now. Massa sell ‘em all.”

     “But I am a white child, and I was stolen,” said Mary, bursting into tears.

     Dinah tried to comfort her, and sung songs to her, until the little sufferer dropped asleep, to dream of her father and mother, and little Susan, and the

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great oak tree, and the little spotted rabbit.

     When Mary was asleep, Dinah observed that there was a streak lighter than the rest of her face, where the tears had run down her cheeks; but she was afraid to go and tell her master, because the slaves were not allowed to go out in the evening.

     At daylight, the loud cracking of the overseer’s whip awakened them. Old Dinah spoke very kindly to her little charge, and told her she would wash her face faithfully, to see if she was a white child.

     When she found that the color came, off upon the towel, she promised to go and tell her master what a trick the pedler had put upon him; but she said it would do no good then, because Massa wouldn’t be up.

     So little Mary followed her into the fields, and picked cotton, as the driver ordered her, until noon. She got along very comfortably; only once the driver

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struck her across the shoulders, because she turned to look at a little bird perched on the stump of an old tree.

     At noon, Dinah led her to the planter’s house, and told her story. He was very angry to think he had been cheated by the pedler. He knew the laws would not allow him to keep a white child in slavery, or sell her to another. He said she might wait upon his wife, until her parents could be informed where she was.

     As their residence was far distant from any post-office, he thought it would be very difficult to send them word. One of the planter’s daughters begged that Joe might be sent to carry the little stranger home. But Joe was a slave; and his master was afraid he would take the opportunity to run away. When men deal unjustly with their fellow-creatures, they can no longer have confidence in them.

     Mary, in a, timid voice, begged that Susan might be found, and sent back at the same time with herself.


     One of the boys answered, “Never mind her. Niggers are used to being slaves.”

     “But Susan Easton is not used to it,” replied Mary: “Her father and mother are not slaves.”

     “Oh, she’ll soon get used to it,” said the unfeeling boy.

     Mary did not say any more: but she could not understand what right they had to seize honest Paul Easton’s daughter, and make her a slave, any more than they had to make a slave of her father’s daughter.

     The planter went off in search of the pedler, to recover his money; and he promised to bring back Susan, if he could find her. He returned in the evening, saying he could not discover what course the pedler had taken, and must make up his mind to lose his fifty dollars. I wish this had taught him never to buy another human being. He wrote a letter to Mary’s father, and promised to send her home, if he did not receive an answer before long.

[page 44] MARY FRENCH

     In the meantime, the parents of these poor children were in an agony of doubt and fear. The woods were searched in every direction. The acorn cups still stood on the flat stone, as if arranged for a mimic tea-party; and an apron at a little distance showed that the children had wandered towards the road.

     Paul Easton’s first thought was of kidnappers; for he knew very well that it was a common thing for colored children to be stolen from their homes, and sold for slaves. He said he did not believe that pedler came into the neighborhood for any good purpose. But Mr. French did not believe this; because he thought kidnappers could have no motive for stealing a white child, whom the laws allow no man to sell or buy.

     They all watched anxiously for the appearance of travelers, of whom they could make inquiries.

     The first one that came along, was the very man to whom Mary had called for help. He said he had seen an ad-

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vertisement for lost children in the newspapers; and when he read it, he thought about the children that screamed from the pedler’s cart; but he could not tell them anything more. If his heart had not been hardened by the wicked system of slavery, he would have stopped and spoken to the children, and they might both have been saved.

     Paul Easton was afraid to go in search of his child: because a free colored man traveling is liable to be kidnapped and sold, or shot through the head for a runaway slave. But Mr. French took his pack on his back, and went in search of his lost treasure. After many inquiries, he found the planter who had bought Mary.

     The poor child saw her father before he reached the door. She ran out to meet him, and sprang into his arms, sobbing and laughing at the same moment.

     When Mr. French had taken some rest and refreshment, they set out for home. Sometimes Mary walked, sometimes her father carried her, and once

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they found a chance to ride in a baggage wagon. There was no end to the child’s questions about her dear mother, and the spotted rabbit; but when she thought of poor Susan, she wept aloud.

     They returned to a house of joy; but poor Mr. Easton and his wife were, almost broken-hearted. They never heard any tidings of their child. She is, no doubt, a slave—compelled to labor hard without wages, and whipped whenever she dares to say she has a right to be free. Yet the only difference between Mary French and Susan Easton is, that the black color could be rubbed off from Mary’s skin, while from Susan’s it could not.


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And through covetousness shall they with feigned, words make merchandise of you. 2 Peter ii: 3.

These Christian brokers in the trade of blood—

They buy, they sell, they steal for gold.



