magazine....afric-amcrican picturegotten/. 58 manyofthemarcpresented,itmust,...

THE

MAGAZINE.

;et nigri Memnonis arma." VIRQ-.

VOLUMJi I.- 1859-

TUGS. HAMILTON, 48 BEEKMAN STREET, NEW-YORK.

INDEX TO VOLUME I.

EMBELLISHMENT, ALEXANDER DUMAS.MUSIC, " MY CIIBKISIIKI> HOPK, MY POXDEST OBKA.W," A. J. R, CfJIMOT, . 61

Apology, 1

A Statistical View of the Colored Population ofthe United States from 1790-1850, 33, 65, 97,

140

Afric-Amorican-Picture-Gallery. Anonymous, 52,87, 100, 173, 216, 243, 321

American Caste and Common Schools. J. Holland 'I'.nv n.-i-nil, 80

A Review of Slavery and the Slave-Trade. J.W. C. Pennington, . . 93, 123, 155

A Good Habit Recommended. Sarah M.Douglass, 154

A Chapter in tho History of the African Slave-Trade. Edward W. BIydea, . . 178

Anglo-Saxons and Anglo- Africans. Anonymous, 247A Word to our People 293Blake ; or, The Huts of America. M. R. Delany, 20Books, etc, 329Civilization : its Dependence on Physical Circumstances, .5

Colored American Patriots. Wm. C. Nell, 30Comets. M. R. Delany, 59

Citizenship. James McCune Smith, . . 144Claude Brindis De Salas. Selected, . . 191Communication from N. Y. Society for thePromotion of Education among ColoredChildren 222

Chess, 257Dumas, Alexander, 4Effects of Emancipation in Jamaica. RobLCampbell 151

Fragments of Thought. D. A. Payne, . 57, 119Fancy Sketches. Anonymous, . . 340, 383Gone to God. Poetry. Frances Ellen Watkins, 123Intellectual Culture. Robert Gordon, . 187In the Constitution of Man there exists a Ruli-gious Element. Robert Gordon, . . 238

Lines. Poetry. Grace A. Mapps, . . 345Mrs. Partington and Mrs. Freshington. Anonymous, 29, 92

Our Greatest Want Frances Ellen Walking, 160Our Duty in the Conflict. J. Holland Towns-end, 291

On the Fourteenth Query of Thomas Jefferson'sNotes on Virginia, .... 225

On tho Personality of the First Cuutp. Rolx re-Cordon, 279

Patrick Brown's Fiist Love, .... 286Poetry. Anonymous, . . . . 122Selected Items, . 31, C:',. 96, 254, 301, H33, 367Struggles for Freedom iu Jamaica. RobertCampbell, 90

The Attraction of Plancls. M. R. Dclany, 17The Gcrmtm Invasion. James McCuno Smith, 44Trifles. Mary A. S. Cary 55The Coming Man. Poetry. Wm. J. Wilson, 58The Educational Wants of the Free ColoredPeople. M. II. Freeman, . . .115

Thomas I. Jinnings, 126The Teacher and his Pupil. Poetry. Wm. J.Wilson, 150

Thoughts on Hayti. J.Theo. Holly, 185, 219, 241,298, 327. 363

The Successive Advances of Astronomy. Geo.B. Vashon, 204

The Oborlin Wellington Rescue. J. MercerLangston, 209

The Shadows of Intemperance. Jumos Fields, 221The Dying Fugitive. Poetry. Frances EllenWatkins, 253

The Anglo-African and the African Slave-Trade, 283The Two Offers. Frances Ellen Watkins, . 288The Reopening of the Slave-Trade. Anonymous, 301

The First Colored Convention, . . . 305The Self-redeeming Power of the Colored Racesof the World. J. W. C. Pennington, . 314

The Policy that we should pursue. J. Holland Townsend, • 324

The Education of the Colored People. AmosGerry Beman, 337

The Great Conflict requires Great Fuith. J. W.C. Pennington, 343

The Outbreak in Virginia, .... 347The Sentinel of Freedom. Poetry. J. BellaMartin, 361

The Nat Turner Insurrection, . . . 386The Execution of John Brown, . . . 398The Anglo-African Magazine £ir 1860, . 400

Watering Places. Anonymous. . . .251

The Anglo-African Magazine.

The New Yorker Staats Zeitung forJanuary 22nd, 1853. from which thistable is copied, adds a hundred andseven thousand for the German emigration to Baltimore and New Orleans,and about two hundred thousand fortha emigration of previous years, making the entire German population, arrived, at 900 thousand : allowing 48per cent, for their increase during thefourteen years, and we have one million two hundred and sixty thousandas the entire German migration of thesecond quarter of the 19th century.The increase of this migration hasbeen gradual, until within the lastthree years, when it has increased atthe rate of thirty thousand per annum,and from being only one-half as many,has in the last year, actually out-numbered the Irish immigration.And it is but reasonable to expectthat in the next ten years, or perhapslonger, it will go on increasing ; forwhile the whole home population ofIreland is but six millions, that of Germany is nearly fifty millions.

The vitality of the German emigrantis greater than that of the Irish. Theselatter, enfeebled by starvation andwhiskey at home, seek employmenthere on railroads, running throughmalarious districts from Maine to Panama, and their stalwart looking, butreally feeble frames fall an easy preyto the fevers which they contract.

In the city of New York, twenty-fiveyears ag^o, an acre or two surroundingSt. Patrick's Cathedral afforded ampleburying room for the whole Irish Catholic population. Since then, a tenacre field in Eleventh-street has beentwice filled up, tightly packed, by thesame population, and within threeyears, eighty acres have been boughton Long Island by Bishop Hughes,and a ferry especially established, called Bishop Hughes' Ferry, to carryover the Irish dead to this new ceme-try, at which several priests are engaged from morning till night, recitingthe last sad ceremonies over the departed sens of Erin.

To be Continued.

Jlfric-gmcrican pture

BY ETHIOP.

NUMBEB I.

I always had &penchant for pictures.From a chit of a boy till now, my lovefor beautiful, or quaint old pictureshas been unqnenched.

If an ever abiding love for anybranch ofArt is indicative of a fitnessto pursue it, then I should have beena painter. Even when so small as tobe almost imperceptible, I used toclimb up, by the aid of a stool, to mymother's mantle piece, take down tha

old family almanac and study its pictures with a greater relish than ever a

fat alderman partook of a good dinner

including a bountifnl supply of thechoicest wines. All this however, never made me a painter. Fate marked

out a rougher, sterner destiny for me.But the nabit of rambling in searchof, and hunting up curious, old, or rareand beautiful pictures, is as strong asever.

It was in one of these rambles, thatI stumbled over the Ai'ric-AmericanPicture Gallery, which has since become one of my dearest retreats wherein to spend many an otherwise wearyhour, with profit and pleasureThe collection is quite numerous,having been sought from every quarter ot the American continent, andsome from abroad ; and though asa Gallery of Art, if not highly meritorious, still from its wide range of subjects and the ingenuity with which

Afric-Amcrican Picture Gotten/. 58

many of them arc presented, it must,to the lover and curious in such matters, afford much for amusement, andto the careful observer and the thinkermuch that is valuable and interesting.In style and excellence these pictures vary according to the i'ancy orskill of the artist. Some are finely executed, while others arc mere roughsketches. Some arc in oil, some inwater colors, and India Ink shadings,a few statues, statuettes, and a fewCrayons and Pencilinga possessing ahigh degree of merit ; others are merecharcoal sketches and of little worthbeyond the subjects they portray.But without pursuing this generaloutline further, let the reader, with meenter into this almost unknown Gallery. Well, here we arc, and lookingabout us.The first thing noticeable, is the unstudied arrangement of these pictures.They seem rather to have been put upout of the way, many of them, thanhung for any effect.The walls arc spacious, and containample room for more, and, in manyinstances, better paintings ; and manyniches yet vacant for busts and statuesand just' here, let me make an humblepetition in behalf of this our newly discovered Gallery. —It is that generousartists, will, at their convenience, havethe goodness to paint an occasionalpicture, or chisel a statue or bust, ancwe will be sure to assign it to its appropriate place. But let us take asurvey, and speak only of what strikesus most forcibly in our present mood

PICTUKE NUMBER 1.—THE SLAVE SHIPThis picture hangs near the entranceon the south side of the Gallery, ancin rather an unfavorable light.The view is of course Jamestownharbor, Virginia, in 1609, and has althe wild surroundings of that portion oour country at that period ; the artishaving been faithful even to evershrub, crag and nook. Off in the mooring lays the slave ship, Dutch-modelecand ugly, even hideous to look uponas a slave-ship ought to be. On th,

hore is a group of emaciated Africans, heavily manacled, the first slaveshat ever trod the American continent;vhile in the fierce and angry watersf the bay, which seem to meet theilack and dismal and storm-clad sky,s seen a small boat containing anotherot of these human beings, just nearing;he shore.If the artist's general conception of:his picture may be regarded a success,,n its details, beyond all question, thiss its crowning point. The small boatstruck by, and contending with a hugeDreaker, is so near the shore that youcan behold, and startle as you behold,the emaciated and death-like faces ofihe unfortunate victims, and the hideous countenances of their captors ; andliigh and above all, perched upon thestern, with foot, tail and horns, andthe chief insignias of his office, is hiaSatanic Majesty, gloating over thewhole scene.What is more truthful than that thedevil is ever the firm friend and companion of the slave ship?

PICTURE HODJER 2.—TITE FIBST AND TUBLAST COLORED EDITOR.

This small, but neat picture hangson the north side of the gallery ; andthough simple in its details, is so wellexecuted that it has much attractedme.The Last Colored Editor, quite ayoung man, with a finely formed headand ample brow— thoughtful, earnest,resolute—sits in chair editorial, withthe first number of the Freedom'sJournal, the first journal ever editedby, and devoted to the cause of thecolored man in America, held in onehand and outspread before him, whilethe other, as though expressive of hisresolve, is firmly clenched.Surrounding him arc piles of all thejournals edited by colored men fromthe commencement up till the present,among which the Freedom's Journal,Colored American, People's Press,North Star, and Frederick Douglas'ipaper are the more prominent. TheFirst Editor is represented as a vener

Tlie Anglo-African Magazine.

able old man, with whitened locksand placid face, leaning on a staff, and

unperceivcd by the Last Editor, islooking intently over his shoulder onthe outspread journal.It is his own first editorial, and thefirst ever penned and published by acolored man in America. The sceneis the linking together of our oncescarcely hopeful past with the nowbright present.

PICTURE NO. 3—THE FIRST MARTYR OFTUB REVOLUTION.

This is a head of Attucks. It maynot be generally known, and it maynot be particularly desirable that thepublic should know, that the FirstMartyr of the American Revolutionwas a colored man ; that the first bosom that was bared to the blast ofwar was black ; the first blood thatdrenched the path-way which led upto American liberty, was from theveins of a colored man.

And yet such is the fact ; and the artist has done a service in the executionof this head. It hangs at the northeast end of the Gallery, and is a finelikeness of a bold, vigorous man,—just such, as would be likely to heada revolution to throw off oppression.May the name of Attucks and thefacts connected therewith never perish.

PICTURE NO. 4. SUNSET IN ABBEOKUTA.

This is a fine painting. The landscape is rich, varied, beautiful. Thesky has all the warmth of hue andsoftness of tint, and all that gorgeous-ness (changing seemingly with everyinstant,) for which an African sky isso much noted. No rainbow with us,in its full splendor, is so variegated orso wide in its range of colors.The last touches of the artist's pencil has made the glow of the comingevening to softly spread itself overhere and there a dusky inhabitant re

clining upon the banks of an unrip-pled lake. The effect is fine, and the

whole scene is so charming that onecould almost wish to bo there.

