JUDE HALL was born at Exeter, N. H., and was a soldier in the Revolutionary War, under General Poor. He served faithfully eight years, and fought in most all the battles, beginning at Bunker Hill. He was called a great soldier, and was known in New Hampshire to the day of his death by the name of “Old Rock.”

Singular to relate, three of his sons have been kidnapped at different times, and reduced to slavery. James was put on board a New Orleans vessel; Aaron was stolen from Providence, in 1807; William went to sea in the bark Hannibal, from Newburyport, and was sold in the West Indies, from whence he escaped after ten years of slavery, and sailed as captain of a collier from Newcastle to London.

The anecdote of the slave of Gen. Sullivan, of New Hampshire, is well known. When his master told him that they were on the point of starting for the army, to fight for liberty, he shrewdly suggested, that it would be a great satisfaction to know that he was indeed going to fight for his liberty. Struck with the reasonableness and justice of this suggestion, Gen. S. at once gave him his freedom.

It is not very surprising, that in the time of the Revolutionary War, when so much was said of freedom, equality, and the rights of man, the poor African should think that he had some rights, and should seek that freedom which others valued so highly. There were slaves then, even in New Hampshire, and their owners, like the Egyptians of old, and the Carolinians now, were unwilling to “let them go.” Here is an extract from the Journal of New Hampshire, touching this matter, showing how justice and humanity were postponed, as repentance often is, to a more convenient opportunity:—

Senator Morrill, of New Hampshire, in his speech at Washington, in 1820, on the Missouri question, alluded to a colored man in his own State, by the name of CHESWELL, who, with his family, were respectable in point of property, ability, and character. He held some of the first offices of the town in which he resided, was appointed Justice of the Peace for the county, and was perfectly competent to perform all the duties of his various offices in the most prompt, accurate, and acceptable manner.

“In New Hampshire,” says Dr. Belknap, in 1795, “those blacks who enlisted into the army for three years, were entitled to the same bounty as the whites. This bounty their masters received as the price of their liberty, and then delivered up their bills of sale, and gave them a certificate of manumission. Several of these bills and certificates were deposited in my hands; and those who survived the three years' service were free.”*

New Hampshire papers of a quite recent date record the death, at Hanover, of Mrs. JANE E. WENTWORTH, a colored woman, at the age of three score and ten. Graduates at Dartmouth will recollect her as Aunt Jenny, the wash-woman, and nurse in sickness. Her parents were slaves, kidnapped when very young, and came by inheritance in possession of the family of Mrs. House, of Hanover. They were subsequently sold to a gentleman in Salem, N. H., where they remained until they were emancipated by the laws of the State. Jenny was born in Hanover, in 1777, was sold with her parents, and upon becoming free, she married Charles Wentworth, a slave of Gov. Wentworth. They then removed to Hanover, where they remained till their death. Jenny outlived her husband several years, and was one of the last of the African race who in our early history were held in bondage in New England.

AUGUST 16th, 1777, the Green Mountain Boys, aided by troops from New Hampshire, and some few from Berkshire County, Massachusetts, under the command of Gen. Stark, captured the left wing of the British army near Bennington. As soon as arrangements could be made, after the prisoners were all collected,—something more than seven hundred,—they were tied to a rope, one on each side. The rope not being long enough, Gen. Stark called for more; when Mrs. Robinson, wife of Hon. Moses Robinson, said to the General, “I will take down the last bedstead in the house, and present the rope to you, on one condition. When the prisoners are all tied to the rope, you shall permit my negro man to harness up my old mare, and hitch the rope to the whiffletree, mount the mare, and conduct the British and tory prisoners out of town.” The General willingly accepted Mrs. Robinson's proposition. The negro mounted the mare, and thus conducted the left wing of the British army into Massachusetts, on their way to Boston.

Tim Hon. Tristam Burges, of Rhode Island, in a speech in Congress, January, 1828, said:—“At the commencement of the Revolutionary War, Rhode Island had a number of slaves. A regiment of them were enlisted into the Continental service, and no braver men met the enemy in battle; but not one of them was permitted to be a soldier until he had first been made a freeman.”

“In Rhode Island,” says Governor Eustis, in his able speech against slavery in Missouri, 12th December, 1820, “the blacks formed an entire regiment, and they discharged their duty with zeal and fidelity. The gallant defence of Red Bank, in which the black regiment bore a part, is among the proofs of their valor.” In this contest, it will be recollected that four hundred men met and repulsed, after a terrible and sanguinary struggle, fifteen hundred Hessian troops, headed by Count Donop. The glory of the defence of Red Bank, which has been pronounced one of the most heroic actions of the war, belongs in reality to black men; yet who now hears them spoken of in connection with it? Among the traits which distinguished the black regiment, was devotion to their officers. In the attack made upon the American lines, near Croton river, on the 13th of May, 1781, Colonel Greene, the commander of the regiment, was cut down and mortally wounded but the sabres of the enemy only reached him through the bodies of his faithful guard of blacks, who hovered over him to protect him, and every one of whom was killed.