     Perhaps some of my little readers would like to hear about a place in Philadelphia, called the Shelter for Colored Orphans. In this house, poor little colored children, who have no father or mother, are fed and clothed, and taught to read and write, and many other useful things. Children as young as eighteen months, or as old as eight years, can find a home in this place. A good woman named Ann Yarnall, first asked some charitable ladies to give their money for the support of poor colored or-

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orphans. At first, they had but one little scholar, who was admitted into the Shelter on the 7th of March, 1822; but now there are between twenty and thirty scholars. In 1825, a society of colored women gave one hundred dollars for the use of these orphans. I have no doubt that a great deal of the money they so generously gave away was earned by very hard work. When I was in Philadelphia, a few weeks ago, I went to the Shelter; for I dearly love to see all good little children, whether they have blue eyes or black eyes, brown hair or black hair, white faces or dark faces. I was very much pleased with the orphans at the Shelter, because they were so neat, and gentle, and obedient, and said their lessons so well.

     One little boy stepped out into the middle of the floor, and said: “Dear little playmates, look at me.” The children all answered, as if they spoke with one voice: “Well, if we do, what shall we see?”

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     The boy first stretched out his right hand, and then his left hand, and said:

     “A little boy before you stands

 To show the right and the left hands.”

Children. “The right and the left hand we all know,”

Boy . “Well, something else perhaps

I’ll show;

I have an ear each side of my head,

With which I hear whatever is said.”

C. “We too have ears, with which we


Why, little boy, thou art very queer.”

B. Hearing is one of the senses five,

Which must distinguish all alive;

But since so much you seem to know,

As I proceed, pray do it show.”

“We hear.

C. “The awful thunder’s sound.”

B . “We see ,”

C . “Creation’s beauties round.”

B . “We taste ,”

C . “The fruit.”

B . “We smell,

C. “The flowers.”

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B . “And feel,

C. “The breeze’s gentle power.”

B. “My little lesson now is done;

So to my seat away I’ll run.”

     The children made room for him on, the benches, saying: “O, come again some other time.”

     He answered :

“Yes, when I have another rhyme,”

     Then all the children repeated together some very pretty verses, about the cow and the buffalo; and they counted one hundred, and answered questions on the map very correctly. I saw there a very neat map of the United States, drawn from memory by a little colored boy about seven years old. It was done very well indeed. I don’t believe I could have done it better when I was twelve years old. The little boy who made the map does not live in this world now. He has gone to his Heavenly Father.

The good woman who teaches these little orphans, seemed to be very kind

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to them, and they all appeared to love her very much. If you ever go to Philadelphia, I hope you will go to see the children of The Shelter.



[From the Genius of Universal Emancipation.]

No, no, pretty sugar-plums! stay where you are!

Though my grandmother sent you to me from so


You look very nice you would taste very sweet,

And I love you right well; yet not one will I eat.

For the poor slaves have labored, far down in the


To make you so sweet, and so nice for my mouth;

But I want no slaves toiling for me in the sun,

Driven on with the whip, till the long day is done.

Perhaps some poor slave-child that hoed up the


Round the cane in whose juices your sweetness

was found,

Was flogged till his mother cried sadly to see,

And I’m sure I want nobody beaten for me.

So grandma’, I thank you for being so kind,

But your present to-day is not much to my mind:

Though I love you so dearly, I choose hot to eat

Ev’n what you have sent me, by slavery made


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Thus said little Fanny, and skipped off to play,

Leaving all her nice sugar-plums just where they


As merry as if they had gone in her mouth,

And she had not cared for the slaves of the south.






     A spread eagle, in her talons a bundle of arrows, and an olive branch. There should be a scroll in her beak, with the words, E PLURIBUS UNUM: which means one of many. Many States, but one nation.

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     On one memorable New-Year’s day, when Isabella was a child of eight years, she presented Rose a changeable silk dress. It was a fine affair, and Rose was pleased and grateful.

     “Now,” said Isabella, “you are as grand and as happy as any lady in the land—are you not, Rose?”

     “Happy!” echoed Rose, her countenance changing; “I may seem so—but since I came to a thinking age, I never had one happy hour, or minute, Miss Belle!”

     Oh, Rose, Rose! Why not, for pity’s sake?”

     “I am a slave.”

     “Pshaw, Rosy dear! is that all? I thought you were in earnest; and she added in an expostulary tone. “Are not papa and mamma ever so kind to you? and do not Herbert and I love you next best to them?”

     Yes, and that lightens the yoke; but still it is a yoke, and it galls. I can

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be bought and sold like cattle. I would die to-morrow to be free to-day. Oh, free breath is good—free breath is good!” She uttered this with closed teeth, and tears rolling down her cheeks.— Miss Sedgwick.



O my great massa in heaven,

Pity me, and bless my children.

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     “I cannot, cannot wash it off”

Said the little colored boy,

Whose countenance ne’er shone,

With the beaming light of joy—

“I went down to the river’s side,

While master’s people slept, But I could not, could not wash it off,”

Said the colored boy, and wept.

     He looked upon his master’s child,

And thought with what delight

‘Twould fill his little breaking heart,

Were his brow so pure and white;

And softly to the river’s brink

At early dawn he crept,

“I cannot, cannot wash it off,”

Said the colored boy, and wept.