PICTURES 5 AND 6.—THE UNDER GROUNDRAILROAD.

In these two pictures the artist iscertainly quite up to our idea. Theyarc of large size and represent boththe Southern and Northern portionsof that mysterious road. They hangbeside each other on the south side ofthe Gallery and are marked A and B.I would suggest, that B be changedover to the north wall, as a more appropriate place. Picture A, or thesouth view represents a dark roadleading through a darker forest, alongwhich is seen merely some twentypairs of fine stalwart human feet and

legs—male and female— of all sizes,hurrying northward. Every muscleand limb indicates firmness and resolution.

The scene is night-time, and far distant through the forest is faintly seenthe north star—small but bright andunfailing, and to the fugitive, unerring.'Picture B on the north view consists of some twenty bold heads andfine robust faces, each of which is litup with a joy no pen can portray, andnothing but the pencil of the mastercould have reached. The exclamation of each must be ' we have foundit!!!'In the foreground is a lake and theback ground is a Canadian forest,through which here and there youcan perceive a small rustic cottage.Both of these pictures sustain wellthat air of mystery which envelopesthe Under Ground Rail Road.In the first view we have but thefeet and legs ; indicating the mysterious manner in which those feet and

legs move bodies towards freedom, or

pass along that undefined and undefi-nable Road that leads to liberty.There is another thought. Thehead, the recognized seat of the mind,is useless to the slave, or, if of serviceto hinij this thinking apparatus is not

Trifles.

his own ; it belongs to his owner ;henco he makes use of his feet andlegs, or the physical machinery ; whilein the second view, at the northernend of this lindefinable Road, where

liberty is, the head or mental part ispresented to view. The slave,— thechattel,—the thing is a man.

(To be Continntd.)

BY MARY A. 8. GABY.

•Tall oaks from little acorns grow.'

Words, actions, events, and circumstances become important or trivial inproportion to the relations they sustain,or to the accidents of time and purposeinseparable from their real significance.Greater prominence is sometimes given to a word because of the source fromwhence it emanates, and things themost common-place become magnifiedinto, or assume great proportions : andevents small in themselves, become theindex to the most stupendous results.A mustard seed planted by skilfulhands germinates, and in time becomesa beautiful flowering plant ; in an afterstage of its growth, the husbandmangathers in a valuable yield, which istransferred to the man of business, whoin turn, disposes of a share to his neighbor ; thus a commercial transaction iscommenced, ships are put into requisition, and trade, in all its intiicate relations, receives an impulsion,—but amustard seed in the beginning, whocould have calculated the importanceof the article mustard in the commercial world '.

Commerce, the great regulator of human speculative affairs, is but a compendium of little inventions, contrivances and results, directed by humanskill and forethought, and gravitatingeach toward the other by the certainlaws of human relations and economicaffinities.

An arrow directed by the skilfulJonathan to a certain point, thoughwithout meaning to the casual observer,

has become a messenger of infiniteinterest to the Christian world, all Ju-dea is involved in the issue, and theGentile nations shall gather comfort andconsolation from the interpretation ofits position : from David shall comethe Emanucl, who shall reign in righteousness forever and forever more, anda trifle no greater than an arrow shallproclaim the matter.

Since the occurrence of that thrilling-soul-stirriug event, we multiply the in'ter veiling years by hundreds and thou~sands, every one of which, could we butbecome acquainted with its history, hashidden away among its fast recedingarcana, the little though multifariousliints upon which our present civilization rears its magnificent superstructure; and the equally trifling suggestions, which gave form and consistencyto present social, civil and religiousgrievances.

Now and THEN are expressive wordsin certain relations; they become volumes in their relation to trifles. Then,was and is the meager beginning ofevery endeavor ; NOW, its perfect orelaborate fulfilment as the case maybe. Though

;comparisons' are odious in

most cases, they are not so when applied to trifles.

THEN, men gave to God the husks offaith, and trust, and homage, in roughlyliewn altars, whereon were offered upthe holy sacrifice ; NOW, upon the sametrifle, is poured out marvelous wealth,and domes, and spires, and gaudy piles,

Afric-Amencan Picture Gallery. 87

BY ETUIOP.

PICTURE VII.—TOUISSA.NT I/OVERTURE.Pictures are teachings by example.From them we often derive our bestlessons. A picture of a once belovedmother, an almost forgotten grandfather whose image perhaps we bear,or a long lost child, once the centre ofour affections ; such a picture occasionally taken down from its hiding-place,and looked at, calls up associationsand emotions, and produces troops ofthought that paint the memory afreshwith hues the most beautiful, touching, beneficial and lasting. A pictureof a great man with whose acts we arefamiliar, calls up the whole history ofhis times. Our minds thus becomereimpressed with the events and wearrive at the philosophy of them.A picture of Washington recalls tomind the American Devolution, andthe early history of the Republic. Apicture of Thomas Jefferson brings be-tore the mind in all its scope andstrength that inimitable document, theDeclaration of Independence ; and inaddition, carries us forward to thetimes, when its broad and eternalprinciples, will be fully recognised by,and applied to the entire Americanpeople. I had these conclusionsforced upon me by looking notupon either the picture of Washington or Jefferson in the gallery. Farfrom it ; but by a most beautiful portrait of one of the greatest men theworld ever saw—TOUISSANT L'OvER-TURE. This painting hangs in thesouth east corner of the Gallery in afavourable position and in good lightas it ought ; as it portrays the featuresof one of God's and Earth's noblemenlong since retired.

|Far be it from me to venture to a description of either the picture or theman. I have no pencil and no penwith which I can do it. Some futurehistorian in other times, will yet writethe name of TouissantL' Overture higher and in purer light than that of anyman that has lived up to to-day. Butthe special point to which I wish tocall attention, and upon which I mayventure a remark, is the long and interesting train of historical facts in relation to Hayti, that gem of the sen,this portrait associates in the mind ofthe intelligent beholder. To say nothing of him who led the breathings ofthis people after liberty ; the breakingin pieces the yoke that galled themtheir heroic struggles, the routingfinally and utterly from the soil theiroppressors ; their almost superhumanefforts thereafter, to rise from the lowstate in which the degradation of slavery and chains had placed them and theirfinal triumph over every obstacle ; infine the whole history from first tolast of this Island and this people is sovividly brought before the mind, bymerely this likeness of the inimitableTouissant L'Overtnre, that it is reimpressed with the extraordinary, usefuland touching lesson it teaches.

PICTURE vm.—SOLOUQUE AND HIS COURT.

If any thing else was needed to carry the mind over the field of Haytianevents, and complete our history ; orin leading us for the first tune to studythat history, this additional pictureought to be sufficient. It is of largestsize, consisting of portraits of the sableEmperor and the magnates that moveround his Imperial person ; and hangs

The Anglo- African Magazine.

beside that ot L'Overture. The vari-oua descriptions given me of these persons lead me to believe, that these likenesses, unlike many that have beengotten up for the American prejudiceMarket, are genuine and up to theoriginals. That of the Emperor's issuperior as he is known to be a superior looking man.

PICTURE IX.—MOUNT VERNON.

Our artist must have taken time bythe forelock in the execution of thispicture ; as MOUNT VERNON has becomeof late the great popular theme of theAmerican people. Mount Vernonjust now enters into everything. Ithas something to do with every springof the machinery of American society ;social, political, and religious. It isMount Vernon in the pulpit, MountVernon on the rostrum, MountVernon from the Press, Mount Vernonfrom every lip.The boys in the streets busily cryout Mount Vernon ; the fashionableyonng belle simpers Mount Vernon.Mount Vernon exclaims the breast-laden patriot ; Mount Vernon echoesthe good old ladies, Mount Vernon ispiped, Mount Vernon is harped ;Mount Vernon is danced ; Mount Vernon is sung. Even men walk by theaid of Mount Vernon canes, manufactured from some of its decaying relics.And what is Mount Vernon ?MOUNT VERNON as the readers mustknow is a spot of earth somewhere inVirginia, and once the Home of theFather of his Country. How carefulought we to be, then, in word or deedabout Mount Vernon.I must plead in excuse, therefore,that in the conception of this picture,the Artist has simply failed ; if not infaithfulness to the original, certainlyin gratifying the popular Americanfeeling. The Picture hangs on thesouth side of the Gallery, and in excellent light.It is of largest size, exhibiting thegrounds, the mansion, out-house, slaveImts and all ; once planned, laid out,and erected with BO much care by

Washington : but now alas, all in astate of dilapidation and decay. Decayis written by the Artist's pencil morelegibly than in letters, on everything.—On the house top, on the door sill iswritten decay. On the chimney, onthe gables, on the eaves, is writtendecay. The consuming fingers of decay and delapidation mark each andevery out house. —Every old slave hut,like so many spectres shadows forthdecay. —Decay stands staring in thegate-ways, staring in the porches, staring in the cellars.—The very windwhich bends the here and there scattering tree-tops, (land marks of the past)seem to creak through the many visible crevices of the Old Mansion andsigh decay, decay ! decay ! !

I never saw Mount Vernon ; and asI gaze upon this Picture I ask myself isit trne ? Is this the home of the Father of his Country ? Is it

,

that, every

I thing Washington possessed should so

| perish? Or, so perish the all, that we

I should have left to us, but his name ;

I and yet with a tendency to forgetnames however great, I am at a lossto know how we shall preserve eventhe name of "Washington many yearslonger.But there is another feature in thisPicture besides the stern solemn passing away, that I desire to direct attention to. The Artist has located, and Isuppose correctly enough, on thebauKs, where sluggishly glides the Potomac's waters, the TOMB OF WASHINGTON.

The first thing that here arrests theeye is the recently dug up coffin ofWashington ; just behind which standsthe ghost of his faithful old slave andbody servant ; while in front, a livingslave of to-day stands, with the lonesof Washington gathered up in hisarms, and labelled ' For Sale' 'Price$200,000 ; this negro included.' ' Money wanted."— A number of otherslaves, men, women, and children,are placed in a row along the bankjust beyond, bearing about the neckof each the following inscription :

These negroes for sale. Money wanted?

Afrie-American Picture G&ttei-y.

Proceeding from the Old Mansion tothe Tomb, are two elderly, portly,aristocratic looking gentlemen, bearingunmistakable evidences of being thepresent proprietors of the Mount Ver-non estate, and celebrated relatives ofthe great Virginian, and Father of hisCountry; and a noted son of Massachusetts. These gentlemen are followedtowards the tomb by a few pioua looking old ladies.Such is but a faint description ofthis picture of Mount Vernon ; and asobscurely as it is hung in our' midst,Edward Everett the distinguished limner of Washington should see it

,and

if any, point out its detects.Our Gallery begins to draw. Numerous have been the inquiries aboutit, and two individuals who after sundry searching!} andpryings have foundout our secret. —Our pleasant hiding-place, where we have so often and solong shut up ourselves from the blastana chill of the world, is no longerour own. The luxury of solitude is

even gone, gone forever !

Just as I had finished the sketch ofthe last picture, (luckily for me) andpointed my pencil for another, the little brown-faced boy in attendance,bowed in, to my great surprise, a veryrespectable appearing gentleman— a

little seedy, though very genteel withall notwithstanding —and not Anglo-African, but Anglo-Saxon, or Anglo-American or something of that sort ;

botheration, I never could get thehang of these Angloes I but no matter, no was genteel in manner and intellectual in appearance.

