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THE ECONOMY OF SLAVERY.

BY LYDIA MARIA CHILD.

pected soon to see the slaves of Virginia advertising for runaway masters." Washington, in a letter to Sir John Sinclair, describes the land in the neighOn the Battery, the other day, I met an acquaint-bourhood of Mount Vernon as exhausted and miseraance from New England. He was on his way from ble. He alludes to the fact, that the price of land Virginia, where he had been making contracts for in Pennsylvania and the free States, then averaged wood at a dollar an acre. In the true spirit of Yan-more than twice as much as land in Virginia: bekee enterprise, he buys up the produce of waste lands, fells the trees, ships them to New York and Boston, and finds the trade profitable.

cause," says he, there are in Pennsylvania laws for the gradual abolition of slavery and because foreign emigrants are more inclined to settle in free States." Mr. Custis says, "Of the multitude of foreigners who daily seek an asylum and home in the empire of liberty, how many turn their steps to the region of the slave? None. There is a malaria in the atmosphere of those regions, which the new comer shuns, as being deleterious to his views and habits. See the wide-spreading ruin, which the avarice of our ancestral government has produced in

A large emigration of substantial farmers from Orange, Duchess, and Columbia counties, in this State, have, within a few years, emigrated to the counties of Loudon, Culpepper and Fairfax, in Virginia. They bought up the worn-out plantations for a mere song, and, by judicious application of free labour, they are "redeeming the waste places, and making the wilderness blossom as the rose." A traveller recently told me that the farms culti-the South, as witnessed in a sparse population of vated by Quakers, who employ no slaves, formed such a striking contrast to other portions of Virginia, that they seemed almost like oases in the

desert.

What a lesson this teaches concerning the comparative effect of slave labour and free labour, on the prosperity of a State! It seems strange, indeed, that enlightened self-interest does not banish the accursed system from the world; for political economists ought to see that "it is worse than a crime, it is a blunder," as Napoleon once said of some error in state policy. But the fact is, self-interest never can be very much enlightened. vision derives its clearness from the heart.

All true

If ever this truth were legibly written on the face of the earth, it is inscribed on Virginia. No State in the Union has superior natural advantages. Look at its spacious bays, its broad and beautiful rivers, traversing the country in every direction; its majestic forests, its grand and picturesque mountains, its lovely and fertile valleys, and the abundance of its mineral wealth. Words could hardly be found enthusiastic enough to express the admiration of Europeans, who first visited this magnificent region. Some say her name was given. "because the country seemed to retain the virgin plenty and purity of the first creation, and the people their primitive innocency of life and manners." Waller describes it thus:

"So sweet the air, so moderate the clime,
None sickly lives, or dies before his time.
Heaven sure has kept this spot of earth uncurst,
To show how all things were created first."

freemen, deserted habitations and fields without culture. Strange to tell, even the wolf, driven back long since by the approach of man, now returns, after the lapse of a hundred years, to howl over the desolations of slavery."

The allusion to the wolf, is no figure of speech. Wild beasts have returned to extensive districts of Virginia, once inhabited and cultivated.

Some eighteen years ago, when I lived in the dream-land of romantic youth, and thought nothing of slavery, or any other evils that infest the social system, an intelligent young lady from the South told me an adventure, which made a strong impression on my imagination. She was travelling with her brother in the interior of eastern Virginia.

Marks of diminishing prosperity everywhere met
their view. One day, they entered upon a region
which seemed entirely deserted. Here and there
some elegant villa indicated the former presence of
wealth; but piazzas had fallen, and front doors had
either dropped, or hung suspended upon one hinge.
Here and there a stray garden-flower peeped forth,
amid the choking wilderness of weeds; and vines
once carefully trained on lattices, spread over the
ground in tangled confusion. Nothing disturbed the
silence, save the twittering of some startled bird, or
scared by the unusual noise of travellers.
the hoot and scream of gloomy wood creatures,

