He came to the spot, and,

stop, he left immediately, and came to the spot where we were. He hastily inquired what the matter was. Bill answered that I was sick, and there was no one to bring wheat to the fan. I had by this time crawled away under the side of the post and rail fence, by which the yard was enclosed, hoping to find relief by getting out of the sun. He then asked where I was. He was told by one of the hands. after looking at me awhile, asked me what was the matter. I told him as well as I could, for I scarce had strength to speak. He then gave me a savage kick in the side, and told me to get up. I tried to do so, but fell back in the attempt. He gave me another kick, and again told me to rise. I again tried, and succeeded in gaining my feet; but stooping to get the tub with which I was feeding the fan, I again staggered and fell. While down in this situation, Mr. Covey took up the hickory slat with which Hughes had been striking off the half-bushel measure, and with it gave me a heavy blow upon the head, making a large wound, and the blood ran freely; and with this again told me to get up. I made no effort to comply, having now made up my mind to let him do his worst, In a short time after receiving this blow my head grew better, Mr. Covey had now left me to my fate."

After this, Douglas had the courage to resist another brutal attack from Covey, and triumphed. He began now to seriously contemplate running away from the bondage so hateful to him. His soul, animated by the same spirit which once dwelt in the bosom of Patrick Henry, could not brook chains,

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

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