' I read your Picture Sketches in thelast number of the Anglo-African Magazine, and have sought out your Gallery,' said he. ' Well, what do youthink of it ?' said I. ' Your Gallery ?

well, I must examine it,—but yourMagazine ! ! !' ' Magazine,' rejoined I,

'

yes, that is the question.''

' Yourmagazine,' said he (not regarding theinterruption) is uncalled for.' I started up.

' I am a well-known friend toyour race.' I started a little more upright, and said, ' my dear sir, if you

' Theas you

mean Anglo-Africans, well; but donot say " your race." ' here I broughtmy fist down on the table, added —

' there is but one race of men on tin'face of the earth, sir ! ! /

' Our visitor-colored a little. ' I was about to remark,' he said, 'that if your men hailcapacity they might write for our anti-slavery journals and other ably conducted magazines in the country, suchas Harpers' or the Atlantic Monthly.

It would be more creditable. Youdon't want a separate magazine and

pen up your thoughts there.'" Anglo- African" is not suchdesignate it,' said I, ' it is simplyheaded by colored men, but excludesno man on account of his color fromits pages, and it were unfortunate,' I

said this with emphasis, ' that sincecolored men are the oppressed, it wereunfortunate that every anti-slaver;/journal in the country is not editedby colored men.' This was a little toosharp, and our new friend coloredmore deeply than before. ' What do

you think of that statue of Ira Al-dridge, just over on the other side ofof the Gallery, there?' said I, as anxious to turn the conversation as hewas. He examined it a few momentsand said, ' It is quite a clever attemptfor — ' he was about to add somethingmore, but suddenly turning asked whomodelled it. ' All I know,' said I, • is,Mr. Aldridge went from this country toEurope when quite a young man, tookto the stage, his color being no bar toeminence there, and step b

y

step he

has ascended until now he stands onthe very highest round of the actor'sladder. He stands to day, as an actor,the most renowned in the world. Thestatue before us I believe was modelled in Europe.' Our visitor hastilyglanced at it again, and pronouncedit excellent, adding a few criticismsabout its breadth of forehead and a

few doubts about its want of faithfulness to the original, he passed aroundthe Gallery. I sat down again to makea sketch of this plaster statue of Aldridge, the world-renowned actor (bythe way, an excellent model of him as

90 The Anglo-African Magazine.

Othello), when our little brown-facedboy bowed his head in the doorway,and announced this time a lady—a colored lady. I laid down my pencil,and though much confused, tried myhand at politeness. The lady, plainly,but neatly attired and rather stiff, wasall politeness, but it was of that kindthat first chills, and then freezes you.Eye-glass up, and with sarcastic smile,she hurriedly scanned several of thepictures. Her air was a dissatisfiedone in the outset ; she had come tofind fault and quarrel with our poorGallery from the first. I felt this, anddetermined on revenge. ' What nonsense is all this !' she exclaimed, and

proceeded to criticise quite freely. Icaught up my pencil, and wrote : 'Anold maid ; a little dunned in sight ;somewhat faded, but a few good tracesof beauty yet left : face a little toosharp, and eye too restless and a little prudish with all: quite ready inspeech, but rather too second-hand in

opinion.' I stopped. A kind of nervous feeling came over me, and I beganto fumble' for my knife, to scratch thewords old, dimmed, and all the otherunpleasant adjectives Ihad thrown into my sentences, for in truth she wasnot old, though I learned afterwards

she was a maid. My lady friend perceiving my embarrassed manner, laidit to her own superciliousness, and hereye dilated at the supposed effect and

proceeded freely with her criticisms.My old revenge came back upon me :' Madam, or mam,' said I at last, 'thesepictures, as a whole, make no claim tothe high artistic merit you look for inthem, though I think some of themrather clever as works of art; butthey serve as simple reminders ofwhat the people ot color were, nowarc, and will yet be. "What they havegone through, are going through, andhave yet to go through.' This last

speech of mine had the desired effect.With glass still to her eye, she passedon in her strictures, and on, too, in theGallery. I adjusted myself again tomake the sketch of Aldridge, and taking position, looked up for the purpose. Lo, and behold ! my visitorswere both gone. I was alone. Mypaper for my intended sketch wasscribbled out, and my pencil whittledaway. Bothered and puzzled, I snatched up my hat and started for the door,

bidding the boy at the same time tobar it against all further intruders, Irushed into the street.

struggles for |mtonu inBY KOBERT CAMPBELL.

Thirty years ago there was, perhaps,no place in which the condition of freepeople of color was more intolerablethan in Jamaica ; nor, if we exceptHayti, was there any place in whichmore vigorous efforts were made to

achieve political enfranchisement than

in that island. The political disqualifications under which they laboredwere even greater than those to whichthe same class of persons are exposedin this country. Here they are, it istrue, denied the right of suffrage, there

they were in addition denied even the

privilege of an oath in court in defenseof their property or persons. They

might be violently assaulted, theirlimbs broken, their wives and daughters outraged before their eyes by villains having white skins, yet they hadno legal redress, except another whiteman chanced to see the deed. Op

pressed and wronged though this class

of people are here, no legal impediments exist to the acquirement ofwealth among them, while there theyhad to contend against an enactmentwhich prohibited any white man be


mate, while performing the labor of a slave, getic stock in a temperate climate—for Virginiaand decreases in a tropical climate, while performing labor allotted to tho condition of a

slave.

The theory that the black man, because beis black, is fitted to undergo severe labor under

a tropical sun, vanishes into thin air.

And the fact that the black man, even in

lavery, increases, and is thrifty, strong, ener-

and Maryland are the beet climates on the

globe for the human being—proves, not onlythat the black man is superior to the worst in

stitutions that can be fastened upon him, but

also, that this very superiority, demonstrates

him to be a UNIT WITH THE GREAT HUMAN

RACE.

(To be continued.)

§fric-§mencan JIictare- (SaUttj.— tfeirt JJajcr.

BY ETHIOP,

\

PICTURE NO. X.—A NEW PICTURE.

Our gallery Boy who barred itsdoors so firmly against intruders, hasjust entered the Gallery with his ownikeness, and desires that it may behung up ; and, for more reasons thanone he shall be gratified. The picture comes to us in mien pleasant,smiling, and as fresh as nature itself.This boy Thomas Onward (I callhim Tom for shortness,) though hehas seen all of life—yea more, is notan Old Tom by any means ; nor anUncle Tom, nor a Saintly Tom, noreven what is commonly deemed agood Tom ; but a shrewd little rogue,a real live Young Tom, up to' all conceivable mischief and equal to nilemergencies. He is a perfect modelof a little fellow in his way, and a fairrepresentative of his class. Sound inlimb, symmetrical in form and robustin health, jovial, frank, easy mannered and handsome —infiuitely so compared with even the likeness I hold,one would scarcely conclude that thisboy has come down to us throughnearly three hundred years of hardtrial.

And yet it is true. Such is his history, lie was almost whipped intoexistence, whipped into childhood,whipped up to boyhood. He hasbeen whipped up to manhood, whipped down to old age, whipped out ofexistence. He was toilea into life ;he has been toiled through life ; toiledout of life. He has been robbed of histoil, robbed of his body, robbed of allbut his soul.

He has been hated for what he was,hated for what he was not, and hatedfor what he ought to have been. Hehas been dreaded because of his ignorance, and dreaded because of hisknowledge, dreaded for his weakness,dreaded for his strength.

Noble, innocent boy ! hadst thoubeen able to remember a tithe of thehard things done to thee ; or hadstthou known a tithe of the hard thingssaid of thee ; or of the hard feelingsentertained towards thee, it would bedifficult to conjecture the result. Butout of all these mountains of duet andashes without one bit of sackcloth upon thee, hast thou come forth freso,smiling and free. Tom, Torn ! ! !

Afric-American Picture Gallery. 101

Who shall write a fitting apostropheto thee and thy rising fortunes.What sorry figures do the hard,grave, iron, half savage and half barbarous faces of Washington and Jefferson, of Clay, Webster and Calhovm,present beside the fine expressive likeness of this rising little fellow. TheAmerican Nation, if it can, may tryits hardened hand yet a few centurieslonger upon our live little Tom; but itwill hardly mould him to their liking.Like gold ore he will lose but the alloy and become brighter and brighterin the oft passing through the furnaceof their oppression.riCTURE NO. XI. THE BLACK FOREST.

Two days after I had hung up thepicture of the Gallery boy Tom, I satexamining another marked tho SlackForest, which from its grand andbeautiful scenery, dark back groundshadows and the air of profound mystery which seemed to pervade it

,

so

attracted me that I intended to make

a sketch, but my mind turned towardsthe boy and my eyes towards the portrait, and I sat gazing upon its beaut}',and meditating upon its superior excellence as a Work o

f Art, and theprobable whereabouts of the unknownArtist, and also upon the destiny ofthe Boy himself, when his shrill, merry, musical voice rung out : ' a lettersir.'Taking it from his hand, I instantlybroke the seal, and by a single glancediscovered it was from an unknownsource, and on furtherperusal that it

was from the Slack Forest ; a placeand name then wholly unknown to me,except as the landscape painting justalluded to in the gallery. The purport of the letter was an invitation tovisit this inhabited or uninhabitedpart of the globe. Let me give thereader one paragraph of this curious

epistle. It ran thus : ' Coine over tome Slack Forest and examine some of

the Pictures and ot/ier curiosities there.Two days journey by stage and by footfor a man, and none oiliers are asked T

As it is no part of my purpose to disclose the precise locality of the Black

Forest, nor fully the manner of peopledwelling there, nor yet wholly theirdoings, I shall reveal no more of thecontents of this letter than to say it

pointed out the route so minutely thatno careful observer could mistake it ;

while without such a description, thekeenest mind could not by any process penetrate even the recesses ofthe Black Forest, much less the precise spot in question. ' Come over tothe Black iorest and examine someof the Pictures and other curiositiesthere. Two days journey by stageand by foot for a man, and none others are asked !'

This paragraph I read over a dozentimes ere I laid down the letter, andthen ull my old love of adventure, oframble and of picture hunting cameback upon me.Filled now with new thoughts andnew projects, I repaired to my lodgings, wrote a few hasty lines to a

friend, and retired for the night. Butthe sentences ' Come over to theBlack Forest. Examine some pictures and other curiosities. Two daysjourney by stage and by foot for a

man. None others are asked,' hadfastened themselves in my mind andinsisted so pertinaciously in remaining there, that it was with unusual effort sleep could take entire possessionof me.Early next morning I commencedpreparations for my journey, and myarrangements completed, I started onwhat to many might have seemed notonly hazardous but profitless undertaking. But to him who bears perseverance about with him in his breast anddetermination in his face, and holdscommunion with all things aroundhim, nothing is hazardous, nothingprofitless.

PICTURE NO. XH—TWO PORTRAITS THAT

OUGHT TO BE HUNG UP.

