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LETTER FROM C. C. BURLEIGH

To an Anti-Slavery Convention, for Eastern Pennsylvania, held at Norristown, Eighth-month 1, 1842.

importunate appeals, may reach the hearts and awak en the consciences of all. Douglas, as a living witness of the secrets of slavery's prison house, may speak that he doth know, and testify that he hath seen of its cruelties and abominations. He may reveal the foul hypocrisy and daring blasphemy of its priestly defenders; may show in his sarcastic imitations, how, with sanctimonious looks and whining tones of pretended piety, they impiously charge upon God the making of one man to be a slave, and another to be a slave owner; and how, with cool effrontery, pointing to those physical and mental differences which slavery, and its hard toil and enforced ignorance on the one hand, and slaveholding luxury and pride on the other, have wrought, they call them tokens of His design, that one should serve and the other command; proofs of His wisdom and goodness in fitting each for the lot assigned him. And the tried old veteran, with his undimmed eye and unabated natural strength, his resolute look, and calm, determined manner, before which the blustering kidnapper and the self-important oppressor have so often quailed :—with his tales of oppression baffled, and freedom gained by many a flying bondman; with the scars of a hundred battles, and the wreaths of a hundred victories, in this glorious warfare; with his example of a half a century's active service in the holy cause, and his still faithful adherence to it through evil as well as good re

MONTPELIER, Seventh-month 28, 1842. Though, as you are well aware, I cannot be with you in person at your grand gathering in Norristown next week, yet neither can I consent to be wholly absent. Fain would I, that you and all my beloved fellow-laborers there assembled, should think of me not as now a stranger or a foreigner;-as one removed from among you, and belonging to another scene of action. Let me still be counted as one of you. Let my place be kept for me, as if I had but stepped aside for a moment, soon to be in it again. It is hardly needful to assure you that I shall be with you in spirit, and that, separated as we are for a time, I still feel a lively interest in whatever concerns our common cause, in that-so long my own-field of labor. So long! nay, still my own; for so I regard it, and look forward with glad anticipation to the time, as not far distant, when we shall be once more together; and, shoulder to shoulder in the same rank of the anti-slavery host, press forward in the arduous struggle wherein you have so often aided and cheered me on. My heart is with you now, and words cannot speak the joy it would give me to be at your meeting, to celebrate with you the glorious jubilee of the West India slave; to plan with you the future toils which are to win a still more glori-port, and in the face of opposition as bitter as sectaous jubilee for the captives of our own land; to kindle anew each other's zeal, infuse into each other's souls fresh energy and resolution, re-nerving them for the conflicts we have yet to meet; and once more unite with you in solemnly pledging to the cause, our time, our strength, our talents, our substance, and whatsoever it be "wherewith the Lord our God has blessed us," as means for being co-workers with him in delivering the spoiled out of the hand of the oppressor.

I know you need not my admonition, to remind you of your duty, nor my voice to arouse you to do it, nor my words of cheer to encourage you onward in the good work. Nor is it only because others will be there to stir you up to action, that you need no word from me. Not merely because Collins will be with you, and Douglas-a brand plucked from the burning-and the veteran Hopper. That these are to be present I am glad to hear. That they will help to pour into your souls new life, and awaken new activity, and animate you with a more devoted spirit of self-denial, and quicken your zeal and inspire you with a greater energy and perseverance, I rejoice to believe. Collins, with his vehement and scorching rebukes, may make pro-slavery writhe, may startle the indifferent, and goad the indolent to action; with his spirit-kindling battle-cry may give increased alacrity to those who have risen and girded them for the moral fight; and with his earnest,

rian bigotry can stir up-may show that persecution cannot bow the head which seventy winters could not blanch, nor the terror of excommunication chill the heart in which age could not freeze the kindly flow of warm philanthropy. But it was not the remembrance of these which led me to say you need no voice of mine to summon you to duty. The voice which calls you is louder than ever swelled up from human lips. It is pouring ever its thrilling tones into your ears, and into your souls-from the cotton field, from the rice swamp, from the sugar plantation, from the man-market of your nation's capital, from the desolate huts of the bereaved-bereaved by a stroke more terrible than death,-from the slave. ship's hold, and from the dusty highway, where chained coffles drag wearily along their mournful march. It speaks in the clank of fetters, the crack of brandished whips, and the harsh words and angry oaths of drivers and overseers. It rings out from the auction hammer as it falls to sunder human hearts, and is heard in the auctioneer's call, "who bids" for imbruted manhood. All sounds of wo blend in that mighty voice;-all sighs of sorrow heaved by broken hearts; all cries of anguish in its many notes, from the infant's scream and mother's piercing shriek, as they are rudely torn apart, to that deep groan which speaks the strong man's agony at the loss of loved ones dearer than his life; whatever tells the still night air and the watching stars of