Lieu tenant-Colonel Barton, of the Rhode Island militia, planned a bold exploit for the purpose of surprising and taking Major-General Prescott, the commanding officer of the royal army at Newport. Taking with him, in the night, about forty men, in two boats, with ours muffled, he had the address to elude the vigilance of the ships of war and guard boats, and, having arrived undiscovered at the General's quarters, they were taken for the sentinels, and the General was not alarmed till his captors were at the door of his lodging chamber, which was fast closed. A negro man, named Prince, instantly thrust his head through the panel door and seized the victim while in bed. The General's aid-decamp leaped from a window undressed, and attempted to escape, but was taken, and, with the General, brought off in safety.*

HON. CALVIN GODDARD, of Connecticut, states that in the little circle of his residence, he was instrumental in securing, under the Act of 1818, the pensions of nineteen colored soldiers. “I cannot,” he says, “refrain from mentioning one black man, PRIMUS BABCOCK, who proudly presented to me an honorable discharge from service during the war, dated, at the close of it, wholly in the handwriting of George Washington. Nor can I forget the expression of his feelings, when informed, after his discharge had been sent to the War Department, that it could not be returned. At his request, it was written for, as he seemed inclined to spurn the pension and reclaim the discharge.”

There is a touching anecdote related of Baron Steuben, on the occasion of the disbandment of the American army. A black soldier, with his wounds unheated, utterly destitute, stood on the wharf, just as a vessel bound for his distant home was getting under weigh. The poor fellow gazed at the vessel with tears in his eyes, and gave himself up to despair. The warm-hearted foreigner witnessed his emotion, and, inquiring into the cause of it, took his last dollar from his purse, and gave it to him, while tears of sympathy trickled down his cheeks. Overwhelmed with gratitude, the poor wounded soldier hailed the sloop, and was received on board. As it moved out from the wharf, he cried back to his noble friend on shore, “God Almighty bless you, master Baron!”

During the Revolutionary War, and after the sufferings of a protracted contest had rendered it difficult to procure recruits for the army, the Colony of Connecticut adopted the expedient of forming a corps of colored soldiers. A battalion of blacks was soon enlisted, and, throughout the war, conducted themselves with fidelity and efficiency. The late General Humphreys, then a Captain, commanded a company of this corps. It is said that some objections were made, on the part of officers, to accepting the command of the colored troops. In this exigency, Capt. Humphreys, who was attached to the family of Gen. Washington, volunteered his services. His patriotism was rewarded, and his fellow officers were afterwards as desirous to obtain appointments in that corps as they had previously been to avoid them.

The following extract from the pay roll of the second company, fourth regiment, of the Connecticut line of the Revolutionary army, may rescue many gallant names from oblivion:—

The Hartford Review for Sept., 1839, gives the following account of a colored man by the name of HAMET, then living in Middletown, who was formerly owned by Washington:—“Hamet is, according to his own account, nearly one hundred years old. He draws a pension for his services in the Revolutionary War, and manufactures toy drums for his support. He has a white wife and one child. His hair is white with age, and hangs matted together in masses over his shoulders. His height is about four feet six inches. He retains a perfect recollection of his massa, and missus Washington, and has several remembrancers of them. Among these, there is a lock of the General's hair, and his (the General's) service sword. He converses in three or four different languages,—the French, Spanish and German, besides his native African tongue.”

A clergyman in Connecticut, during the Revolutionary War, manifested, on all occasions, his zeal in the cause of freedom and his country, but, at the same time, held in bondage a colored man named Jack. To contend for liberty, and hold the poor African in slavery, was, according to Jack's conception of right and wrong, a manifest inconsistency. Under this impression, and anxious to obtain that liberty which is the inherent and natural right of man, Jack went to his master one day, and addressed him in the following language:— “Master, I observe you alway keep preaching about liberty and praying for liberty, and I love to hear you, sir, for liberty be a good thing. You preach well and you pray well; but one thing you remember, master,—Poor Jack is not free yet.” Struck with the propriety and force of Jack's admonition, the clergyman, after a momentary pause, told Jack if he would behave well in his service for one year longer, he should be free. Jack fulfilled the condition, obtained his freedom, and became a man of some property and respectability.*

EBENEZER HILLS died at Vienna, New York, August, 1849, aged one hundred and ten. He was born a slave, in Stonington, Connecticut, and became free when twenty-eight years of age. He served through the Revolutionary War, and was at the battles of Saratoga and Stillwater, and was present at the surrender of Burgoyne.

In a letter to the author, Parker Pillsbury, of New Hampshire, says:—“The names of the two brave men of color, who fell, with Ledyard, at the storming of Fort Griswold, were LAMBO LATHAM and JORDAN FREEMAN. All the names of the slain, at that time, are inscribed on a marble tablet, wrought into the monument—the names of the colored soldiers last,—and not only last, but a blank space is left between them and the whites; in genuine keeping with the “Negro Pew” distinction—setting them not only below all others, but by themselves, even after that. And it is difficult to say why. They were not last in the fight. When Major Montgomery, one of the leaders in the expedition against the Americans, was lifted upon the walls of the fort by his soldiers, flourishing his sword and calling on them to follow him, JORDAN FREEMAN received him on the point of a pike, and pinned him dead to the earth. [ Vide Hist. Collections of Connecticut.] And the name of JORDAN FREEMAN stands away down, last on the list of heroes,—perhaps the greatest hero of them all.”