The forepart of my journey contained little of interest if I except the appearance and movements of two travellers whose portraits ought to be


hung up in our Gallery for the benefit of both Afric and Anglo American.One by one the stage emptied itspassengers till these two individualsand myself only were left. Let megive a rough pencilling of each. Oneof them, and by far the most attractive of the pair, was a lean, sallow-faced, lantern-jawed, hyena-lookinglittle man, standing about four anaa half feet in his boots, with a long,narrow, retreating forehead, heavybrow and small piercing black eyesand long black hair. His nervous excitability rose and fell with every joltof the stage coach, and with everywhiff of the wind.The other was an animal of yet ameaner cast. Though not a greyhound, nor a blood, still a kind ofhound, a two legged one of a genuineAmerican stock.He was large in frame and bloatedin flesh. His hands resembled a pairof oyster rakes, and his feet shovels,such as are used by ditchers. Uponhis large bullet head, which was closely cropped of its coarse bristly hair,jauntingly sat a low slouched hat,from beneath which his blood-shoteyes, when they dared to look directly at yon, seemed truly terrible. Hiscoarse, vulgar mouth contained a quidof tobacco nearly as large as your fist—

genuineVirginian— the juice of which

e squirted freely in all directions.His clothes were loose and slovenly,and his linen dirty. From his trousers' pockets obtruded a pair of shackles, from his vest a revolver, and fromhis inner shirt a dagger.Reader, here surely was a pair ofportraits for you. I would have given the half of all I ever possessed tohave had these two rare specimens ofAnglo humanity for our Afric-Ainer-ican Gallery. I was certainly in amenagerie.They eyed me and I eyed them.Incidentally I learned that they werea Slave Bolder and a Slave Catcherin search of runaways, and mistook mefor one. I prepared myself accord

ingly, and should have made summary work with them, had a hand tohand encounter taken place, just suchas fugitives should make in a like case.To assure themselves that their suspicions were correct, they struck up aconversation in good Old Virginiastyle, and I, willing to enliven ordrive away I cared not which, thedull hours of the stage coach, readilyjoined in.They were not long in discoveringnot only their mistake but were soonrouted. White men generally, andslave holders in particular, dislikenothing so much as to stumble overand wake up black men capable of asingle thought, much less intellectually equal, and none laugh more heartily than common sense black men overthe extreme folly of the continually assumed or imagined mental superiorityof white men over them.In this instance matters began tolook quite serious, and I began to fearsomething more than a wordy encounter, as fingers began to twitch andpistols move from their places, but bydint of chewing and spitting and frothing and hard swearing and round ponderous oaths, affairs assumed theirwonted state. But so chagrined weremy companions at their sad discomfiture, that I verily believe had it beenpossible, they would have crawled into the harness of our horses and tooktheir places if thus they could havepassed from observation.Thus ended my first day's journeytowards the Black Forest. The second was to be mostly the pedestrian'stask.The stage coach sat me down byten o'clock next morning, and my twocompanions eyed me so wistfully tillthe thick tangle wood separated us,that I was well satisfied that their desire to make me their prey, was strongto the last.

PICTURE NO. xm.—A PICTURE OUTSIDE OFTHE GALLERY.

Freed from this cage of wild beastsquite as miraculously as was Daniel

Afric- Amerwan Picture Gallery. 103

from the lion's den, I sat out in goodearnest, and for a time made fine head

way ; a cold drizzling rain however satin late in the day and the travel became bad.The afternoon wore away, and still Ifound myself wending towards a hugemountain forest, whose crest loomed

up blacker and blacker as the cloudsof coming evening rolled up from below the horizon. Here in all its grandeur and wild sublimity was the native landscape spread out before me,the same that I saw in beautiful miniature but a day before hanging onthe walls of our Afric- American Gallery. Cold and wet, dark, gloomynight at last overtook me still plodding my weary way, now alas, througha dense and pathless forest in the direction of a solitary light. Dim atfirst, now brighter as I passed on andon.Three hours more gone, and nowdancing still more brightly throughthe trees this solitary light to my unspeakable joy, suddenly revealed itselffully in a small open space, but almostas suddenly disappeared.A low growl 01 a mastiff told methat I was quite near the place of mysearch. Down, down sir ! said a gruffvoice to the dog, and all was silentand dark as the grave.Used as I was to adventure and astranger to fear, I confess a peculiarsensation now passed over me in thisreign of deathlike stillness, and I fora moment hesitated. ' Men only areasked over to the Black Forest,'whispered a still, small voice in myear.I boldly stepped forward, and in afew moments came directly upon thesteps of a small and unpretending loghut. I lingered a moment on thelanding ; all was quiet within, but agentle rap soon brought to the door aman who bade me enter.A cheerful wood fire was blazing onthe open hearth, while three vacantchairs quite rural in aspect surround

ed it,

and a small table and an oldfashioned settee completed the furniture of the apartment.

PICTURE NO. XIV.—PORTRAIT OF A MAK.

Tall and erect, strong like a foresttree, this man of the Black Forest, forsuch he was, was a glory to look upon.The frost of at least ninety wintersmust have fallen upon his head, andyet had not chilled him, nor had theirwinds bowed him, nor their colddimmed the fires of his eye.What a treasure, thought I, as I

looked upon him, would this old man'sportrait be in our Gallery.

' From G ?' said he, as he fixedhis searching eyes upon me. I answered in the affirmative, and a briefbut satisfactory conversation ensued.Mine host soon after set before mesome cold meats, brown bread, an excellent dish of coffee and a bowl ofdelicious milk ; thus with the aid ofthe cheerful fire, making me feelquite comfortable and at home, andthe conversation was resumed. I

shall not attempt even an outline ofit. If I except my own part I couldnot if I would.

I have listened to many men. Ithas long been my privilege to converse with men of intelligence andmen of mind on all topics common tothe day, but never before did I witness such a flood of knowledge pouredforth from the lips of man. I am noPaul, but surely I sat at the feet ofGamaliel. Who was this man ? Howcame he here? From whence did hecome ? "What hidden treasures arethere in this place? What mysterieshang over it? These interrogatoriesirresistably came up in my mind asthe old man, with lamp in hand, began to ascend a rude ladder to a single upper chamber, bidding me follow.Here on a clean bed of rushes, I laiddown, wondering at first, but soonburied myself in sound beneficial sleep.

(To be Contituied.)

Afmc-Amencan Picture Gallery. 173

Jfric-gmerican

BY ETHIOP.

The reader will remember, that weparted company in the upper chamberof a lone Hut, in the midst of theBlack Forest at the dead of night totake rest and repose. Ere the dawnof the next day, both eyes were wideopen and I started on a tour of observation.Through a small window, so high, asto be beyond reach, the only aperturediscernable to the outer world, came agrey streak of morning light to mypillow, and roused me from my bed.I up and hastily made my toilet suchas it was, the best perhaps that couldbe made in a mountain fastness, andascended by a ladder to the roof. Ishall never forget the scene that burstupon my view. The peak of the BlackForest Mountain, for such it was uponwhich the solitary house stood, touched the very clouds, while the Oceanwith here and there a massive shipupon its dark green bosom, thoughmany miles distant, seemed to roll atits base. Crag on crag lay piled onevery hand and vale outstretchingvale ; and beyond as it was early autumn, the sere and yellow leaf paintedthe otherwise vast green forest topwith indescribable beauty. The morning breeze with a purity and freshnessknown only to mountain regions, sighed forth its soft music, so sweetly,that the feathered tribe, and they werelegion—were constrained to join inwith their unerring notes ; while thedeer, the squirrel, and the rabbit danced and skipped o'er steppe, crag andglen with laughing joy. A few moments, and the sun, like a mighty angel came hastening up, as it were, fromout of the Ocean ; and with his strongpresence gilded the whole scene inan instant. So, impressed with what Isaw, ere I was aware, a reverie stoleover me ; and I know not how long^ itwould have held me, but for a voicefrom below, calling me away. It wasthe old man of the Forest summoning

me to the morning repast ; which tobe brief, was all me most fastidioustaste could have desired, and far beyond any thing I could have imagined.Breakfast over, the old man £emicetfor such was his name, retired ; butreturned after a few moments, garbedin a red flannel g_own, blue cap andblack sandals ; giving a grotesque, yeta most commanding appearance.Holding in his hand a lighted lantern,he advanced and mildly said ; now myson, if you like, you may accompanyme. So saying he led the way througha naiTow passage to what appearedfrom the house top, a mere adjacentoutbuilding. A stranger might havepassed through this passage a thousand times without so much as imagining that the huge rough stone layingalmost in his pathway covered themouth of a famous cave.At a slight touch from the old man'shand this stone rolled away as if bymagic, and revealed a deep, dark Cavern. With a firm step he began todescend aladder and I followed. Down,down, down we went. Down, down,down ; and long was it ere we reached the bottom ; and when we did so,we were brought directly upon a massive door which like the stone above,yielded to the touch of the old man'smagic hand. We entered a dark andspacious apartment through which oldBernice grouped to the centre and heldthe lighted lantern up to a large lampwhich depended from the ceiling.What a transition ! ! ! The dark andsandless cavern now revealed all surroundings of the most studied and lifelong Artist. Bust, statues, statuettes ;landscapes, portraits, fancy pieces ;paints, pencils, pallets, mallets, chisels ; half finished sketches, studies inplaster ; all, all lay in profusion onevery hand.Prominent on a table near the lamplay a fine duplicate portrait of our lit


tie Tom; our Gallery Boy, which Ihung up just before I left for the Blackforest. The whole truth flashed uponicy mind in an instant. Mine hostwas an Artist ; and the executor ofthat beautiful likeness. " My son" saidthe old man as he perceived my astonishment, " though I have long sinceleft the restless, busy crowd, I havenot been unmindful of its jostlings.In this place, far from man's baseness,and man's vile injustice, have I labored ; and it has been to me, a labor oflove ; a labor too, not without its reward. Much that I have done withboth pencil and chisel—(I say it not ina boastful spirit,) will yet not only seethe light, but command the just approbation of even the enemies of myrace. I shall be gone, but these," saidhe, pointing to his works around him," these shall live after me."He then seated himself before hisEasel, stretched his canvass, and withbrush and pallet commenced the labors of the clay ;—saying at the sametime in a manner as bland as it wastouching.—" Oblige me my son andamuse also yourself by an examinationof some of these my much cherishedcreations trifles—many of them —stilli regard them with "the affection ofchildren.Some of them recall to mind someof the dearest spots of earth to me ;spots, which, if not for them, wouldlong since have faded from my memory." I soon entered upon my survey ; and for the hours, —(and howswiftly did they fly,)—that the oldman plied at his work I reveled andfeasted my mind upon the splendoursabout me.Here I found a statue or there abust that might have done credit tothe conception of a Canova or thehand of an Angelo.Here hung a landscape, or half concealed, there lay a portrait or a Scripture piece or fancy sketch, that mighthave excited the envy of a Raphael.Among other things, my attentionwas arrested by a new curiosity. Itwas a Tablet of stone which mine host

informed me was dug out of the mountain peak of the Slack Forest, butdisclaimed all further knowledge of it.It is of brown sand stone, thirty-sixinches square, and three in thickness,engraved on one side only ; and having when found the engraved sidedownward.The words are curiously spelt by theaid of 41 singular, new and beautiful characters, or letters, each representing a distinct sound ; and somany only are employed as are necessary to make up each word.I have by dint of hard study, beenenabled to make out its contents ; butof its history or origin, or aught else of

it, I leave for the learned in such

matters. It certainly challenges theattention of the Historian, the Ethnologist, and the Antiquarian. Is it

fiction. is it history, is it prophecy ?

Who can tell?

I herewith present a duplicate ofthe copy I made on the spot.

YEAR 4,000.THE AMECANB, OB HILK WHITE KA.CE

1. Now hear oh ye who dwell in

this age of pure light and perfect liberty ; and marvel not when I tell yonthat there were once such things asslaves in the land ; since even theword slave is no more mentionedamong the children of men.2. And these same slaves werehuman beings held in bondage —yeacruel bondage, against their will,and against the dictates of commonhumanity ; and were subject to purchase and sale, like unto beast ofburden and like unto merchandise.

