could not still its own pulses at the bidding of a white master. He has given in graphic language the conflict of hopes and fears in his heart, when contemplating escape by flight from the evils which surrounded him :

"At every gate through which we were to pass we saw a watchman-at every ferry a guard-on every bridge a sentinel, and in every wood a patrol. We were hemmed in upon every side. Here were the difficulties, real or imagined—the good to be sought, and the evil to be shunned. On the one hand, there stood slavery, a stern reality, glaring frightfully upon us, its robes already crimsoned with the blood of millions, and even now feasting greedily upon our own flesh. On the other hand, away back in the dim distance, under the flickering light of the north star, behind some craggy hill or snow-covered mountain, stood a doubtful freedom-half frozen-beckoning us to come and share its hospitality. This in itself was sometimes enough to stagger us; but when we permitted ourselves to survey the road, we were frequently appalled. Upon either side we saw grim death, assuming the most horrid shapes. Now it was starvation, causing us to eat our own flesh; now we were contending with the waves, and were drowned; now we were overtaken, and torn to pieces by the fangs of the terrible bloodhound. We were stung by scorpions, chased by wild beasts, bitten by snakes, and finally, after having nearly reached the desired spot-after swimming rivers, encountering wild beasts, sleeping in the woods, suffering hunger and nakedness-we were overtaken by our pursuers.

and, in our resistance, we were shot dead upon the spot! I

say,

this picture sometimes appalled us, and made us

'Rather bear those ills we had,

Than fly to others that we knew not of.""

But, thanks to a kind Providence, he attempted, and successfully, to fly from his oppressors. The mode of his flight he prudently says little about, for fear of injuring the chances for escape of thousands still in bondage. He settled down in New Bedford, got married, and went quietly at work. As yet no one had discovered the wonderful genius which dwelt beneath his dark skin. He had enjoyed wretched opportunities for information; his education was necessarily exceedingly limited, and after he came to reside in New Bedford, he was obliged to support himself and wife by manual labor, and of course had little time to devote to mental toil.

In the month of August, 1841, an anti-slavery meeting was held in Nantucket. Some of the most eloquent anti-slavery orators were present, and in an humble place sat Frederick Douglas, beside a dear friend. He was known to but few, and they knew him simply as a poor fugitive. Not one man of all those present had the remotest idea that in the person of the poor negro they beheld an orator. At length a friend urged him to get up and tell his story. It was common in anti-slavery meetings for fugitives,

in their broken, illiterate way, to tell of their sufferings, that northern men and women might know the character of negro slavery. Urged vehemently, Douglass ascended the platform, and with a trembling voice commenced. But in a few moments fear of his audience vanished, and he poured forth a torrent of burning eloquence, such as the majority present never before had heard. His voice and action were natural, his language was intensely eloquent, and his whole bearing that of a great orator. The audience was astounded; it seemed almost miraculous, that an ignorant slave should possess such powers.

Few living orators surpass Frederick Douglass in declamatory eloquence. He is not so argumentative, so logical, as many of his cotemporaries, but few living men can produce a more powerful impression upon an audience than he. His manner is wonderfully eloquent, and his language is copious and impressive. He stands before an audience a natural orator, like the African Cinque, who, without the aid of the schools, pours forth with burning zeal the thoughts which crowd his brain. His voice is good, his form is manly and graceful, and his hot words leap forth clothed with beauty and power. He is bold in his imagery; his pictures are at times gorgeously beautiful, but are always full of a tropical

heat. It is perhaps his principal fault-his tendency to paint too deeply, sometimes to exaggeration.

Mr. Douglass is a powerful writer, but we confess that we think he erred in attempting to maintain a weekly journal. We do not mean that his paper is not an excellent, and often an eloquent one, but nature intended Douglass for an orator-not to be an editor. As an orator, he has few superiors in this or any other country, and it seems to us that he cannot do full justice to himself as an orator while attempting to edit a newspaper.

It is impossible for us to give the reader any true idea of the eloquence of Mr. Douglass by quoting from his reported speeches. His best ones never were reported, and even if they were, without his presence, his impassioned manner, they would convey an inadequate idea of his oratorical powers. Nevertheless, we will give a few brief extracts from his speeches. The first is upon

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THE SLAVE.

The slave is a man, the image of God," but "a little lower than the angels;" possessing a soul eternal and indestructible; capable of endless happiness or immeasurable woe; a creature of hopes and fears, of affections and passions, of joys and sorrows; and he is endowed with those mysterious powers by which man soars above the things of time and sense, and grasps with undying tenacity the elevating and sublimely glorious idea

of a God. It is such a being that is smitten and blasted. The first work of slavery is to mar and deface those characteristics of its victims which distinguish men from things, and persons from property. Its first aim is to destroy all sense of high moral and religious responsibility. It reduces man to a mere machine. It cuts him off from his Maker, it hides from him the laws of God, and leaves him to grope his way from time to eternity in the dark, under the arbitrary and despotic control of a frail, depraved, and sinful fellow-man.

As the serpent-charmer of India is compelled to extract the deadly teeth of his venomous prey before he is able to handle him with impunity, so the slave-holder must strike down the conscience of the slave, before he can obtain the entire mastery over his victim.

It is, then, the first business of the enslaver of men to blunt, deaden, and destroy the central principle of human responsibility. Conscience is to the individual soul and society what the law of gravitation is to the universe. It holds society together; it is the basis of all trust and confidence; it is the pillar of all moral rectitude. Without it suspicion would take the place of trust; vice would be more than a match for virtue; men would prey upon each other like the wild beasts; earth would become a hell.

Nor is slavery more adverse to the conscience than it is to the mind.

This is shown by the fact that in every state of the American Union, where slavery exists, except the state of Kentucky, there are laws absolutely prohibitory of education among the slaves. The crime of teaching a slave to read is punishable