griefs which may not be spoken in the ear of man
lest falling lashes should smother their attempted
utterance; all tones of wild despair, all muttered
curses and half breathed prayers to God for ven-
geance; every low whisper, passing round dark cir-
cles of midnight plotters in the forest's gloom, ri-
pening their schemes of flight, or bloody retribu-
tion; all aspirations of that hope which gives the
fugitive strength to his toil-worn limbs, courage to
his fainting soul, speed to his flying steps; the
stealthy foot-fall through slumbering villages or
towns at midnight, and the rustle of dry leaves in
solitary wood-paths; the bloodhound's bay, the rifle's
sharp crack, and whizzing of the ball, the shout of
savage exultation which hails its deadly aim, the
bubbling rush of its victim's life stream from the
fatal wound; all mingle in the ceaseless cry which
bids you up to the rescue." In the lament, too, of
darkened minds and benighted souls, chained in ig-
norance by statute prohibitions, and doomed to hea-
thenism by the usages of a Christain people, you
hear the emphatic call for help. The enslaved con-
sciences of millions, clanking their spiritual shac-
kles, and demanding a release from their galling
weight, appeal to your consciences, making them
your accusers if you put forth no effort for their dis-
enthralment. Sounds not that appeal in your ears
like the death groan of starving souls, perishing for
lack of that bread of life which should nourish them?
The whole South land is lifting up its voice; not
from living things alone, but the very stones are
crying out of the walls of its dilapidated mansions
and deserted sanctuaries, "wo to him that buildeth
a town with blood, and establisheth a city with ini-
quity;" and the beam out of the timber is answering
them, accusing slavery of their too early decay and
ruin; and calling on you as sharers in the common
interest of the whole country, to drive out the abomi-
nation which maketh desolate, and bring in that
builder of old waste places, that upraiser of the
foundations of many generations, free industry.
The once fruitful fields, now slavery-cursed with
barrenness; the pine woods over growing olden cul-
tivations and echoing in their gloomy depths the
howl of wolves returned after the lapse of a cen-
tury," send up their call with all the earnestness of
dying prosperity gasping hard for breath, and pray-
ing for renewed life. Nor from the South alone rises
up the call to anti-slavery effort. From many a fly-
ing captive, wandering over the wide north, seeking
shelter in the shadow of our liberty tree on our
boasted free soil, and finding that the hand of "com
promise" has pruned away its branches, till oppres-
sion's sun-stroke can smite him even here, and
wither his blooming hopes; is pealing out a call for
protection and deliverance;

"While from the dark Canadian woods,
The loud reply comes thundering out,
Above Niagara's boiling floods,

The rescued bondman's triumph shout;"

not unmingled with tones of sorrow and accents of earnest entreaty, which urge us, if we can do no more, at least to cast up a safe highway from the land of republican bondage to the home of freedom under a monarch's protecting rule. And what tumultuous acclaim, even while you are yet assembled, swells up from the freed Antilles," like the roar of pent-up seas bursting their rocky barriers; and tells a nation joy at the returning aniversary of its emancipation? What is it but another tone of that same voice, which bids you for very shame to suffer no longer in quiet "the free United States to cherish the slavery which a king has abolished?"— What are the taunts flung at you from beyond the waters; from crowned despots and their minions, scorning a slaveholding republicanism; from pagans at their idol shrines, sneering at a heathenizing Christianity? What, but variations of the same unceasing voice, which will still roar, and shriek, and groan, and sigh, and wail, and entreat, and accuse, and condemn, till your brother's blood no longer gives it its startling tones and unearthly power? The earth which drunk that blood-which drinks it still, warm-dripping from the lash-sends up continually its accusing cry to heaven. The heaven which looked on with astonishment, hurls back its response from the black thunder-cloud, and writes it with quivering lightnings all over its broad expanse. The rivers, discolored with the crimson stain, sweep oceanward with indignant rush, pouring out their complaints in every ripple of the current as they dash along. The ocean flings them back with its loud voice of many waters, as his foam-crested billows tumble in upon the trembling shore. And He that sitteth on the circle of the heavens, that spread abroad the earth and stretched the clouds above it like the curtains of a tent, and channelled it with river courses, and scooped out the hollows for the seas, that makes them all the instruments of his will, when, by terrible things in righteousness, he would vindicate the honor of his violated laws, and avenge the cause of the helpless and injured poor, he is shaping into articulate sounds those thunders above, and that voice of the waters below, and, as it were, bending those lightning flashes into forms and characters which may be read-pealing upon your ears with the one, and blazing upon your dazzling eyes with the other, "Execute judgment in the morning, and deliver him that is spoiled out of the hand of the oppressor, lest my fury go out like fire, and burn that none can quench it, because of the evil of your doings." And I rejoice to know that you are not utterly unheedful of the call, but have banded yourselves together to work, by your united zeal and energy, the required deliverance; not by retaliating upon the evil-doer the evil he has done; not by washing out with his blood the blood-stain with which he has polluted the land; not by " phy the hostile sical resistance, the marshalling in arms,