At last, they came to a church, through the roof of which a tree, rooted in the central aisle beneath, sent up its verdant branches into the sunlight above. Leaving their horse to browse on the grass-grown road, they passed into the building, to examine the interior. Their entrance startled innumerable birds Alas, that the shores of that beautiful State should and bats which flew circling round their heads, and become the Guinea coast of the New World!-our through the broken windows. The pews had coatscentral station of slavery and the slave trade! Of of-arms blazoned on the door-pannels, but birds had the effects produced, we need not question abolition-built their nests in the corners, and grass had grown ists, for we learn them from the lips of her own up through the chinks of the floor. The handsome sons. John Randolph said, years ago, that he ex-trimmings of the pulpit were so covered with dust,

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as to leave the original colour extremely doubtful. [tradition, like most others, is born of truth. It is On the cushion lay a gilt-edged Bible, still open not, as some suppose, a special vengeance on the probably at the place where religious lessons had wicked system; it is a simple result of the universal last been read. and intimate relation between spirit and matter. Freedom writes itself on the earth in growth and beauty; oppression, in dreariness and decay. If we attempt to trace this effect analytically, we shall find that it originates in landholders too proud to work, in labourers deprived of healthful motive, in the in

I have before my mind's eye a vivid picture of that lonely church, standing in the silence of the forest. In some moods of mind, how pleasant it would be to spend the Sabbath there alone, listening to the insects singing their prayers, or to the plaintive voice of the ring-dove, coming up from the inevitable intermediate class of overseers, who have most heart of the shaded forest,

"Whose deep, low note, is like a gentle wife,

A poor, a pensive, yet a happy one,
Stealing, when daylight's common tasks are done,
An hour for mother's work; and singing low,

While her tired husband and her children sleep."

In the stillness of Nature there is ever something sacred; for she pleadeth tenderly with man that he will live no more at discord with her; and, like the eloquent dumb boy, she ever carryeth "great names for God in her heart."

""Neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell that swingeth,
And tolls its perfume on the passing air,
Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth
A call to prayer."

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no interest in the soil or the labourers; but whose pay depends on the forced product they can extort from both. Mr. Faulkner, of Virginia, has stated the case impressively: "Compare the condition of the slaveholding portion of this commonwealth, barren, desolate, and seared as it were by the avenging hand of Heaven, with the description which we have of this same country from those who first broke its soil. To what is this change ascribable? Alone to the blasting and withering effects of slavery. To that vice in the organization of society, by which one-half its inhabitants are arrayed in interest and feeling against the other half; to that condition of things, in which half a million of your population can feel no sympathy with society, in the prosperity of which they are forbidden to participate, and no attachment to a government at whose hands they receive nothing but injustice."

Dr. Meade, of Virginia, in the records of an official tour through the State, speaks of great numbers of churches fallen absolutely into ruin, from the gradual impoverishment of surrounding estates, and the consequent dispersion of the population.

Pope's Creek Church, where General Washington was baptized, fell into such complete decay, that it was a resort for beasts and birds. It was set on fire a few years ago, lest the falling in of the roof should kill the cattle, accustomed to seek shade and shelter

there.

The rapid ruin and the unbroken stillness seemed so much like a work of enchantment, that the travellers named the place The Hamlet of the Seven Sleepers. At the next inhabited village, they obtained a brief outline of its history. It had been originally settled by wealthy families, with large plantations and numerous slaves. They were Virginian gentlemen of the olden school, and would Yet in view of these facts, statesmen, for tempohave felt themselves disgraced by the modern busi-rary purposes, are willing to spread over the rich ness of breeding slaves for market. In fact, strong prairies of Texas this devastating system, to devour, family pride made them extremely averse to sell like the locusts of Egypt, every green thing in its any slave that had belonged to their ancestors. So path. the slaves multiplied on their hands, and it soon took "all their corn to feed their hogs, and all their hogs to feed their negroes." Matters grew worse and worse with these old families. The strong soil was at last exhausted by the miserable system of slavery, and would no longer yield its increase. What could these aristocratic gentlemen do for their sons, under such circumstances? Plantations must be bought for them in the far Southwest, and they must disperse, with their trains of human cattle, to blight other new and fertile regions. There is an old superstition, that no grass grows where the devil has danced; and the effects of slavery show that this

And while we are thus wilfully perpetuating and extending this terrible evil, priests and politicians are not ashamed to say that it must be so, because the system was entailed upon us by the avarice of our ancestral government." Would any other evil, any evil which we ourselves did not choose, be tolerated among us, because it was a legacy from Great Britain? I never hear this weak apology offered, without thinking of the answer made to it by the eloquent George Thompson: "Yes, charge the guilt upon England; but, as you have copied England in her sin, copy her in her repentance,"

HEART-LEAP WELL.

