heard and read in the newspapers of "The Western Knockings and Rappings," that I was very curious to hear them with my own ears. The young Lowells partook of my curiosity, and our friends in Rochester conducted us, therefore, to the place where, for the present, they were to be heard. The first glance, however, of the two sisters convinced me that, whatever spirits they might be in communication with, they were not of a spiritually respectable class. Very different must be the appearance of such persons as have communion with the higher spiritual beings. For the rest, I came to the conclusion, from what occurred during this visit, and which in certain respects was extraordinary enough, that the spirits did not understand Swedish, for they ought not in any case to have permitted themselves to be defied and threatened in Swedish as they were by me; that these wonderful knockings and tricks were either effected by these young sisters themselves-and they looked to me quite capable of it, however incomprehensible it might seem that they could manage to perform some of the tricks-or that they were the work of spirits of a similar disposition to these sisters, and in rapport with them. I may call these spirits the little Barnums of the spiritual world, who, like the great Barnum of America, amuse themselves with leading by the nose any persons who will be so led, and who receive their pranks in serious earnest. I do not doubt but that the spiritual world has its "humbugs," even as our world has, and it does not seem to me extraordinary that they endeavor to make fools of us. I am, however, surprised that intelligent people can be willing to seek for intercourse with their beloved departed through the medium of these knocking spirits, as is often the case. The sorrow of my heart and doubt of my mind might do a great deal; but it seems to me that rather would I never hear upon earth any tidings of my beloved dead than hear them through these miserable knockings. The in

tercourse of spirits, angelic communion, is of a higher and holier kind.

From this scene, which produced a disquieting uncomfortable impression (the young Lowells were extremely angry with it), we drove to call on Frederick Douglas, a fugitive slave from Maryland, who has become celebrated by his natural genius, his talent as a public speaker, and the eloquence with which he pleads the cause of his black brethren. He is the editor of a paper called the "North Star," which is published at Rochester: he was now here, but confided to the house by bronchitis, which prevented his calling on me.

I had great interest in him, principally from his autobiography, which I had read, and which bears evidence of a strong and profoundly sensitive spirit, as well as of truth. And this is not always the case with some other autobiographies of fugitive slaves, which are a mixture of truth and fiction, and greatly overdrawn.

There is one part of this narrative which deeply affected me by its beauty, and I will translate it for you. It will give you some idea of the man and his condition as a slave, during the severest period of his slave-life. was then a youth of seventeen.

He

"I was somewhat intractable when I came first to Mr. Covey. But a few months of this discipline quite subdued me. Mr. Covey succeeded in breaking me in.. I was broken both body, soul, and spirit. My natural elasticity of mind was crushed; my intelligence was dulled; the desire to read died within me; the cheerful sparkle of my eye was gone; the dark night of slavery lay heavy upon me, and—behold a human being changed into a mere chattel!

"Sunday was my only free time. I spent it in a sort of animal stupidity, between sleeping and waking, under a large tree. Sometimes I rose up; a flash of energetic

* Now called “Frederick Douglas's Paper."

life-the life of freedom, passed through my soul, accompanied by a gleam of hope, which lit it up for a moment, and then again vanished. And again I sank down, sorrowing over my condition. Sometimes I was tempted to put an end to my life and to Covey's at the same time, but I was withheld by a feeling both of hope and fear.

"Our house stood merely a few steps from Chesapeake Bay, upon whose broad bosom always shone white sails from all the countries of the habitable world. These beantiful vessels, in their shining white garments, so enchanting to the eye of the freeman, seemed to me like shrouded spectres, who came to terrify and torment me with the thought of my wretched state.