Though dark his brow as ebony,

And sable was his skin,

The gentle mind that he possessed

Was pure and fair within;

But the Ethiop dyes which guilt and sin .

Have spread o’er human clay,

There is not any earthly stream,

Can cleanse or wash away.

O no! but there’s a fountain pure,

Whose sacred source is Heaven;

Whose ever-living waters

To a sinful world are given—

“Wash in that fountain and be clean,”

Faith hears the spirit say—

“Go to that pure and holy stream,

And wash thy stains away.”

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     Jack had been several years apprenticed to his master, and was almost twelve years old, but could not read. No person had ever taken the pains to teach him. His master was a kind man, but ignorant; and there was not a book in his house.

     One day, as Jack was going along the street, he saw several school-boys, about his own age, playing at marbles; and as he was very fond of the play, he stopped to look at them. His attention was soon caught by something new to him; this was their books, ranged by the side of a wall. He ventured to take hold of one; and was turning over the leaves, when the boy to whom it belonged came up, and angrily asked what he was about.

     Jack took some marbles out of his pocket, and offered to give them to the boy, if he would let him look at the book till the play was over. The owner consented; and Jack turned over the leaves, of course without being able to

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read them. When the play was ended, Jack returned the book, and asked the boy many questions about reading; and offered to give him another marble if he would read him some of his lessons before they parted.

     The next day, Jack watched for the boy’s return from school, and after some talk about books, asked him to teach him to read. He promised to give him a marble for every letter he taught him. The boy consented; and Jack tried hard to get marbles enough to pay his little master. For some time, his teacher heard him read every day; and the little Sweep soon began to spell words of one syllable

     One day, Jack came to the place where they were accustomed to meet; but did not find his teacher. He searched for him, and finding him busy at marbles, he waited till the play should be over. After a short time, the boy called out—”Sooty boy, I can’t teach you any more. Father and mother scold at me,

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because you dirty my book with your black hands.”

     Poor Jack had not expected this; and it made him very sorry. Being different from some idle children, who are glad of any excuse to escape from their books, he offered to give two marbles for every lesson; and promised to wash his hands carefully every day. But his teacher was either tired of his task, or afraid of being blamed. Poor Jack was almost discouraged; but he suddenly recollected that he had seen letters on the; tombstones in the graveyard; and as these could not be hurt by his black fingers, he offered to pay any boy, who would teach him to read the words on the stones.

     The boys were pleased with his desire to learn; and they promised to take turns in teaching him. After continuing this method for some days, one of them offered to take him to a Sunday School. The teacher of the school found him so desirous to know how to read, that he

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took pains to procure him instruction during the week also. He applied diligently, and was soon able to read and write; and from the instructions he received, he was brought to love the Bible and the truths it contained.

     When any of my little readers feel tired of their lessons, I hope they will remember the Sweep and the Tomb-stones.




There is a book, I’ve heard them say,

Which says, ‘Thou shalt not work nor play,

On God Almighty’s holy day.’

On Sundays, then, oh! let me look

In God Almighty’s holy book!

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This book, to which you oft appeal,

Does thus the will of God reveal,

Thou shalt not murder, lie, nor steal.

Then let your little negro look

In God Almighty’s holy book!

Dear master, you have been to me

As good and kind as man can be,

And many such with joy I see:

Then let your little slave boy look

In God Almighty’s holy book!

 But, oh! before I’m grown a man,

I pray, in one thing mend your plan,

And give us all you safely can.

I’m sure you will, if you but look

In God Almighty’s holy book !

The stripes, ‘tis said, that, Jesus bore,

Could I but rend his sufferings sore,

Would make mine lighter than before:

Yes, every sorrow I could brook,

By studying God’s Almighty book!

I’m told, this book, so wise and good,

Has made it fully understood,

God made all nations of one blood.

If this be true, I then may meet

My master at my Saviour’s feet.


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     As a lady was passing along the street, she saw a crowd of small boys vexing a poor colored lad who came along in their path. She took one of them by the hand; and led him away, telling him this pretty story. Little Jack was a Sabbath-school scholar, and his teacher said he got his lessons well, was glad to be taught, and was one of the best behaved scholars she ever had. The superintendent thought Jack would grow up to be a wise man, and he hoped he would be a good man also. But it was not long before he would not mind, and he grew surly and lazy. People told the teacher she must not wonder at it, for Jack had “the real nigger temper; niggers would be ugly, for it was their nature.” The teacher did not listen to such foolish talk. She knew that every child has a wicked heart, and would be lost if they did not repent, and obey God. So she talked kindly to Jack, and prayed for him.

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     “My dear boy,” said she, “I have always loved you, and you used to love me. It grieves me to see you do not behave so well as you used to. Tell me, my child, what I can do to make you act well again.”