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

Heart-Leap Well is a small spring of water, about five miles from Richmond in Yorkshire, and near the side of the road that leads from Richmond to Askrigg. Its name is derived from a remarkable Chase, the memory of which is preserved by the monuments spoken of in the second Part of the follow. ing Poem, which monuments do now exist as I have there described them.

The Knight had ridden down from Wensley Moor With the slow motion of a summer's cloud;

And now as he approached a vassal's door,

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Bring forth another horse!" he cried aloud.

"Another horse!"-That shout the vassal heard,
And saddled his best Steed, a comely grey;
Sir Walter mounted him; he was the third
Which he had mounted on that glorious day.

Joy sparkled in the prancing courser's eyes;
The horse and horseman are a happy pair;
But, though Sir Walter like a falcon flies,
There is a doleful silence in the air.

A rout this morning left Sir Walter's Hall,
That as they galloped made the echoes roar;
But horse and man are vanished, one and all;
Such race, I think, was never seen before.

Sir Walter, restless as a veering wind,
Calls to the few tired dogs that yet remain :
Blanch, Swift, and Music, noblest of their kind,
Follow, and up the weary mountain strain.

The knight hallooed, he cheered and chid them on
With suppliant gestures and upbraidings stern;
But breath and eyesight fail; and, one by one,
The dogs are scattered among the mountain fern.
Where is the throng, the tumult of the race?
The bugles that so joyfully were blown?
-This chase it looks not like an earthly chase;
Sir Walter and the Hart are left alone.

The poor Hart toils along the mountain side;
I will not stop to tell how far he fled,
Nor will I mention by what death he died;
But now the Knight beholds him lying dead.
Dismounting, then, he leaned against a thorn;
He had no follower, dog, nor man, nor boy:
He neither cracked his whip, nor blew his horn,
But gazed upon the spoil with silent joy.

Close to the thorn on which Sir Walter leaned,
Stood his dumb partner in this glorious feat;
Weak as a lamb the hour that it is yeaned;
And white with foam as if with cleaving sleet.

Upon his side the Hart was lying stretched :
His nostril touched a spring beneath a hill,
And with the last deep groan his breath had fetched
The waters of the spring were trembling still.

And now, too happy for repose or rest,
(Never had living man such joyful lot!)
Sir Walter walked all round, north, south, and west,
And gazed and gazed upon that darling spot.
And climbing up that hill-(it was at least
Nine roods of sheer ascent) Sir Walter found
Three several hoof-marks which the hunted Beast
Had left imprinted on the grassy ground.

Sir Walter wiped his face, and cried, «Till now
Such sight was never seen by human eyes:
Three leaps have borne him from this lofty brow,
Down to the weary fountain where he lies.

I'll build a pleasure-house upon this spot,
And a small arbour, made for rural joy;
"Twill be the traveller's shed, the pilgrim's cot,
A place of love for damsels that are coy.

A cunning artist will I have to frame

A basin for that fountain in the dell!

And they who do make mention of the same,

From this day forth, shall call it HEART-LEAP WELL.

And, gallant Stag! to make thy praises known,
Another monument shall here be raised;
Three several pillars, each a rough-hewn stone,
And planted where thy hoofs the tuft have grazed.
And, in the summer-time when days are long,
I will come hither with my Paramour;
And with the dancers and the minstrel's song
We will make merry in that pleasant bower.
Till the foundations of the mountain fail
My mansion with its arbour shall endure ;-
The joy of them who till the fields of Swale,
And them who dwell among the woods of Ure!"
Then home he went, and left the Hart stone-dead,
With breathless nostrils stretched above the spring.
-Soon did the Knight perform what he had said;
And far and wide the fame thereof did ring.

Ere thrice the Moon into her port had steered,
A cup of stone received the living well;
Three pillars of rude stone Sir Walter reared,
And built a house of pleasure in the dell.
And near the fountain, flowers of stature tall
With trailing plants and trees were intertwined,--
Which soon composed a little sylvan hall,
A leafy shelter from the sun and wind.
And thither, when the summer days were long,
Sir Walter led his wondering Paramour;
And with the dancers and the minstrel's song
Made merriment within that pleasant bower.