encounter;" but by the opposition of moral puri- | shields him from the perils he must else have braved

by such a course? could he even have attempted it? If his labors are producing abundant fruit, it is because yours have broken and mellowed to some degree the soil, and diffused a more genial temperature throughout the moral atmosphere.

But I meant not to speak so long of what has been. It behooves us, rather, forgetting the things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those which are before, to press toward the mark for the prize of our high calling. The little which has been done, may be hastily glanced at now and then, as encouragement to new exertion, but must not be dwelt upon as if it were the fulfilment of our duty; must not be permitted to hide from our eyes the vastly more which yet lies unaccomplished before And with you I am confident it will not. You have not just put on the harness of this Christian warfare, to boast yourseves as he that putteth it off, after the battle has been fought and the victory won.

us.

*

There is another subject on which my mind has dwelt much, and which I hope will claim some

ty to moral corruption, the destruction of error by the potency of truth, the overthrow of prejudice by the power of love, the abolition of slavery by the spirit of repentance :" thus conferring a blessing at once upon the oppressor and his victim. Not in vain have you enlisted in this holy war; holy, no less because of its weapons, than of its objects. Not in vain have you devoted your strength to this labor of love, spending it for the good of those from whom you look for no recompense. Not in vain have you encountered reproach and persecution-braved the wrath of the mob, suffered the loss of property by the outbreaks of lawless violence, endured personal indignities, and faced personal dangers. Not in vain, even if you could as yet see no fruits of your labor, so far as its direct purpose is concerned; even if no fetter had yet been broken, no blessing of them that were ready to perish, but are now set in safety from the reach of the destroyer, had yet come upon you. Your own consciousness bears witness that he, in whose service you are engaged, is no exactor of unrequited toil; that he does not even wait the finishing of the day's work, before he begins the pay-share of your attention. I mean the duty toward ment of its wages. You have tasted the reward in our brethern flying from oppression, which grows the inward peace which obedience has produced; in out of the recent decision of the Supreme Court.the sweet satisfaction which flows from the exercise That we are verily guilty concerning our brother, so of kindly emotions, and the sacrifice of present per-long as we consent to aid in re-enslaving him if he sonal indulgence and ease to the toils of benevolence, attempts to escape-so long as we leave unused any and in the pleasures of social intercouse, and a feel- rightful means in our power to assist his self-deliving of brotherly union in a common cause, height-erance, I need not so say to such an assembly as ened by the consideration of the nobleness of that cause; purified by the disinterestedness of that feeling. But this has not been your only reward. You have seen the work of the Lord prospering in your hands. He who sows the seed expects to wait long and patiently for the harvest, before its waving wealth shall cover the furrows, or its ripened sheaves shall crowd the barns. Yet, in your case the reaper seems already treading on the sower's heel, and the harvest of the last sown farrow supplies the seed for the next. A Birney, a Nelson, a Brisbane, and a Thome, are not the only trophies of past success, nor the only auxiliaries of future effort. Not the converted slaveholder alone, but the liberated slave also, is at once the witness of what has been done, and the helper in what is yet to do.Where, but for your efforts, would have been some of the voices which are now pleading, with the earnest eloquence of simple nature, for the deliverance of the enslaved, and moving the whole land with their strong appeals? To name no other-would Douglas be now rousing the country to a state of healthy agitation; would he be going from city to city, and town to town, and village to village, with his story of the captive's wrongs; awakening sympathy, enkindling zeal, and enlisting effort-if northern abolitionists had not prepared the public mind to receive him, and formed a public sentiment which