     Poor Jack could hold out no longer. He wept, as if his little heart would break. “I do love you, ma’am; I do love you,” said he, trying to stifle his sobs; “but—but—” “But what, my dear?” “But I’m a nigger! I’m nothing but a nigger!” “What do you mean my child?”—”Why, when I go along the street, the white boys hoot at me, and hallow, nigger! nigger! The gentlemen, too, say, ‘Turn out, you blackey;’ —and I always shall be a blackey, if I live till I am forty years old, I can never be any thing else, and I can’t help acting bad. None of the white folks love me but you, and it is all because I’m a nigger; I’ve tried to be good as long as I can, and it’s no use to try any longer.”

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     His kind teacher told him that God would be his friend, if he was a good boy. And after talking a long time with him, Jack said he would be a good boy, and would try to learn, because it would please God, and please his teacher.

     God is the maker of all the people that live on the earth. If we despise any of them, because they do not look as we do, then we make God angry with us. Few of all the nations are white. God loves the colored ones as well as the white ones. He says so in the Bible. We must do so too.



     A traveller, who was riding through a forest in Virginia, on horseback, thinking he heard a human voice, rode towards the thicket whence it seemed to proceed. When sufficiently near, he overheard a voice, though he could discern no object; he only caught the words, “O Lord, lookee down, see poor nigger; him heart as black as skin

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dear Lord Jesus came all way down to save poor nigger!”

     Here the horse snorted, and alarmed the prostrate black. He raised himself a little and cried out beseechingly:—

“Oh, no whippee poor nigger.”

Mr. S. —What are you doing ?

Slave. —Praying to God.

Mr. S.—What for?

Slave.— Me poor nigger; sinner black heart, black as skin: me come to wood pray God save me.

Mr. S. —Boy, I pray to the same God.

Slave. —Do you ?

Mr. S. —Yes, and I will pray with you.

Slave, (falling liat on his face,) —Oh do massa, and kneel upon poor nigger.

     Mr. Smith immediately; knelt down, but, as will be readily conceived, not upon him, but by his side; and thus they both worshipped together Him who made of one blood all nations of men to dwell on all the face of the earth, and

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who by one and the same precious blood will wash away the equally offensive stain of sin, upon the white man and the black.— Cox and Hoby’s Narrative.


From an infant slave to the child of its mistress—both

born on the same day.

Baby! be not surprised to see

A few short lines coming from me,

     Addressed to you;

For babies black of three months old

May write as well, as I’ve been told,

     Some white ones do.

There are some things I hear and see,

Which very much do puzzle me,

     Pray don’t they you?

For the same day our lives begun,

And all things here beneath the sun,

     To both are new.

Baby, sometimes I hear you cry,

And many run to find out why,

     And cure the pain;

But when I cry from pains severe,

There’s no one round who seems to hear,

     I cry in vain.

Except it be when she is nigh,

Whose gentle love, I know not why,

Is all for me;

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Her tender care sooths all my pain,

Brings to my face those smiles again,

     She smiles to see.

With hunger faint, with grief distressed,

I once my wretchedness expressed,

     With urgent power;

Some by my eloquence annoyed,

To still my grief rough blows employed;

     Oh, dreadful hour!

When first thy father now his child,

With hope, and love, and joy, he smiled—

     Bright schemes he planned;

Mine groaned, and said with sullen brow,

Another slave is added now

     To this free land.

Why am I thought so little worth,

You prized so highly from your birth?

     Tell, if you know:

Why are my woes and joys as nought,

With careful love your’s shunned or sought?

     Why is it so?

My own dear mother, it is true,

Loves me as well as your’s does you;

     But when she’s gone,

None else to me a care extends;

Oh, why have you so many friends,

     I only one?

Why must that one be sent away,

Compelled for long, long hours to stay

     Apart from me?

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I think as much as I she mourns,

And is as glad when she returns,

     Her child to see .

One day I saw my mother weep,

A tear fell on me when asleep,

     And made me wake;

Not for herself that tear was shed,

Her own woes she could bear, she said,

     But for my sake.

She could not bear, she said, to think,

That I the cup of woe must drink,

     Which she had drunk;

That from my cradle to my grave,

I too must live a wretched slave,

     Degraded, sunk.

Her words I scarcely understood,

They seemed to speak of little good,

     For coming years;

But joy with all my musings blends,

And infant thought not far extends

     Its hopes or fears.

I ponder much to comprehend

What sort of beings, gentle friend,

We’ve got among;

Some things in my experience,

Do much confound my budding sense

     Of right and wrong.

Baby, I love you, ‘tis not right

To love you less because you’re white;

     Then surely you

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Will never learn to scorn or hate,

Whom the same Maker did create

Of darker hue.

Beneath thy pale uncolored skin,

As warm a heart may beat within,

     As beats in me,

Unjustly I will not forget,

Souls are not colored white or jet,

     In thee or me.

Your coming of the tyrant race,

I will not think in you disgrace

     Since not your choice;

If you’re as just and kind to me,

Through all our lives, why may not we,

     In love rejoice?