The Knight, Sir Walter, died in course of time,
And his bones lie in his paternal vale,—
But there is matter for a second rhyme,
And I to this would add another tale.

PART SECOND.

The moving accident is not my trade;
To freeze the blood I have no ready arts;
"Tis my delight, alone in summer shade,
To pipe a simple song for thinking hearts.
As I from Hawes to Richmond did repair,
It chanced that I saw standing in a dell
Three aspens at three corners of a square;
And one, not far distant, near a well.

What this imported I could ill divine:
And, pulling now the rein my horse to stop,
I saw three pillars standing in a line,-
The last stone-pillar on a dark hill-top.

The trees were grey, with neither arms nor head;
Half wasted the square mound of tawny green;
So that you just might say, as then I said,
"Here in old time the hand of man hath been."

I looked upon the hill both far and near,
More doleful place did never eye survey;
It seemed as if the spring-time came not here,
And Nature here were willing to decay.

I stood in various thoughts and fancies lost,
When one, who was in shepherd's garb attired,
Came up the hollow:-him did I accost,
And what his place might be I then inquired.

The Shepherd stopped, and that same story told
Which in my former rhyme I have rehearsed.
"A jolly place," said he, " in times of old!
But something ails it now: the spot is curst.

You see these lifeless stumps of aspen woodSome say that they are beeches, others elmsThese were the bower; and here a mansion stood, The finest palace of a hundred realms!

The arbour does its own condition tell;

You see the stones, the fountain, and the stream;
But as to the great Lodge! you might as well
Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.

There's neither dog nor heifer, horse nor sheep,
Will wet his lips within that cup of stone;
And oftentimes, when all are fast asleep,
This water doth send forth a dolorous groan.

Some say that here a murder has been done,
And blood cries out for blood: but, for my part,
I've guessed, when I've been sitting in the sun,
That it was all for that unhappy Hart.

What thoughts must through the creature's brain have past!

Even from the topmost stone, upon the steep,
Are but three bounds-and look, Sir, at this last-
O Master! it has been a cruel leap.

For thirteen hours he ran a desperate race; And in my simple mind we cannot tell

What cause the Hart might have to love this place,
And come and make his death bed near the well.

Here on the grass perhaps asleep he sank,
Lulled by the fountain in the summer-tide;
This water was perhaps the first he drank
When he had wandered from his mother's side.
In April here beneath the flowering thorn
He heard the birds their morning carols sing;
And he, perhaps, for aught we know, was born
Not half a furlong from that self-same spring.
Now, here is neither grass nor pleasant shade;
The sun on drearer hollow never shone,
So will it be, as I have often said,

Till trees, and stones, and fountain, all are gone."

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Grey-headed Shepherd, thou hast spoken well;
Small difference lies between thy creed and mine :
This Beast not unobserved by Nature fell;
His death was mourned by sympathy divine.
The Being, that is in the clouds and air,
That is in the green leaves among the groves,
Maintains a deep and reverential care,
For the unoffending creatures whom he loves.
The pleasure-house is dust :--behind, before,
This is no common waste, no common gloom;
But Nature, in due course of time, once more
Shall here put on her beauty and her bloom.

She leaves these objects to a slow decay,
That what we are, and have been, may be known;
But, at the coming of the milder day,
These monuments shall all be overgrown.

One lesson, Shepherd, let us two divide,
Taught both by what she shows, and what conceals;
Never to blend our pleasures or our pride
With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels."

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Oh

Have driven away the frost; the softened earth Invites me now to claim the right of birth.

may I come, and see day's sunny smile?" "Not yet, not yet. "Tis past the time of snow, But frosts come, and the nipping winds may blow. 'Tis safe for thee to hide a little while

Within thy cell: ere long shalt tho arise
And God thy life wilt keep." The April hours,

Soon weepingcome, with warm and genial skies, The germ springs up, and bears a crown of buds and flowers.

LOVE AND FAITH.

BY LYDIA MARIA CHILD.

load. He went, and returned in due time with empty cannisters; and this he continued to do for several days. The house bells in Madrid are usually so constructed that you pull downward to make them ring. The peasant afterward learned that his sagacious animal stopped before the door of every customer, and after waiting what he deemed a sufficient time,

ment will thus idealize the jackass, what may it not do? Assuredly there is no limit to its power. It can banish crime, and make this earth an Eden.