3. Nor marvel not that these slaves

were whipped with great gads, andwere driven to and fro in gangs and inchains, as we read of in our books, thebeast of burden were in the nineteenthand twentieth centuries; yea theywere whipped often without offenseeven unto death.

4. And be ye not puffed up nor

proud in spirit, oh ye sons of noblefathers because ye now possess theland ; and oh ye beautiful and refined

Afric-Ameri-can Picture Gallery. 175

daughters of virtuous mothers, be yenot vain overmuch because this landis now yours for an inheritance forever.5. Nor be ye enraged, none of you,because ye hereby learn that youra/ncestOTs were these slaves, and sub

ject to this hard bondage.6. And give ye heed now whilefrom this Tablet of stone, which yourfathers made ; [and

other tablets have

they made also] I speak to you, andtell you what manner of people possessed the land and bought and sold andheld your ancestors and so despitefullyused them.7. And lo and behold, as one appeared, so appeared all of them. Theyhad milk white skins, and their faceswere like the chalk of foreign hills,yea like unto the evil spirit ; and theirhair was long and strait and uncomely;and in hne as the yellow or red clay ofour fields.8. And their faces were long andnarrow, and their noses sharp and an

gular, and their nostrils thin ; so alsowere the lips of their sunken mouths,9. They had sharp white teeth, likeunto the teeth of the shark ; and their

eyes were blue as the cloudless sky,and sometimes leaden as when it isovercast ; and their brows were largeeven unto the hiding of their eyesand they were terrible to look uponyea even fearful.10. And these people, long ruledin the land, and their hand was thethe hand of iron, and their hearts asthe stones of our valleys.11. And though they had greatenergy, and their wills were like untothe oaks of our forest, their unscrupu-lousness was great, yea as huge as ourmountains ; and their conscienceswere less than a span and harder thanthe diamond.12. They built them large cities, andmade great attainments in science andin art; and were cunning workmen,and wonderful tillers of the soil, making it yield its abundance.13. And they made them grealthips and many ; so much so, thai

the seas were whitened with their sails;and they sent great burdens out oftheir land ; and they got in returngreat riches.14. And they builded also gorgeoustemples in which they worshipped theGods of their own making, while theyprofessed to worship the true God ;all of whose known laws they violated, and did but evil in his sight daily.15. And your forefathers, theywould not so much as permit them toenter the seats of their temples thoughthey worshipped the true God, nor attheir solemn feasts ; but compelledthem to stand afar off, because theyhad great hatred and prejudice againstyour forefathers.16. And this people waxed fatand begat great pride, and clothedthemselves in fine linen and blackcloth every day ; and their hearts became more and more filled with theworld and the lust thereof.17. And they said, who is like unto us ? We are the great and themighty ones of the Earth, and have agreat mission to perform. We willlevel the hills and till up the vallies ;and will lay the mountains low, andmake the path of the land straight, andthey did so.18. And we will lay on the pathiron of our own workmanship andswift running vehicles will we putthereon, so that when the warm breathof the water puffeth at them they willrun with swiftness and we will add toour cities and increase our comforts ;and they did so.19. And they wrapped themselves upin their ease and luxury in hopefulsecurity ; and their hand slackened ;and great physical and mental weakness came over them ; and manychanges came in among them ; somuch so, that your forefathers lookedupon them with much concern.20. Yea their hair darkened, so also did their eyes and their skins ; andthey said unto your forefathers let uscome in among you and be of you andpartake of your substance lesbefore our time.


21. And your forefathers did so ;for they had increased much in substance and in numbers ; and much instrength and in wisdom also ; and had

gained great possessions, yea all theland.22. And these people dwindled atlast to leanness ; and their bones became small, and thin, and so did theirstatues; and their minds became feeble,so much so, that they wist not whatthey did ; and finally they disappeared from among the children of men.23. They staid no longer than toaccomplish their work and then vanished ; yea as a cloud did they vanishfrom offthe face of the whole land;yea the land which your fathers havesince possessed and enjoyed.24. And it is a great grief untothis day that so little, beyond thesetablets of stone, your fathers have leftunto you that so little is now known ofthese Amecans or that a people oncepossessing so many peculiar traits,should have passed away withoutleaving to your fathers some greatermemorial of their existence.25. But wo was unto them ; andtheir works with their evil deeds seemto have perished with them.'Simultaneous with my finishing thistranscript, old Bernice rose from hislabors. He lighted his lantern andsaying ' come my son,' stepped to aside door hitherto unperceived by mebut which like the first instantly yielded to his touch. We now turned into anarrowpassageand continued in its subterraneous windings some fifty yardsto another massive door, which likeothers swung back at the old mansbidding. But what a change ! ! !From the artistic, the beautiful andthe curious, we had just quitted, anobject the most appalling my eyes everbeheld stood before us. "Was it a man,was it even human ? When we entered he stood- crouched in one cornerof his cell. His figure was gaunt andtall ; his head large and covered withlong snow white hair, which hung indisordered masses over his pale andshriveled face; and through which

his glaring eyes kept up a most terrible rolling ; while his mouth was whitewith foam. He soon commenced anincoherent muttering the only wordsdistinguishable was Hernice, Bernice !Suddenly he made a fearful lungefor me. I started back. It was a useless start. A chain was there. Hecould go no further. Then he raved,he shrieked, he tore his hair; then hepronounced the most awful imprecations upon his captor, upon all mankind, upon his Maker ; then he subsided into the same low and unintelligent murmur again, Bernice beingthe only distinguishable word.Suddently he knelt ; then he prayed;then he sprang up, then he boundedthe length of his chains, then he stamped them in the earth, then he gnawedat their links ; then he begged, thenhe pled incoherently for something ;I thought it was for deliverance andinstinctively stepped forward asthough to give it. Stay ! ! commanded Old Bernice in voice that I shallnever forget. A stout heart onlysaved me from immediate petrifica-tion on the spot ; and when rny eyesmet his I confess 1 had some misgivings as to my own safety. And wherefore this man, said I.' This man ! he is a murderer' saidhe ; and the old man's eyes kindledalmost to a living flame. ' He is amurderer ! /' exclaimed he' again.' The" wretch once had wealth and adthe influence it brings ; he once hallpower and he exercised it like a fiend.The oppressed and helpless were thevictims of his fiendish spirit. Many,too many of God's poor have, alas, felthis diabolical hand, /was one of hisvictims, and dearly, dearly have Ipaid the cost. I had a wife and children.' He held them as his property.Would you ask the fiend where thejnow are ; or shall the sigh of thewinds as they come up from the riceswamps answer ? 1 had a son, a sondear to me, though he held him tooas property. Despite oppression hehad grown to beautiful manhood.


Would you ask him where that sonnow is ? Shall I answer that ? Listen ! That chained hand the wretchnow lifts toward heaven and you forundeserved mercy, that chained handstruck down that son to the earth ; andwith that other hand withered as yousee it

,

the wretch blew out the brainsof my child without provocation andwithout warning; and would not somuch as allow his body burial.' Theold man made a pause, and I took advantage of it and said something aboutthe law, redress, j ustice &c. ' Laws /'

exclaimed he almost frantic. ' Laws ! !what laws, what justice is there for theoppressed of our dots? What lawsexcept to oppress them harder i Whatlaws except to pursue and rob themfrom the cradle to the grave, yea evenbeyond both. The wretch there,' saidhe pointing more significantly thanever at the miserable object before us,

' the wretch opulent in lands, opulentin human chattels, received the general approbation of his associate Tyrants for his acts'

' But no matter,' continued he, ' I

made my resolve and came hither.An interval was permitted to pass— a

short one. He was brought hither,by what means I need not say.He was placed in my power. Weconfronted each other. It was a

sore trial to him. We conversedmuch and freely. He spoke of thewrong done him ; I spolce of mine.He spoke of his wife and children leftbehind. I reminded him of the saleand separation of mine. He spoke ofhis position in society and the widedifference between us. I told himthat his superior advantage and position, so far from making him a wiser,and better man, had availed him little,—worse than little, since it hadmade him a robber of the helpless, anoppressor of the weak and a murdererof the innocent. He plead earnestlyfor his rights. I told him he had norights that I was bound to respectHe then begged hard for his liberty. Itwas a strange sight,' said he, ' to Bee a

man begging for liberty from one of aclass of whom ho had his whole life

long deprived of not only liberty butall that makes life worth having. Hemade large promises for that liberty.

I told him that they were u eless thathe had now nothing to give ; that heno longer possessed even himself ; thathis pleadings were now as useless asmine once were ; that I was now themaster and he the slave. I then assigned him his fate, and bid him prepare to meet it.Long years have since gone by. I

yet have him in my possession. I willnot harm a hair of his head ; but so

long as he lives that gloomy cell shallbe Bis prison-house, and these chainshe is now bearing about with him inhis sleeping moments and in hialong waking hours, shall be his onlyearthly companions ; and when hedies, as die he must, I will cast hiscarcass forth to gorge the Vultures thatsit upon the mountain peaks of theBlack Forest.'

' Bernice, Bernice,' imploringly murmured this white trembling Felix ;

and his knees smote together withvery fear, as he stood before his sablemaster and heard his words.

The huge drops of perspiration rolled down my face as I said to myselfwhat a terrible fate for a once proudtyrannical, wealthy white man who regards the black man as but a poor imbecile ignorant feeble thing, not somuch even as the beasts that perish.As the wretched fiend, for such I

too now regarded him, commencedagain his wild and loud imprecations,so loud that it seemed like a thousandvoices, old Bernice drew himself upto his full height, and with a commanding gesture waved me to retire,and following said ' my son, thou hastas yet seen but little of this place ;' andthen turning round with one touch ofhis hand the heavy door sprang backto its place, and all sounds within thatcell were hushed from the world.

(To be Continued.)

THE ANGLO-AFRICAN* MAGAZIN?.

conduct of these worthy men and theirwhite co-laborers, they deserve and shallreceive onr hearty thanks and lastinggratitude.Upon the conduct of the Court beforewhich Bushnell and Langston hnvc beentried, and before which the rest of theindictednre to be tried—upon the behavior of the Prosecutor, who has shown himself so anxionsimd determined to convict these men—uponthe character of the Jurors called in thecases already tried, and upon the testimony of tho witnesses on the part of theGovernment, it is needless to say a singleword. Tho Court, tho Prosecutor, theJurors, and the witnesses, with one or twoexceptions, are Pro-Slavery and Democrat

ic in their connections and associations. Itis well known, then, what we may expect.And, so far, we have not been disappointed.But the object of this prosecution cannever be accomplished. The free spirit ofthe Western Reserve cannot be " crushedout." Our deep love of liberty, our intelligent veneration for the precepts ofChristianity, and our abiding determination to obey God rather than man, no prosecution, however oppressive, no irksomeconfinement in gloomy dungeons, no illegal and unjust confiscation of our property,can ever overthrow and destroy. And thisprosecution, so far, has only tended to

deepen and strengthen this conviction.

picture § all ery

FIFTH P A P E It

B V E T H I 0 V .

Home again, and in fine spirits.••Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife ;To all the sensual world proclaim,One crowded hour of glorioui lifeIf worth an age without a name."