E. T. C.



[partly from “An Evening at Home.”]

     “Ah, but,” said Mrs. Morrison, “though the Americans have made it piracy to carry on the foreign slave-trade, yet they still allow the planters to keep their fellow-men in bondage, and their children, and children’s children too. But now, Emma, listen to me; why is it, do you think, that the blacks are kept in slavery, and treated as beasts? It is to procure sugar, rice,

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and cotton for us, that they are kept in bondage; to procure sugar for American ladies who never think as they sit smiling and happy, sipping their tea, that it is sweetened with what costs thousands of their fellow-creatures their liberty, and even their lives.”

     “Oh mamma!” exclaimed little Emma, her eyes filling with tears, “is this possible?”

     “Yes, it is indeed possible; it is perfectly true; and most people, even ladies, seem to have no concern about it.”

     “But I’d soon make them have concern about it,” exclaimed Henry. “Look here,” said he, starting from the corner where he had been busily engaged for sometime, and holding a great whip in his hand, “now look what I have here! This is exactly like what the slaves are flogged with. Nearly half a pound the lash alone weighs; and it’s more than six feet long; and see how thick it is; five inches round in one place! I can frighten all the ladies out of eating Louisiana sugar with this, I am sure, when

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I make them look at it, and lift it, and hear it,” said Henry smacking it; “and if they wont mind for that much I am sure they deserve to feel it too !’’

     “Don’t make me feel it, pray;” cried, Emma, running away as her brother came near her.

     “No, don’t frighten us with it Henry,” said his mother; “but show it to those ladies who will not pity those of their own sex, who have to feel its pain; show it to the ladies, who knowing, what a cart-whip does,—knowing that human flesh,—the flesh of women,— must bleed under its cruel strokes; still buy sugar, and rice, and cotton, grown by slaves, because it is cheapest!

     “Think ye, ladies, iron hearted,

Smiling at your happy boards,

Think now many backs have smarted

For the sweets the cane affords!

Sighs must fan it, tears must water,

Blood of ours must dress the soil.”


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Of the Sugar-making Slaves humbly addressed

to the consumers of sugar.

You no wish that we should suffer,

     Gentle Massa, we are sure;

You quite willing we be happy,

     If you see it in your power.

We are very long kept toiling,

     Fifteen hours in every day;

And the night for months is added,

     Wearing all our strength away.

‘Tis because you love our sugar,

     And so very much you buy;

Therefore day and night we labor,

     Labor, labor till we die.

O! if less could e’er content you,

     Or you’d buy from Eastern isles,

You would fill our hearts with gladness,

     And our tearful eyes with smiles.

Then we should have time to rest us,

     And our weary eyes might sleep;

We could raise provision plenty,

     And we might the Sabbath keep.

‘Twould not hurt us, Massa gentle,

     If you should our sugar leave;

We should only fare the better,

     So for us you need not grieve.

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‘Tis while plenty sugar’s wanted,

     That we suffer more and more;

Ease us, Massa, ease our sorrow!

     See, it is within your power.

It should be enough for Massa,

      If we work as English do;

All to want poor Negro’s sugar,

      Makes our toil a killing wo.





Mary Foster is a kind little girl. She loves every thing; and when she sees any creature hurt, it makes her cry. Mary was a little baby, just big enough to sit between her mother’s feet. Her

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father brought her a little lamb. At first, she did not like the looks of the wool. She was afraid to put her fingers on the lamb’s back. The lamb said, “Baa! Baa!” and Mary cried. She did not know that was the way lambs talk. But very soon Mary loved the lamb, and the lamb loved Mary. When her brother George asked her, “What is little Mary?” she said, “Mary is mother’s pet lamb.” And when he asked her, “What is the little lamb?” she said, “The Lamb is Mamy’s friend.” She called herself Mamy, because she could not speak plain enough to say Mary.

     Every night the lamb sat beside her, when she ate her bread and milk; and she fed him with her little spoon. Sometimes, when she drew her little cart round the room, the lamb run after her; and that pleased Mary so much, that she would clap her hands, and laugh.

     Nancy, the nurse, would laugh, too; for she loved little Mary.

     Every day the little lamb grew big--

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ger; and every day the little girl grew bigger. One morning, George led Mary out to the barn, and there she found two little baby lambs. One of them was a black lamb, and one was a white lamb.

     Nancy was a black woman. She had a little boy named Thomas. George and Mary were white children. Thomas was a black boy. But Thomas loved George and Mary; and George and Mary loved Thomas.

     Nancy went out to the barn to see the lambs. And little Mary said to her, “What makes one lamb white, and the other lamb black?” And Nancy told her, “God made the white lambs and the black lambs; and God loves them both.”

     Then Mary said, “I am mother’s white lamb, and Thomas is Nancy’s black lamb; and God loves us both.”

     When they all went into the house, Nancy gave the little children a cake, and an orange; and George and Mary said, “Give Thomas one, too.”