I thank my heavenly Father for every manifesta. tion of human love. I thank him for all experiences, be they sweet or bitter, which help me to forgive all things, and to enfold the whole world with bless-pulled the bell with his mouth. If affectionate treating. What shall be our reward,' says Swedenborg, ' for loving our neighbour as ourselves in this life? That when we become angels, we shall be enabled to love him better than ourselves.' This is a reward The best tamer of colts that was ever known in pure and holy; the only one, which my heart has Massachusetts, never allowed whip or spur to be not rejected, whenever offered as an incitement to used; and the horses he trained never needed the goodness. It is this chiefly which makes the hap- whip. Their spirits were unbroken by severity, piness of lovers more nearly allied to heaven, than and they obeyed the slightest impulse of the voice any other emotions experienced by the human heart. or rein, with the most animated promptitude; but Each loves the other better than himself; each is rendered obedient to affection, their vivacity was willing to sacrifice all to the other-nay, finds joy always restrained by graceful docility. He said it therein. This it is that surrounds them with a was with horses as with children; if accustomed to golden atmosphere, and tinges the world with rose-beating, they would not obey without it. colour. A mother's love has the same angelic cha-managed with untiring gentleness, united with conracter; more completely unselfish, but lacking the sistent and very equable firmness, the victory once charm of perfect reciprocity. gained over them, was gained for ever.

The cure for all the ills and wrongs, the cares, the sorrows, and the crimes of humanity, all lie in that one word, LOVE. It is the divine vitality that every where produces and restores life. To each and every one of us it gives the power of working miracles, if we will.

Love is the story without an end, and angels throng to hear; The word, the king of words, carved on Jehovah's heart.' From the highest to the lowest, all feel its influence, all acknowledge its sway. Even the poor, despised donkey is changed by its magic influence. When coerced and beaten, he is vicious, obstinate, and stupid. With the peasantry of Spain, he is a petted favourite, almost an inmate of the household. The children bid him welcome home, and the wife feeds him from her hands. He knows them all, and he loves them all, for he feels in his inmost heart that they all love him. He will follow his master, and come and go at his bidding, like a faithful dog; and he delights to take the baby on his back, and walk him round, gently, on the greensward. His intellect expands, too, in the sunshine of affection; and he that is called the stupidest of animals becomes sagacious. A Spanish peasant had for many years carried milk into Madrid to supply a set of customers. Every morning, he and his donkey, with loaded panniers, trudged the well-known round. At last, the peasant became very ill, and had no one to send to market. His wife proposed to send the faithful old animal by himself. The panniers were accordingly filled with cannisters of milk, an inscription, written by the priest, requested customers to measure their own milk, and return the vessels; and the donkey was instructed to set off with his

But if

In the face of all these facts, the world goes on manufacturing whips, spurs, the gallows, and chains ; while each one carries within his own soul a divine substitute for these devil's inventions, with which he might work miracles, inward and outward, if he would. Unto this end let us work with unfaltering faith. Great is the strength of an individual soul, true to its high trust;-mighty is it even to the redemption of a world.

A German, whose sense of sound was exceedingly acute, was passing by a church, a day or two after he had landed in this country, and the sound of music attracted him to enter, though he had no knowledge of our language. The music proved to be a piece of nasal psalmody, sung in most discordant fashion; and the sensitive German would fain have covered his ears. As this was scarcely civil, and might appear like insanity, his next impulse was to rush into the open air, and leave the hated sounds behind him. But this too I feared to do,' said he, lest offence might be given; so I resolved to endure the torture with the best fortitude I could assume ; when lo! I distinguished amid the din, the soft clear voice of a woman singing in perfect tune. She made no effort to drown the voices of her companions, neither was she disturbed by their noisy discord; but patiently and sweetly she sang in full, rich tones: one after another yielded to the gentle influence; and before the tune was finished, all were in perfect harmony.'

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I have often thought of this story as conveying an instructive lesson for reformers. The spirit that can thus sing patiently and sweetly in a world of discord, must indeed be of the strongest, as well as the gentlest kind. One scarce can hear his own soft

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