So felt I, after my visit to the BlackForest, which has been among the most remarkable of my meandering life.A faithful recital of what I heard andwhat I saw, lengthened out in a dozencarefully collated and closely written volumes, would scarcely do justice to mythree days' stay in that place ofmysteries.But, a.s the pressure of other engagementscalled me from those never-to-be-forgottenscenes, so now, also, do the events of thepassing hour require at my hands something else for my readers, reservingfor another occasion a further chatabout tho famous Grotto Home of Old Ber-niee, one of Nature's noblemen and one ofher noblnst artists.Home again, and in the A fric- American

Picture Gallery, and seated in my big armchair. Dear old arm-chair ! seated in thecI survey with renewed and increasing satisfaction this extraordinary Gallery.My feelings are fresh and my eye clear,so that I can, perhaps, better take in thebeauties and excellencies of a picture thangive out anything like an accurate description of one.Notwithstanding this, I cannot resist thetemptation of a sketch offered by a pair ofpictures just beneath my eye, on the southside of the Gallery.They are markedPictures Nos. XIX and XX.

PREACHING AND AFTER PREACHING.The first represents the interior of achurch—a negro church.Locality—sunny South. The particularspot, I conclude from its surroundings, isamong the best of the good old plantations.

The church is filled to overflowing with

AFRIC-AMBRICAN PICTURE UALLERY. 217

devout worshippers, and is being discoursed the same noticed in the back-ground of theto, affectionately, of course, by a double-fisted, burly, white-faced old SouthernPreacher—a genuine Hard Shell.Theortwihas caught him Justin thenick of time.The Preacher is just in the act of exhorting his sable hearers to obey theirmasters — their kind, good masters." He that knoweth his master's will anddoeth it not shall be beaten with manystripes." These are his words. In catching the artist's conception, you feel them,

you hear them — you put yourself iu hisaudience, and then they are graciouswords to you. They are unctions. Onthem your parson is feeling ; he looks fullof feeling ; he looks unctions all over.Unction pours out of his mouth ; it beams

sticks out of his out-down his broad

out of his eyes ; itspread fingers ; itface in greater profusion than did the oildown the venerable beard of Aaron.Just at this unctions point is our goodman token, and I heartily thank the artistfor having done him such justice. A fairer exhibit of a Southern preacher is certainly nowhere else on canvass.Nor has the artist lost any of his inspiration in the other details of his picture.The preacher's sable hearers, with eyes dilated, mouths agape, nostrils distended andears alert, are intently leaning forward,that they may lose no word of the goodadmonition, while here a moody brow, andthere a skeptical face, or yonder a defiantlook, combine to form an admirable background.The second of this pair of pictures, entitled After Preaching, represents the congregation standing about outside thechurch in groups around the faithful leaders, who, being men carefully selected bythe white piety of the sunny South, are ofcourse, all of the Uncle Tom school.By another masterly stroke of the artist'sconception, they are taken just at the pointof the extreme of their extacies about thegreat and good sermon they hare justheard, while the leaders are in earnest exhortation on submission and willing obedience to masters as the height of Christian duty.In the back-ground may also be seen afew young, determined-looking faces, onwhich are expressed disbelief in, and detestation of, the whole affair. They are

former piece.These young spirit-faces possess such astrong look of meaning that none needmistake it. A look so strong, so bold, gotowering, that, like Monadnoc among thegranite hills, it peers far above the scrawny frowns, and puny smiles, and jeers, andgibes, and sneers, and hates of the vulgar,the mean, the base; a look that will go upthrough all time, and, as light before thecoming sun, so as surely will it be theforerunner of the great deliverance of long-'pressed humanity. The look and themeaning do actually exist, and the soonerthe World knows it the better.These faces, in contrast with the othersof the congregation, give a most strikingeffect to the picture. They are the unruly, the skeptical, the worthless of the flock— the wicked ones, who would rather ranthe risk than be bound up in the religiouslove so feelingly and so faithfully proclaimed to them — the religions love of theland.It is of this class comes our Nat Turners, who laid a scheme for redemption, andthe 'man in Georgia who received ninehundred and ninety -nine lashes by way ofgentle '^compulsion, and then would not somuch as reveal one particle of the plan laidby and for the uprising of his oppressedbrethren. If is of this class come the Margaret Garners, who rather than their babeseven shall clank a chain, prefer to sendthem up to their God who gave them. Itis ofthis class comes our Douglasses and ourBrowns, anda host of other spirits now castupon the regions of the North, as a Southerner once expressed it

, "to wailin the misery

of their sins, and lament in the wretchedness of their misunderstood liberty."These are good views, and may be studied with profit by any Southern Preacher, master or monster who will take thetrouble to visit the Afric- American PictureGallery.Picture No. XXI. is

A HEAD OF PH1LLIS WHEATLY.

It hangs in the north-east corner of theGallery, and in good light, and is so decidedly one of the finest in the collection,whether viewed in an artistic light or inpoint of fact, that it is both a constantcharm and study for me. The features,though indicative of a delicate organize

The Anglo-African Magazine.

The New Yorker Staats Zeitung forJanuary 22nd, 1853. from which thistable is copied, adds a hundred andseven thousand for the German emigration to Baltimore and New Orleans,and about two hundred thousand fortha emigration of previous years, making the entire German population, arrived, at 900 thousand : allowing 48per cent, for their increase during thefourteen years, and we have one million two hundred and sixty thousandas the entire German migration of thesecond quarter of the 19th century.The increase of this migration hasbeen gradual, until within the lastthree years, when it has increased atthe rate of thirty thousand per annum,and from being only one-half as many,has in the last year, actually out-numbered the Irish immigration.And it is but reasonable to expectthat in the next ten years, or perhapslonger, it will go on increasing ; forwhile the whole home population ofIreland is but six millions, that of Germany is nearly fifty millions.

The vitality of the German emigrantis greater than that of the Irish. Theselatter, enfeebled by starvation andwhiskey at home, seek employmenthere on railroads, running throughmalarious districts from Maine to Panama, and their stalwart looking, butreally feeble frames fall an easy preyto the fevers which they contract.

In the city of New York, twenty-fiveyears ag^o, an acre or two surroundingSt. Patrick's Cathedral afforded ampleburying room for the whole Irish Catholic population. Since then, a tenacre field in Eleventh-street has beentwice filled up, tightly packed, by thesame population, and within threeyears, eighty acres have been boughton Long Island by Bishop Hughes,and a ferry especially established, called Bishop Hughes' Ferry, to carryover the Irish dead to this new ceme-try, at which several priests are engaged from morning till night, recitingthe last sad ceremonies over the departed sens of Erin.

To be Continued.

Jlfric-gmcrican pture

BY ETHIOP.

NUMBEB I.

I always had &penchant for pictures.From a chit of a boy till now, my lovefor beautiful, or quaint old pictureshas been unqnenched.

If an ever abiding love for anybranch ofArt is indicative of a fitnessto pursue it, then I should have beena painter. Even when so small as tobe almost imperceptible, I used toclimb up, by the aid of a stool, to mymother's mantle piece, take down tha

old family almanac and study its pictures with a greater relish than ever a

fat alderman partook of a good dinner

including a bountifnl supply of thechoicest wines. All this however, never made me a painter. Fate marked

out a rougher, sterner destiny for me.But the nabit of rambling in searchof, and hunting up curious, old, or rareand beautiful pictures, is as strong asever.

It was in one of these rambles, thatI stumbled over the Ai'ric-AmericanPicture Gallery, which has since become one of my dearest retreats wherein to spend many an otherwise wearyhour, with profit and pleasureThe collection is quite numerous,having been sought from every quarter ot the American continent, andsome from abroad ; and though asa Gallery of Art, if not highly meritorious, still from its wide range of subjects and the ingenuity with which

Afric-Amcrican Picture Gotten/. 58

many of them arc presented, it must,to the lover and curious in such matters, afford much for amusement, andto the careful observer and the thinkermuch that is valuable and interesting.In style and excellence these pictures vary according to the i'ancy orskill of the artist. Some are finely executed, while others arc mere roughsketches. Some arc in oil, some inwater colors, and India Ink shadings,a few statues, statuettes, and a fewCrayons and Pencilinga possessing ahigh degree of merit ; others are merecharcoal sketches and of little worthbeyond the subjects they portray.But without pursuing this generaloutline further, let the reader, with meenter into this almost unknown Gallery. Well, here we arc, and lookingabout us.The first thing noticeable, is the unstudied arrangement of these pictures.They seem rather to have been put upout of the way, many of them, thanhung for any effect.The walls arc spacious, and containample room for more, and, in manyinstances, better paintings ; and manyniches yet vacant for busts and statuesand just' here, let me make an humblepetition in behalf of this our newly discovered Gallery. —It is that generousartists, will, at their convenience, havethe goodness to paint an occasionalpicture, or chisel a statue or bust, ancwe will be sure to assign it to its appropriate place. But let us take asurvey, and speak only of what strikesus most forcibly in our present mood

PICTUKE NUMBER 1.—THE SLAVE SHIPThis picture hangs near the entranceon the south side of the Gallery, ancin rather an unfavorable light.The view is of course Jamestownharbor, Virginia, in 1609, and has althe wild surroundings of that portion oour country at that period ; the artishaving been faithful even to evershrub, crag and nook. Off in the mooring lays the slave ship, Dutch-modelecand ugly, even hideous to look uponas a slave-ship ought to be. On th,

hore is a group of emaciated Africans, heavily manacled, the first slaveshat ever trod the American continent;vhile in the fierce and angry watersf the bay, which seem to meet theilack and dismal and storm-clad sky,s seen a small boat containing anotherot of these human beings, just nearing;he shore.If the artist's general conception of:his picture may be regarded a success,,n its details, beyond all question, thiss its crowning point. The small boatstruck by, and contending with a hugeDreaker, is so near the shore that youcan behold, and startle as you behold,the emaciated and death-like faces ofihe unfortunate victims, and the hideous countenances of their captors ; andliigh and above all, perched upon thestern, with foot, tail and horns, andthe chief insignias of his office, is hiaSatanic Majesty, gloating over thewhole scene.What is more truthful than that thedevil is ever the firm friend and companion of the slave ship?

PICTURE HODJER 2.—TITE FIBST AND TUBLAST COLORED EDITOR.

This small, but neat picture hangson the north side of the gallery ; andthough simple in its details, is so wellexecuted that it has much attractedme.The Last Colored Editor, quite ayoung man, with a finely formed headand ample brow— thoughtful, earnest,resolute—sits in chair editorial, withthe first number of the Freedom'sJournal, the first journal ever editedby, and devoted to the cause of thecolored man in America, held in onehand and outspread before him, whilethe other, as though expressive of hisresolve, is firmly clenched.Surrounding him arc piles of all thejournals edited by colored men fromthe commencement up till the present,among which the Freedom's Journal,Colored American, People's Press,North Star, and Frederick Douglas'ipaper are the more prominent. TheFirst Editor is represented as a vener

Tlie Anglo-African Magazine.

able old man, with whitened locksand placid face, leaning on a staff, and

unperceivcd by the Last Editor, islooking intently over his shoulder onthe outspread journal.It is his own first editorial, and thefirst ever penned and published by acolored man in America. The sceneis the linking together of our oncescarcely hopeful past with the nowbright present.

PICTURE NO. 3—THE FIRST MARTYR OFTUB REVOLUTION.

This is a head of Attucks. It maynot be generally known, and it maynot be particularly desirable that thepublic should know, that the FirstMartyr of the American Revolutionwas a colored man ; that the first bosom that was bared to the blast ofwar was black ; the first blood thatdrenched the path-way which led upto American liberty, was from theveins of a colored man.