[page 75] BLACK LAMB.

     When Mary was sleepy, Nancy took her in her arms, and rocked her, and sung pretty stories to her.

     The little girl said, “I love my father, and my mother, and Nancy, and George, and Thomas. I love you dearly, Nancy. You are very good to me. God loves George, and Thomas, and me, when we are good little children. And God loves the little white lamb, and the little black lamb. I suppose the lambs are always gentle. But little children are naughty sometimes.

     “John Pratt was naughty, when he struck little Thomas, and called him nigger. God does not love such naughty boys. My little white lamb loves the black lamb. But John Pratt struck Thomas, and that made me cry.”

     Then the little chatter-box put her arms round Nancy’s neck, and went to sleep. Nancy kissed Mary’s cheek, and covered her up, all warm.

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I dream of all things free!

     O! a gallant, gallant bark,

That sweeps through the storm at sea,

     Like an arrow to its mark!

Of a stag that o’er the bills

     Goes hounding in his glee;

Of a thousand flashing mile—

     Of all things glad and free.

I dream of some proud bird,

     A bright-eyed mountain king;

In my visions I have heard

     The rustling of his wing.

I follow some wild river,

     On whose breast no sail may be:

Dark woods around it shiver—

     I dream of all things free!

Of a happy forest child,

     With the fawns and flowers at play;

Of an Indian midst the wild,

     With the stars to guide his way:

Of a chief his warriors leading,

     Of an archer’s green wood tree—

My heart in chains is bleeding,

     And I dream of all things free!

     *Felicia Dorothes Browne, was born in Liverpool. Her father was a native of Ireland, and her mother was a German lady. When very young, her parents took her to Wales. There she married Mr. Hemans. She had five sons . She died in 1835, at Dublin.

[page 77]



[From the Western Christian Advocate]

Jack is a Methodist local preacher. In one of his sermons he told this story. “When I was a lad, there were no religious people near where I lived. But I had a young master about my age, who was going to school; and he was very fond of me. At night he would

[page 78]


come into the kitchen to teach me the lesson he had learned himself during the day at school. In this way I learned to read.

     “When I was well nigh grown up,” said Jack, “we took up the New Testament, and agreed to read it verse by verse. When one would make a mistake, the other was to correct him, so that we could learn to read well.

     “In a short time we both felt that we were sinners before God, and we both agreed to seek the salvation of our souls. The Lord heard our prayer, and gave us both a hope in Christ. Then I began to hold meetings for prayer and exhortation among the colored people.

     “My old master soon found out what was going on. He was very, angry, especially because his son had become pious. He forbid my holding any more meetings, saying, that if I did, he would whip me severely for it.

     “From that time, I continued to preach or exhort on sabbaths, and sab-

[page 79]


bath nights; and on Monday morning my old master would tie me up, and cut my back to pieces with the cowhide, so that it never had time to get well. I was obliged to do my work in a great deal of pain from day to day.

     “Thus I lived nearly a year and a half. One Monday morning my master, as usual, had made my fellow-slaves tie me to a shade tree in the yard, after stripping my back naked to receive the cowhide. It was a beautiful morning in the summer time, and the sun shone very bright. Every thing around looked very pleasant. He came up to me with cool deliberation, took his stand, and looked at me closely: but the cowhide hung still at his side. His conscience was at work, and it was a great moment in his life.

     “Well, Jack,” said he, “your back is covered all over with, scars and sores, and I see no place to begin to whip. You obstinate wretch, how long do you intend to go on in this way?”

[page 80]


     “Why, master, just as long as the Lord will let me live,” was my reply.

     “Well, what is your design in it?”

     “Why, master, in the morning of the resurrection, when my poor body shall; rise from the grave, I intend to show these scars to my heavenly Father, as so many witnesses of my faithfulness in his cause here on earth.

     “He ordered them to untie me, and sent me to hoe corn in the field. Late in the evening he came along, pulling a weed here and a weed there, till he got to me, and then told me to sit down.

     “Jack,” said he, “I want you to tell me the truth. You know that for a long time your back has been sore from the cowhide; you have had to work very hard, and are a poor slave. Now, tell me, are you happy or not, under such troubles as these?”

     “Yes, master, I believe I am as happy a man as there is on earth.”

    “Well, Jack,” said he, “I am not happy. Religion, you say, teaches you

[page 81]


to pray for those that injure you. Now will you pray for your old master, Jack?

     “Yes, with all my heart, said I.

     “We kneeled down, and I prayed for him. He came again and again to me. I prayed for him in the field till he found peace in the blood of the Lamb. After this, we lived together like brothers, in the same church. On his death-bed he gave me my liberty, and told me to go on preaching as long as I lived, and meet him at last in heaven.

     “I have seen,” said Jack, “many Christians whom I loved, but I have never seen any I loved so well as my old master. I hope I shall meet him in heaven.”