"Often, in the profound silence of a summer Sunday, have I stood alone upon the lofty shores of this magnificent bay, and with a heavy heart and tearful eyes followed the innumerable crowd of sail floating out toward the great ocean. The sight of these affected me powerfully. My thoughts sought for expression, and there, in the ear of the one Almighty Auditor, did my soul pour forth her lament, though in a rude and untaught manner, as if addressing the sailing ships: 'You are released from your bonds, and are free. I am enchained by my fetters, and am a slave! You speed on joyfully before the wind. I am driven on painfully by the bloody whip. You are the swiftwinged angels of freedom, who fly around the world. I am fettered by an iron chain. Oh that I were but free! Oh that I were but standing on one of your stately decks, beneath the shadow of your protecting wings. Ah! between you and me rolls the pitiless sea! Go! go! Oh that I also could go! If I could only swim. If I could but fly! Oh why was I born a man to become a chattel! That glad ship is gone; it is losing itself in the dim distance. I am left in the burning hell of endless slavery. Oh God, save me! God release me! Let me become free! Is there a God? Why am I a slave? I will fly. I will not

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endure it! Free or in bondage-I will attempt it-I have only one life to lose. I may as well die running as standing. Only think-one hundred miles directly north, and I am free. Attempt it! Yes! so help me God! I will do it. It can not be intended that I should die a slave. I will trust myself to the sea.

This very creek shall bear me to liberty! A better day is in the future!"

And he became free, although several years later. Thank God, he succeeded in saving himself, in becoming free! His autobiography is one of the most interesting books which any one can read. Douglas has entirely maintained himself for some years as a literary man, always working for his great object-the emancipation of the slaves and the improvement of the free colored people.

I found him to be a light mulatto of about thirty, with an unusually handsome exterior, such as I imagine should Those beautiful eyes were full belong to an Arab chief.

He suffered much from that affection of of a dark fire. the throat, and could speak only with difficulty. Some bitter words were vehemently expressed against the cusThe case is this; toin prevalent under the system of slavery, of robbing the laborer of the wages which he earns. slaves are hired out by their owners to work for certain wages, perhaps for a dollar a day, or seven or nine dollars a week, and this wage they must, at the end of the week or the month, whichever it may be, take to their masters. Many slaveholders maintain themselves by money thus acquired by their slaves. On the other side, the master generally provides clothes for the slaves, and is bound to take care of them in sickness and old age. Many slaves, however, earn so much by their labor that they could very well do more than maintain themselves, if they might but have that which they earn.

The wife of Douglas is very dark, stout and plain, but with a good expression; his little daughter, Rosetta, takes after her mother. The governess is a white lady, who BB 2

lives in the family. I can not but admire that force of character which enables her to bear those trials which, in such circumstances, she must have to bear from the prejudiced white people; and they are legion even in the Free States. But possibly has that former slave, now the apostle-militant of freedom, that greatness of character which makes such a sacrifice easy to an ardent soul. I saw too little of him, and under circumstances too unpropitious for me to obtain a clear impression. And if, in his case, bitterness of spirit were more conspicuous than magnanimity, who can wonder?

I must now say a few words about some knockings in Rochester, which entertained me more than the so-called spiritual; these I heard in the telegraph office of the city. I wished to know whether the former American minister in Stockholm, Mr. Lay, who now lived in Batavia, a little city in western New York, was at home, in which case I wished to pay a visit to him and his wife on my way back to Niagara. Mr. Lay, who is still in a very suffering state after an apoplectic attack, had, immediately on my arrival in America, written to me very kindly, and sent a confidential person to take me to his house; but as I was then with the Downings, I was not able to avail myself of his kindness. Now, however, I was come into the neighborhood of the Lays, and should be glad to see these amiable people, my former friends in Sweden, if it were merely to thank them. I wished, therefore, to send a message and make inquiries at Batavia, about sixty miles distant from Rochester.

I was taken to the telegraph office, a handsome, welllighted room in a large, covered arcade, in which were ornamental shops like those arched bazaar-arcades in Paris and London. I gave my message to one of the gentleman officials. He immediately caused some mystical knockings to take place, by means of which my message was sent to Batavia. In a few seconds it knocked again. This