And yet such is the fact ; and the artist has done a service in the executionof this head. It hangs at the northeast end of the Gallery, and is a finelikeness of a bold, vigorous man,—just such, as would be likely to heada revolution to throw off oppression.May the name of Attucks and thefacts connected therewith never perish.

PICTURE NO. 4. SUNSET IN ABBEOKUTA.

This is a fine painting. The landscape is rich, varied, beautiful. Thesky has all the warmth of hue andsoftness of tint, and all that gorgeous-ness (changing seemingly with everyinstant,) for which an African sky isso much noted. No rainbow with us,in its full splendor, is so variegated orso wide in its range of colors.The last touches of the artist's pencil has made the glow of the comingevening to softly spread itself overhere and there a dusky inhabitant re

clining upon the banks of an unrip-pled lake. The effect is fine, and the

whole scene is so charming that onecould almost wish to bo there.

PICTURES 5 AND 6.—THE UNDER GROUNDRAILROAD.

In these two pictures the artist iscertainly quite up to our idea. Theyarc of large size and represent boththe Southern and Northern portionsof that mysterious road. They hangbeside each other on the south side ofthe Gallery and are marked A and B.I would suggest, that B be changedover to the north wall, as a more appropriate place. Picture A, or thesouth view represents a dark roadleading through a darker forest, alongwhich is seen merely some twentypairs of fine stalwart human feet and

legs—male and female— of all sizes,hurrying northward. Every muscleand limb indicates firmness and resolution.

The scene is night-time, and far distant through the forest is faintly seenthe north star—small but bright andunfailing, and to the fugitive, unerring.'Picture B on the north view consists of some twenty bold heads andfine robust faces, each of which is litup with a joy no pen can portray, andnothing but the pencil of the mastercould have reached. The exclamation of each must be ' we have foundit!!!'In the foreground is a lake and theback ground is a Canadian forest,through which here and there youcan perceive a small rustic cottage.Both of these pictures sustain wellthat air of mystery which envelopesthe Under Ground Rail Road.In the first view we have but thefeet and legs ; indicating the mysterious manner in which those feet and

legs move bodies towards freedom, or

pass along that undefined and undefi-nable Road that leads to liberty.There is another thought. Thehead, the recognized seat of the mind,is useless to the slave, or, if of serviceto hinij this thinking apparatus is not

Trifles.

his own ; it belongs to his owner ;henco he makes use of his feet andlegs, or the physical machinery ; whilein the second view, at the northernend of this lindefinable Road, where

liberty is, the head or mental part ispresented to view. The slave,— thechattel,—the thing is a man.

(To be Continntd.)

BY MARY A. 8. GABY.

•Tall oaks from little acorns grow.'

Words, actions, events, and circumstances become important or trivial inproportion to the relations they sustain,or to the accidents of time and purposeinseparable from their real significance.Greater prominence is sometimes given to a word because of the source fromwhence it emanates, and things themost common-place become magnifiedinto, or assume great proportions : andevents small in themselves, become theindex to the most stupendous results.A mustard seed planted by skilfulhands germinates, and in time becomesa beautiful flowering plant ; in an afterstage of its growth, the husbandmangathers in a valuable yield, which istransferred to the man of business, whoin turn, disposes of a share to his neighbor ; thus a commercial transaction iscommenced, ships are put into requisition, and trade, in all its intiicate relations, receives an impulsion,—but amustard seed in the beginning, whocould have calculated the importanceof the article mustard in the commercial world '.

Commerce, the great regulator of human speculative affairs, is but a compendium of little inventions, contrivances and results, directed by humanskill and forethought, and gravitatingeach toward the other by the certainlaws of human relations and economicaffinities.

An arrow directed by the skilfulJonathan to a certain point, thoughwithout meaning to the casual observer,

has become a messenger of infiniteinterest to the Christian world, all Ju-dea is involved in the issue, and theGentile nations shall gather comfort andconsolation from the interpretation ofits position : from David shall comethe Emanucl, who shall reign in righteousness forever and forever more, anda trifle no greater than an arrow shallproclaim the matter.

Since the occurrence of that thrilling-soul-stirriug event, we multiply the in'ter veiling years by hundreds and thou~sands, every one of which, could we butbecome acquainted with its history, hashidden away among its fast recedingarcana, the little though multifariousliints upon which our present civilization rears its magnificent superstructure; and the equally trifling suggestions, which gave form and consistencyto present social, civil and religiousgrievances.

Now and THEN are expressive wordsin certain relations; they become volumes in their relation to trifles. Then,was and is the meager beginning ofevery endeavor ; NOW, its perfect orelaborate fulfilment as the case maybe. Though

;comparisons' are odious in

most cases, they are not so when applied to trifles.

THEN, men gave to God the husks offaith, and trust, and homage, in roughlyliewn altars, whereon were offered upthe holy sacrifice ; NOW, upon the sametrifle, is poured out marvelous wealth,and domes, and spires, and gaudy piles,

Afric-Amencan Picture Gallery. 87

BY ETUIOP.

PICTURE VII.—TOUISSA.NT I/OVERTURE.Pictures are teachings by example.From them we often derive our bestlessons. A picture of a once belovedmother, an almost forgotten grandfather whose image perhaps we bear,or a long lost child, once the centre ofour affections ; such a picture occasionally taken down from its hiding-place,and looked at, calls up associationsand emotions, and produces troops ofthought that paint the memory afreshwith hues the most beautiful, touching, beneficial and lasting. A pictureof a great man with whose acts we arefamiliar, calls up the whole history ofhis times. Our minds thus becomereimpressed with the events and wearrive at the philosophy of them.A picture of Washington recalls tomind the American Devolution, andthe early history of the Republic. Apicture of Thomas Jefferson brings be-tore the mind in all its scope andstrength that inimitable document, theDeclaration of Independence ; and inaddition, carries us forward to thetimes, when its broad and eternalprinciples, will be fully recognised by,and applied to the entire Americanpeople. I had these conclusionsforced upon me by looking notupon either the picture of Washington or Jefferson in the gallery. Farfrom it ; but by a most beautiful portrait of one of the greatest men theworld ever saw—TOUISSANT L'OvER-TURE. This painting hangs in thesouth east corner of the Gallery in afavourable position and in good lightas it ought ; as it portrays the featuresof one of God's and Earth's noblemenlong since retired.

|Far be it from me to venture to a description of either the picture or theman. I have no pencil and no penwith which I can do it. Some futurehistorian in other times, will yet writethe name of TouissantL' Overture higher and in purer light than that of anyman that has lived up to to-day. Butthe special point to which I wish tocall attention, and upon which I mayventure a remark, is the long and interesting train of historical facts in relation to Hayti, that gem of the sen,this portrait associates in the mind ofthe intelligent beholder. To say nothing of him who led the breathings ofthis people after liberty ; the breakingin pieces the yoke that galled themtheir heroic struggles, the routingfinally and utterly from the soil theiroppressors ; their almost superhumanefforts thereafter, to rise from the lowstate in which the degradation of slavery and chains had placed them and theirfinal triumph over every obstacle ; infine the whole history from first tolast of this Island and this people is sovividly brought before the mind, bymerely this likeness of the inimitableTouissant L'Overtnre, that it is reimpressed with the extraordinary, usefuland touching lesson it teaches.

PICTURE vm.—SOLOUQUE AND HIS COURT.

If any thing else was needed to carry the mind over the field of Haytianevents, and complete our history ; orin leading us for the first tune to studythat history, this additional pictureought to be sufficient. It is of largestsize, consisting of portraits of the sableEmperor and the magnates that moveround his Imperial person ; and hangs

The Anglo- African Magazine.

beside that ot L'Overture. The vari-oua descriptions given me of these persons lead me to believe, that these likenesses, unlike many that have beengotten up for the American prejudiceMarket, are genuine and up to theoriginals. That of the Emperor's issuperior as he is known to be a superior looking man.

PICTURE IX.—MOUNT VERNON.

Our artist must have taken time bythe forelock in the execution of thispicture ; as MOUNT VERNON has becomeof late the great popular theme of theAmerican people. Mount Vernonjust now enters into everything. Ithas something to do with every springof the machinery of American society ;social, political, and religious. It isMount Vernon in the pulpit, MountVernon on the rostrum, MountVernon from the Press, Mount Vernonfrom every lip.The boys in the streets busily cryout Mount Vernon ; the fashionableyonng belle simpers Mount Vernon.Mount Vernon exclaims the breast-laden patriot ; Mount Vernon echoesthe good old ladies, Mount Vernon ispiped, Mount Vernon is harped ;Mount Vernon is danced ; Mount Vernon is sung. Even men walk by theaid of Mount Vernon canes, manufactured from some of its decaying relics.And what is Mount Vernon ?MOUNT VERNON as the readers mustknow is a spot of earth somewhere inVirginia, and once the Home of theFather of his Country. How carefulought we to be, then, in word or deedabout Mount Vernon.I must plead in excuse, therefore,that in the conception of this picture,the Artist has simply failed ; if not infaithfulness to the original, certainlyin gratifying the popular Americanfeeling. The Picture hangs on thesouth side of the Gallery, and in excellent light.It is of largest size, exhibiting thegrounds, the mansion, out-house, slaveImts and all ; once planned, laid out,and erected with BO much care by

Washington : but now alas, all in astate of dilapidation and decay. Decayis written by the Artist's pencil morelegibly than in letters, on everything.—On the house top, on the door sill iswritten decay. On the chimney, onthe gables, on the eaves, is writtendecay. The consuming fingers of decay and delapidation mark each andevery out house. —Every old slave hut,like so many spectres shadows forthdecay. —Decay stands staring in thegate-ways, staring in the porches, staring in the cellars.—The very windwhich bends the here and there scattering tree-tops, (land marks of the past)seem to creak through the many visible crevices of the Old Mansion andsigh decay, decay ! decay ! !

I never saw Mount Vernon ; and asI gaze upon this Picture I ask myself isit trne ? Is this the home of the Father of his Country ? Is it

,

that, every

I thing Washington possessed should so

| perish? Or, so perish the all, that we

I should have left to us, but his name ;

I and yet with a tendency to forgetnames however great, I am at a lossto know how we shall preserve eventhe name of "Washington many yearslonger.But there is another feature in thisPicture besides the stern solemn passing away, that I desire to direct attention to. The Artist has located, and Isuppose correctly enough, on thebauKs, where sluggishly glides the Potomac's waters, the TOMB OF WASHINGTON.

The first thing that here arrests theeye is the recently dug up coffin ofWashington ; just behind which standsthe ghost of his faithful old slave andbody servant ; while in front, a livingslave of to-day stands, with the lonesof Washington gathered up in hisarms, and labelled ' For Sale' 'Price$200,000 ; this negro included.' ' Money wanted."— A number of otherslaves, men, women, and children,are placed in a row along the bankjust beyond, bearing about the neckof each the following inscription :

These negroes for sale. Money wanted?

Afrie-American Picture G&ttei-y.

Proceeding from the Old Mansion tothe Tomb, are two elderly, portly,aristocratic looking gentlemen, bearingunmistakable evidences of being thepresent proprietors of the Mount Ver-non estate, and celebrated relatives ofthe great Virginian, and Father of hisCountry; and a noted son of Massachusetts. These gentlemen are followedtowards the tomb by a few pioua looking old ladies.Such is but a faint description ofthis picture of Mount Vernon ; and asobscurely as it is hung in our' midst,Edward Everett the distinguished limner of Washington should see it

,and

if any, point out its detects.Our Gallery begins to draw. Numerous have been the inquiries aboutit, and two individuals who after sundry searching!} andpryings have foundout our secret. —Our pleasant hiding-place, where we have so often and solong shut up ourselves from the blastana chill of the world, is no longerour own. The luxury of solitude is

even gone, gone forever !