[page 82]



I think the goodness and the grace,

     Which on my birth have smiled,

And made me in these Christian days,

      A happy, free-born child.

I was not born, as thousands are,

     Where God was never known,

And taught to pray a useless pray’r

     To blocks of wood or stone.

I was not born a little slave,

     To labor in the sun,

And wish I were but in the grave,

     And all my labor done.

I was not born without a home,

     Or in some broken shed;

A gypsy baby taught to roam,

     And steal my daily bread.

My God, I thank thee; who hast plann’d

     A better lot for me;

And placed me in this happy land,

     Where I can hear of thee.

[page 83]




sin of


hardens the

heart, distempers

the mind, brutalizes

the holder, corrupts the

moral sense, inflames the

evil passions, turns men into

cruel monsters: it is “a witch

to the senses, a devil to the soul,

a thief to the pocket,” a mildew to

the soil, and a curse to the nation; it

produces woe to man, woman, and child,

and draws from them sighs, tears, and

groans, that reach to the ears of the great God;

it reduces man to a beast—a thing—defaces

the image of God on the mind,

take away the key of knowledge,

robs man of the bible and his



root of this evil is

SLAVERY !!!!!!

[page 84]




     I am now going to tell you a story about some fugitive slaves that I assisted in getting their freedom.

     One day a letter was brought to me from the Post Office I opened it, and saw that it was written by a gentleman in Pennsylvania. It was about Mary, a colored woman, who was taken up in

[page 85]


Philadelphia last spring. I think some of my readers will remember something about it. She was claimed as a slave by a Virginian. She was a very light colored woman, and had a little son, almost white. The judge heard the case day after day, and at last gave the claimant a certificate that Mary was his slave. So he determined to take her away to Virginia.

     She had a great many friends in Philadelphia, and they were very sorry to part with her, and see her go away into slavery. While she was in prison, during the examination, as it was called, by the judge, she had a little babe, born in jail!

     Well, the letter told me that Mary was free! While her master was taking her to Virginia, she made her escape. She did as the Apostle Paul said she might. She had a fair opportunity of obtaining her freedom, and she embraced it! “Use it rather,” said Paul, and so she did.

     How she got away, perhaps you will

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never know. But as she was very light, a kind abolitionist thought he could wait upon her to a free state without its being known that she was a colored woman.

     Well, that is not the best of it. The rest of the story is more interesting still. They overtook a colored man, who was a fugitive. He had ran away from a very cruel overseer in the state of Alabama, and had walked, during the night time, ten weeks, living upon peaches and apples. The white gentleman who was journeying with Mary, told James, for that was his name, that he might go with them us a waiter!

     I can hardly keep from laughing when I think of it. James was very attentive to his new master and mistress, as they appeared to be. So on they went in stages and steamboats, until they arrived at their journey’s end. I shall not inform you where that was, lest the slaveholders should read this story, and start off to take Mary and James back

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into slavery. But I must tell you some part of James’ history.

     He was born in Virginia, and was brought up as a waiter or body servant. After his master’s death, one of the sons took James to New Orleans, where he had married a French woman. Soon they went to Alabama, with two hundred and fourteen slaves his young master had brought from Virginia. James had been told by his master that he should go back with him to Virginia, but he left him with a cruel, drunken overseer who ordered him to go into the field.

     James was told that he was to be a driver (under the overseer) of a gang of one hundred and sixteen working hands. The overseer furnished him with a whip, and a horse to ride. He told him that he must be very cross to the slaves, and that he must whip them when he bade him, or be whipped himself.

     This overseer was a very bad man. He had been the cause of the death of

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several of the slaves! Two men he shot with his rifle. One man he whipped, then put him into the stocks, and whipped him again and again. On the third day, when he went down to him, he found him dead!! And a woman, who was in delicate health, he tied to the limb of a tree, so that she could not touch the ground with her feet. He then tied her feet so as to place a short rail between them, and sat upon it.— Then he began to whip her until he was so frightened that he ran away from her.

     James got two women to go and help him. They carried her to the quarters, but on the third day she died.

     This monster used to make James whip the slaves, and he would stand by to see it laid on. But finding his orders were not obeyed when he was not present, he got three of the slaves to help him to secure James. They tied him to a tree, and severely lashed him.

     After a while, James’ master returned from Virginia. James complained to

[page 89] SLAVE .

him of being left in Alabama, and of being made to work in the field, when he had been brought up as a house-servant, and as a play-mate with his young master. But his master said he could not help it, and told James that if he would continue to drive for him for ten years, he would give him freedom and a thousand dollars, beside a piece of land! He promised him also that he would purchase his wife and children in Virginia, and send them out to Alabama, and told many other fine stories.

     One day a slave ran away, and the overseer scolded at James because, he said, he had not kept a good look out. But he could not help it. The overseer got the bloodhounds and two men from the next farm, and pursued after the slave. About noon they caught him, brought him back, tied him up, and gave him seven hundred and fifty lashes! The overseers on the other farms came and helped to whip him.