we

this letter is designed for. But what ought we to do, what can we do with the most effect, for the attainment of our fixed purpose? That we will never lift a finger to help the kidnapper, however strong the authority of statute, or constitution, or judicial decision with which he is clothed, I take for granted is our unanimous, undisguised determination. That we will do our best, by all means which the moral law condemns not, to baffle him and save the prey from his talons, I trust we are equally well agreed on, and equally open in avowing. Now, as have the highest judicial authority of the nation for the doctrine that the federal government cannot require State officers to enforce its decrees, and that the several States may forbid all giving of aid by their official agents, to the re-capture of fugitive slaves, it seems to me that every free State owes it to its own character, to justice, to humanity, to pass an act at the earliest possible opportunity, imposing such prohibition; and that abolitionists everywhere ought to bestir themselves in this matter, and by pe. titions, and their personal influence, where they have any, with their representatives, and by whatever means are proper and lawful, endeavor to bring about so desirable an end. The South should be made to know that we are not only determined to hinder, as far as we can, her attempts to make effective for injustice a compromise which ought never to have

been made; and which, when made, being immoral | Not by deeds that win the world's applauses;

in its nature, is not binding, and cannot be, and must ever be more honored in the breach than the observance;" but that we are resolved to get all we

can to help us, and to make the whole policy of the North, so far as we can mould it, a barrier against the re-enslavement of the self-emancipated bondman,

who seeks a shelter within our borders.

if

But I will trespass on your time and patience no longer. I could not feel willing to let your gathering pass away without a greeting from your absent brother, and his fervently uttered God-speed to your exertions; and, having begun to talk, I have been borne along beyond my original purpose, till now, I close not speedily, there will be no room in the sheet for signature or superscription. Blame me not, beloved friends and fellow-laborers, that I seem thus reluctant to part with you. The memory of our toils and trials together, the thought of all that we have enjoyed in common, the remembrance of the abundant kindness and generous hospitality I have so often received at your hands, while laboring with you in this good work, and of the warm personal friendship, the confidence and brotherly affection with which you have honored and cheered me,-these come thronging upon me, as I turn to take my leave, and swell my bosom with emotions, which you may conceive but I cannot utter. Farewell, brethren and sisters. May He whose wisdom is profitable to direct, and whose arm is strong to defend and mighty to save, be with you in all your deliberations; give prudence to your counsels, vigor to your measures, success to your enterprise. May he guide you in life and sustain you in death, and reward you at last with the welcome invitation, Well done, good and faithful servants, enter ye into the joy of your Lord."

TO THE UNSATISFIED.

BY HARRIET WINSLOW.

Why thus longing, why for ever sighing
For the far-off, unattained and dim ;
While the beautiful, all around thee lying,
Offers up its low perpetual hymn?

Would'st thou listen to its gentle teaching,

All thy restless yearning it would still; Leaf and flower, and laden bee are preaching, Thine own sphere, though humble, first to fill.

Poor indeed thou must be, if around thee

Thou no ray of light and joy can'st throw,
If no silken cord of love hath bound thee
To some little world, through weal and wo ;

If no dear eye thy fond love can brighten-
No fond voices answer to thine own;
If no brother's sorrow thou can'st lighten,
By daily sympathy and gentle tone.

Not by works that give thee world-renown;
Nor by martyrdom, or vaunted crosses,
Can'st thou win and wear the immortal crown.

Daily struggling, though unloved and lonely,
Thou wilt find, by hearty striving only,
Every day a rich reward will give;
And truly loving, thou can'st truly live.
Dost thou revel in the rosy morning,

When all nature hails the lord of light,
And his smile, the mountain-tops adorning,
Robes yon fragrant fields in radiance bright?
Other hands may grasp the field and forest,
Proud proprietors in pomp may shine;
But with fervent love, if thou adorest,

Thou art wealthier-all the world is thine!

Yet, if through earth's wide domains thou rovest,
Sighing that they are not thine alone,
Not those fair fields, but thyself thou lovest,

And their beauty, and thy wealth are gone.
Nature wears the color of the spirit;

Sweetly to her worshipper she sings;
All the glow, the grace she doth inherit,
Round her trusting child, she fondly flings.