Just as I had finished the sketch ofthe last picture, (luckily for me) andpointed my pencil for another, the little brown-faced boy in attendance,bowed in, to my great surprise, a veryrespectable appearing gentleman— a

little seedy, though very genteel withall notwithstanding —and not Anglo-African, but Anglo-Saxon, or Anglo-American or something of that sort ;

botheration, I never could get thehang of these Angloes I but no matter, no was genteel in manner and intellectual in appearance.

' I read your Picture Sketches in thelast number of the Anglo-African Magazine, and have sought out your Gallery,' said he. ' Well, what do youthink of it ?' said I. ' Your Gallery ?

well, I must examine it,—but yourMagazine ! ! !' ' Magazine,' rejoined I,

'

yes, that is the question.''

' Yourmagazine,' said he (not regarding theinterruption) is uncalled for.' I started up.

' I am a well-known friend toyour race.' I started a little more upright, and said, ' my dear sir, if you

' Theas you

mean Anglo-Africans, well; but donot say " your race." ' here I broughtmy fist down on the table, added —

' there is but one race of men on tin'face of the earth, sir ! ! /

' Our visitor-colored a little. ' I was about to remark,' he said, 'that if your men hailcapacity they might write for our anti-slavery journals and other ably conducted magazines in the country, suchas Harpers' or the Atlantic Monthly.

It would be more creditable. Youdon't want a separate magazine and

pen up your thoughts there.'" Anglo- African" is not suchdesignate it,' said I, ' it is simplyheaded by colored men, but excludesno man on account of his color fromits pages, and it were unfortunate,' I

said this with emphasis, ' that sincecolored men are the oppressed, it wereunfortunate that every anti-slaver;/journal in the country is not editedby colored men.' This was a little toosharp, and our new friend coloredmore deeply than before. ' What do

you think of that statue of Ira Al-dridge, just over on the other side ofof the Gallery, there?' said I, as anxious to turn the conversation as hewas. He examined it a few momentsand said, ' It is quite a clever attemptfor — ' he was about to add somethingmore, but suddenly turning asked whomodelled it. ' All I know,' said I, • is,Mr. Aldridge went from this country toEurope when quite a young man, tookto the stage, his color being no bar toeminence there, and step b

y

step he

has ascended until now he stands onthe very highest round of the actor'sladder. He stands to day, as an actor,the most renowned in the world. Thestatue before us I believe was modelled in Europe.' Our visitor hastilyglanced at it again, and pronouncedit excellent, adding a few criticismsabout its breadth of forehead and a

few doubts about its want of faithfulness to the original, he passed aroundthe Gallery. I sat down again to makea sketch of this plaster statue of Aldridge, the world-renowned actor (bythe way, an excellent model of him as


Othello), when our little brown-facedboy bowed his head in the doorway,and announced this time a lady—a colored lady. I laid down my pencil,and though much confused, tried myhand at politeness. The lady, plainly,but neatly attired and rather stiff, wasall politeness, but it was of that kindthat first chills, and then freezes you.Eye-glass up, and with sarcastic smile,she hurriedly scanned several of thepictures. Her air was a dissatisfiedone in the outset ; she had come tofind fault and quarrel with our poorGallery from the first. I felt this, anddetermined on revenge. ' What nonsense is all this !' she exclaimed, and

proceeded to criticise quite freely. Icaught up my pencil, and wrote : 'Anold maid ; a little dunned in sight ;somewhat faded, but a few good tracesof beauty yet left : face a little toosharp, and eye too restless and a little prudish with all: quite ready inspeech, but rather too second-hand in

opinion.' I stopped. A kind of nervous feeling came over me, and I beganto fumble' for my knife, to scratch thewords old, dimmed, and all the otherunpleasant adjectives Ihad thrown into my sentences, for in truth she wasnot old, though I learned afterwards

she was a maid. My lady friend perceiving my embarrassed manner, laidit to her own superciliousness, and hereye dilated at the supposed effect and

proceeded freely with her criticisms.My old revenge came back upon me :' Madam, or mam,' said I at last, 'thesepictures, as a whole, make no claim tothe high artistic merit you look for inthem, though I think some of themrather clever as works of art; butthey serve as simple reminders ofwhat the people ot color were, nowarc, and will yet be. "What they havegone through, are going through, andhave yet to go through.' This last

speech of mine had the desired effect.With glass still to her eye, she passedon in her strictures, and on, too, in theGallery. I adjusted myself again tomake the sketch of Aldridge, and taking position, looked up for the purpose. Lo, and behold ! my visitorswere both gone. I was alone. Mypaper for my intended sketch wasscribbled out, and my pencil whittledaway. Bothered and puzzled, I snatched up my hat and started for the door,

bidding the boy at the same time tobar it against all further intruders, Irushed into the street.

struggles for |mtonu inBY KOBERT CAMPBELL.

Thirty years ago there was, perhaps,no place in which the condition of freepeople of color was more intolerablethan in Jamaica ; nor, if we exceptHayti, was there any place in whichmore vigorous efforts were made to

achieve political enfranchisement than

in that island. The political disqualifications under which they laboredwere even greater than those to whichthe same class of persons are exposedin this country. Here they are, it istrue, denied the right of suffrage, there

they were in addition denied even the

privilege of an oath in court in defenseof their property or persons. They

might be violently assaulted, theirlimbs broken, their wives and daughters outraged before their eyes by villains having white skins, yet they hadno legal redress, except another whiteman chanced to see the deed. Op

pressed and wronged though this class

of people are here, no legal impediments exist to the acquirement ofwealth among them, while there theyhad to contend against an enactmentwhich prohibited any white man be


mate, while performing the labor of a slave, getic stock in a temperate climate—for Virginiaand decreases in a tropical climate, while performing labor allotted to tho condition of a

slave.

The theory that the black man, because beis black, is fitted to undergo severe labor under

a tropical sun, vanishes into thin air.

And the fact that the black man, even in

lavery, increases, and is thrifty, strong, ener-

and Maryland are the beet climates on the

globe for the human being—proves, not onlythat the black man is superior to the worst in

stitutions that can be fastened upon him, but

also, that this very superiority, demonstrates

him to be a UNIT WITH THE GREAT HUMAN

RACE.

(To be continued.)

§fric-§mencan JIictare- (SaUttj.— tfeirt JJajcr.

BY ETHIOP,

\

PICTURE NO. X.—A NEW PICTURE.

Our gallery Boy who barred itsdoors so firmly against intruders, hasjust entered the Gallery with his ownikeness, and desires that it may behung up ; and, for more reasons thanone he shall be gratified. The picture comes to us in mien pleasant,smiling, and as fresh as nature itself.This boy Thomas Onward (I callhim Tom for shortness,) though hehas seen all of life—yea more, is notan Old Tom by any means ; nor anUncle Tom, nor a Saintly Tom, noreven what is commonly deemed agood Tom ; but a shrewd little rogue,a real live Young Tom, up to' all conceivable mischief and equal to nilemergencies. He is a perfect modelof a little fellow in his way, and a fairrepresentative of his class. Sound inlimb, symmetrical in form and robustin health, jovial, frank, easy mannered and handsome —infiuitely so compared with even the likeness I hold,one would scarcely conclude that thisboy has come down to us throughnearly three hundred years of hardtrial.

And yet it is true. Such is his history, lie was almost whipped intoexistence, whipped into childhood,whipped up to boyhood. He hasbeen whipped up to manhood, whipped down to old age, whipped out ofexistence. He was toilea into life ;he has been toiled through life ; toiledout of life. He has been robbed of histoil, robbed of his body, robbed of allbut his soul.

He has been hated for what he was,hated for what he was not, and hatedfor what he ought to have been. Hehas been dreaded because of his ignorance, and dreaded because of hisknowledge, dreaded for his weakness,dreaded for his strength.

Noble, innocent boy ! hadst thoubeen able to remember a tithe of thehard things done to thee ; or hadstthou known a tithe of the hard thingssaid of thee ; or of the hard feelingsentertained towards thee, it would bedifficult to conjecture the result. Butout of all these mountains of duet andashes without one bit of sackcloth upon thee, hast thou come forth freso,smiling and free. Tom, Torn ! ! !


Who shall write a fitting apostropheto thee and thy rising fortunes.What sorry figures do the hard,grave, iron, half savage and half barbarous faces of Washington and Jefferson, of Clay, Webster and Calhovm,present beside the fine expressive likeness of this rising little fellow. TheAmerican Nation, if it can, may tryits hardened hand yet a few centurieslonger upon our live little Tom; but itwill hardly mould him to their liking.Like gold ore he will lose but the alloy and become brighter and brighterin the oft passing through the furnaceof their oppression.riCTURE NO. XI. THE BLACK FOREST.

Two days after I had hung up thepicture of the Gallery boy Tom, I satexamining another marked tho SlackForest, which from its grand andbeautiful scenery, dark back groundshadows and the air of profound mystery which seemed to pervade it

,

so

attracted me that I intended to make

a sketch, but my mind turned towardsthe boy and my eyes towards the portrait, and I sat gazing upon its beaut}',and meditating upon its superior excellence as a Work o

f Art, and theprobable whereabouts of the unknownArtist, and also upon the destiny ofthe Boy himself, when his shrill, merry, musical voice rung out : ' a lettersir.'Taking it from his hand, I instantlybroke the seal, and by a single glancediscovered it was from an unknownsource, and on furtherperusal that it

was from the Slack Forest ; a placeand name then wholly unknown to me,except as the landscape painting justalluded to in the gallery. The purport of the letter was an invitation tovisit this inhabited or uninhabitedpart of the globe. Let me give thereader one paragraph of this curious

epistle. It ran thus : ' Coine over tome Slack Forest and examine some of

the Pictures and ot/ier curiosities there.Two days journey by stage and by footfor a man, and none oiliers are asked T

As it is no part of my purpose to disclose the precise locality of the Black

Forest, nor fully the manner of peopledwelling there, nor yet wholly theirdoings, I shall reveal no more of thecontents of this letter than to say it

pointed out the route so minutely thatno careful observer could mistake it ;

while without such a description, thekeenest mind could not by any process penetrate even the recesses ofthe Black Forest, much less the precise spot in question. ' Come over tothe Black iorest and examine someof the Pictures and other curiositiesthere. Two days journey by stageand by foot for a man, and none others are asked !'

This paragraph I read over a dozentimes ere I laid down the letter, andthen ull my old love of adventure, oframble and of picture hunting cameback upon me.Filled now with new thoughts andnew projects, I repaired to my lodgings, wrote a few hasty lines to a

friend, and retired for the night. Butthe sentences ' Come over to theBlack Forest. Examine some pictures and other curiosities. Two daysjourney by stage and by foot for a

man. None others are asked,' hadfastened themselves in my mind andinsisted so pertinaciously in remaining there, that it was with unusual effort sleep could take entire possessionof me.Early next morning I commencedpreparations for my journey, and myarrangements completed, I started onwhat to many might have seemed notonly hazardous but profitless undertaking. But to him who bears perseverance about with him in his breast anddetermination in his face, and holdscommunion with all things aroundhim, nothing is hazardous, nothingprofitless.

PICTURE NO. XH—TWO PORTRAITS THAT

OUGHT TO BE HUNG UP.

The forepart of my journey contained little of interest if I except the appearance and movements of two travellers whose portraits ought to be