     One of these men said, that James

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ought to have five hundred lashes for his neglect; just as if he could keep his eyes on every slave all the time. The other said that he ought to have two hundred and fifty lashes at least, but James’ overseer, as though he would show his moderation! said he would give him one hundred and fifty lashes.

     As James was sent to the house to get a wash for the poor man’s mangled back, the overseer ordered him to prepare enough for himself also. This was near six o’clock in the evening. After James had put the wash on the fire, in a skillet, he went up stairs and threw a shirt, tied up in a handkerchief, out of the window.

     Keeping the house between him and the overseer on the farm, he set off towards the woods, without any provisions or clothes except what were on his back, and the shirt in the handkerchief.

     When night came on, he was only about ten miles from the farm. Here he rested, and slept some in a cane-brake.

[page 91]SLAVE

Next morning he set out, and traveled on, expecting to be pursued. About ten o’clock he heard the bloodhounds! but they did not overtake him until three or four o’clock in the afternoon.

     James swam the creek several times during the day, to avoid the dogs. When

the first one came up, it proved to be one of his master’s dogs, a slut, who carried

a bell. She immediately made friends with James, and seemed glad to see him, and played with him as she had been accustomed to do.

     The other four dogs were considerably behind, but when they came up, they were also friendly, knowing James as their feeder and care-taker. To the mercy of these dogs, under God, James owed his life!

     James kept the dogs with him, and they willingly followed. The next day he set them off after some deer that were feeding in sight of his path, and James saw them no more. He would have been very glad to have brought them all

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with him, for they had proved themselves to be good friends to him, but it would have been very hazardous for him to do so.

     Late at night he arrived at a village of the Creek Indians, and was kindly received. He found two colored men among them, who gave him a piece of dried beef, being the first food James had met with since he left the cotton plantation. He slept there that night, and rested all the next day, and in the evening he set out again upon his journey.

     From this place to Virginia, James traveled in the night, and laid by in the day time, concealed in some safe hiding place, living entirely on peaches and apples. At first, they were almost like medicine, but in a few days he became so accustomed to the fare, that it was quite pleasant, and seemed to agree with him very well.

     At one place, where he was known, he had some supper prepared, and he

[page 93] SLAVE .

took a few mouthfuls, but he could not eat. He became very sick, and laid there for several days, and was not able to travel for three weeks.

     He again set out, but now with provisions for his journey. It was still necessary to travel in the night, and lay hid through the day. Sometimes he lost his way, and thus lost much time in regaining the right road. At last he got to a free state, where he met with some kind and benevolent colored men, who furnished him with suitable clothing.

     One of the colored men took him in a sleigh nine miles; and then James walked into Harrisburgh. From this place he traveled on, assisted by one kind friend, and then another, until he came to the house of the man who wrote me a letter, giving this account of James.

     Slaveholders think it very wrong for a person to assist a slave to get his liberty. They have made laws for the purpose of preventing it. So that it is considered a crime, in the slave states,

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for a slave to run away, or for a person to help him to get his freedom. They call slaves property, and therefore suppose it as bad to aid them to run away as it is in the free states to run away with a horse. They even pretend that it is a crime for a man to take his own freedom, as the fugitive slaves call it; and they punish a runaway slave dreadfully, if they can catch him.

     But we, in the free states, have no such notions as these. We do not think it is worse for a slave to run away than it is for a squirrel or a bird, if they can get a chance. Or any worse for a colored man to run into a free state, than it would be for a white man to run into a slave state, if we were so wicked as to try to keep him here against his will.

     Men are not property, and no one has a right to hold them as slaves. If, then, they can get their freedom, I say, let them do it, and welcome.

      The Apostle Paul wrote to the Corinthians, (chapter 7th, and verse 21st.)

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“art thou called, being a servant? care not for it; but if thou mayst be made free, use it rather.” I will tell you what this means. If a slave is “called,” or becomes a Christian, he must not grive over his bondage too much, but, if he has an opportunity, let him take his freedom, that is, let him run away, if he cannot get it any other way.

     Slaveholders will tell you the apostle meant that a slave should not care about slavery, that is, that he should be contented to be a slave, and not run away. Now I will just tell you what Dr. Scott says of the verse in his Commentary.

     ‘If, then, any one had been converted in a state of slavery... let him be less solicitous about his liberty, than about glorifying God in that trying situation, But . . . if he was able, or had a fair opportunity of obtaining his freedom, he would do well to embrace it.”

     Now, Mr. Slaveholder, what do you think of that? Some of you have Scott’s Commentary. I do not wonder you will

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not let the slaves learn to read, for if they could read, they would peep into it, and read with their own eyes what the apostle said, and what Dr. Scott says. And then they would be off very quick I guess,

     It is not a crime then to assist a fellow-creature to get his liberty. So far from it, it is a noble act and one of the best men in the state of New York, said “I should not wish to be in any better business.”