THE HAPPY LIFE.

BY SIR HENRY WOTTON.

How happy is he born or taught,

That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought,

And simple truth his highest skill: Whose passions not his masters are;

Whose soul is still prepared for death;
Not tied unto the world with care.
Of princes' ear or vulgar breath:
Who hath his life from rumors freed;
Whose conscience is his strong retreat :
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppressors great:
Who envies none whom chance doth raise,
Or vice who never understood
How deepest wounds are given with praise;
Nor rules of state, but rules of good:
Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace than gifts to lend;
And entertains the harmless day

With a well chosen book or friend.
This man is freed from servile hands
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
Lord of himself, though not of lands;
And having nothing, yet hath all.

LIFE'S PILGRIMAGE.

BY ROBERT NICOLL.

Infant, I envy thee

Thy seraph smile-the soul without a stain;
Angles around thee hover in thy glee,
A look of love to gain !

Thy paradise is made

Upon thy mother's bosom, and her voice Is music rich as that by spirits shed

When blessed things rejoice!

Bright are the opening flowers

Ay, bright as thou, sweet babe, and innocent.
They bud and bloom; and straight their infant hours,
Like thine, are done and spent!

Boy! infancy is o'er

Go with thy playmates to the grassy lea,

Let thy bright eye with yon fair laverock soar, And blithe and happy be!

Go, crow thy cuckoo notes,

Till all the green-wood alleys loud shall ring; Go listen to the thousand tuneful throats

That 'mong the branches sing!

I would not sadden thee,

Nor wash the rose upon thy cheek with tears:
Go while thine eyes are bright-unbend thy knees;
Forget all cares and fears!

Youth is thy boyhood gone? The fever hour of life at length has come, And passion sits in reason's golden throne, While sorrow's voice is dumb!

Be glad! it is thy hour

Of love ungruding-faith without reserveAnd from the right, ill hath not yet the power To make thy footsteps swerve!

Now is thy time to know

How much of trusting goodness lives on earth, And rich in pure sincerity to go

Rejoicing in thy birth!

Youth's sunshine unto thee-.

Love first and dearest-has unveiled her face, And thou hast sat beneath the trysting tree In love's first fond embrace!

Enjoy thy happy dream,

For life hath not another such to give ;

The stream is flowing-love's enchanted streamLive, happy dreamer, live!

Though sorrow dwelleth here,

And falsehood and impurity and sin,

The light of love, the gloom of earth to cheer, Comes sweetly, sweetly in!

'Tis o'er-thou art a man !

The struggle and the tempest both begin
Where he who faints must fall-he fight who can,
A victory to win!

Go, cleanse thy heart, and fill

Thy soul with love and goodness: let it be
Like yonder lake, so holy, calm, and still;
So full of purity!

This is thy task on earth-
This is thy eager manhood's proudest goal;
To cast all meanness and world-worship forth;
And thus exalt the soul!

'Tis manhood makes the man

A high-souled freeman or a fettered slave,
The mind a temple fit for God to span,
Or a dark dungeon grave!

THE HAPPY HOME.

I love the hearth where evening brings Her loved ones from their daily tasks, Where virtue spreads her spotless wings, And vice, foul serpent, never basks ; Where sweetly rings upon the ear

The blooming daughter's gentle song, Like heavenly music whisper'd near, While thrilling hearts the notes prolong

For there the father sits in joy,

And there the cheerful mother smiles, And there the laughter-loving boy,

With sportive tricks the eye beguiles; And love, beyond what worldlings know, Like sunlight on the purest foam, Descends, and with its cheering glow Lights up the Christian's happy home.

Contentment spreads her holy calm

Around her resting place so bright,
And gloomy sorrow finds a balm,
In gazing at so fair a sight;
The world's cold selfishness departs,

And discord rears its front no more,
There pity's pearly tear drop starts,
And charity attends the door.

No biting scandal, fresh from hell,

Grates on the ear, or scalds the tongue;
There kind remembrance loves to dwell,
And virtue's meed is sweetly sung :
And human nature soars on high,
Where heavenly spirits love to roam,
And vice, as stalks it rudely by,
Admires the Christian's happy home.

Oft have I join'd the lovely ones,
Around the bright and cheerful hearth,

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