As early as 1712, there had been an insurrection of the slaves in New York, and the recollection of this, and a general distrust of the negro population, rendered the citizen of that city peculiarly suspicious of their movements; and when, in 1741, the cry was raised of a “negro plot,” there ensued a scene of confusion and alarm, of folly, frenzy and injustice, which scarcely has a parallel in this, or any other, country. It happened that a Spanish vessel, partly manned with negroes, had previously been brought into New York as a prize, and that all the men had been condemned as slaves, in the Court of Admiralty, and were sold at vendue. Now, these men had the impudence to say notwithstanding they were black, that they had been free men in their own country, and to grumble at their hard usage in being sold for slaves. One of them had been bought by the owner of a house in which fire had been discovered, and a cry was raised among the people—“The Spanish negroes!”—“Take up the Spanish negroes!” They were immediately incarcerated, and, a fire occurring in the afternoon of the same day, the rumor became general, that the slaves, in a body, were concerned in these wicked attempts to burn the city.

The negroes were brought to trial, May 29, 1741. The principal evidence against them was one Mary Burton, the common informer, who was rewarded by the sum of one hundred dollars from the city authorities. She continued to implicate parties, until the “people of consequence” began to be annoyed by her, when the prosecutions became unpopular, and the excitement subsided. There was some evidence against them from negroes, as, by a law of the colony, the evidence of slaves was competent against each other, though not allowed to be used against white men. The prisoners had no counsel, while the Attorney General, assisted by two members of the bar, appeared against them. The evidence had little consistency, and was extremely loose and general. The arguments of the lawyers were chiefly declamatory respecting the horrible plot, of the existence of which, however, no sufficient evidence was introduced. “The monstrous ingratitude of the black tribe (was the language of one of them in addressing the jury) is what exceedingly aggravated their guilt; their slavery among us is generally softened with great indulgence.” The prisoners were immediately convicted, and were sentenced by the Court, in a brutal address, (which is singularly indicative of the general excitement on the subject,) to be burnt to death. “You, abject wretches,” said the Judge, “the outcast of the nations of the earth, are treated here with tenderness and humanity”! The prisoners protested their innocence, and utterly denied any knowledge of any plot whatever; but, when they were taken out to execution, the poor creatures were much terrified; and, when chained to the stake, and the executioner was ready to apply the torch, they admitted all that was required of them. An attempt was then made to procure a reprieve; but a great multitude had assembled to witness the executions, and the excitement was so great, that it was considered impossible to return the prisoners to prison; they were, accordingly, burned at the stake.

John Ury, the son of a former Secretary of the South Sea Company, a non-juring clergyman, and a man of education, was convicted, on the evidence of Mary Burton, though denying all knowledge of any plot, or even of the witnesses who testified against him.

After his execution, a day of thanksgiving to Almighty God was observed by public command, for the delivery from the late execrable conspiracy. But the public mind was at rest for a short time only. A few negroes in Queen's county, on Long Island, having formed themselves into a military company for amusement on the Christmas holidays, a letter was written to the authorities there by the Attorney General, and the slaves were severely chastised for this daring piece of insolence. The cry of a new plot was immediately raised, which resulted in the execution of other slaves. The whole number of persons taken into custody was over one hundred and fifty. Of these, four white persons were hanged; eleven negroes were burnt, eighteen were hanged, and fifty were sold, principally in the West Indies.

Thus ended the famous “Negro Plot” of New York. Upon a review of the evidence, as reported by one who had implicit faith in the existence of a conspiracy, we have no difficulty in pronouncing the whole thing to have been a complete delusion—the natural result of the condition of society at that day. This opinion is confirmed by Bancroft, United States historian, and Dunlap, in the History of New York.*

Dr. Clarke, in the Convention which revised the Constitution of New York, in 1821, speaking of the colored inhabitants of the State, said:—My honorable colleague has told us, that, as the colored people are not required to contribute to the protection or defence of the State, they are not entitled to an equal participation in the privileges of its citizens. But, Sir, whose fault is this? Have they ever refused to do military duty when called upon? It is haughtily asked, who will stand in the ranks shoulder to shoulder with a negro? I answer, no one, in time of peace; no one, when your musters and trainings are looked upon as mere pastimes; no one, when your militia will shoulder their muskets and march to their trainings with as much unconcern as they would go to a sumptuous entertainment or a splendid ball. But, Sir, when the hour of danger approaches, your ‘white’ militia are just as willing that the man of color Should be set up as a mark to be shot at by the enemy, as to be set up themselves. In the War of the Revolution, these people helped to fight your battles by land and by sea. Some of your States were glad to turn out corps of colored men, and to stand ‘shoulder to shoulder’ with them.

“In your late war, they contributed largely towards some of your most splendid victories. On Lakes Erie and Champlain, where your fleets triumphed over a foe superior in numbers and engines of death, they were manned, in a large proportion, with men of color. And, in this very House, in the fall of 1814, a bill passed, receiving the a probation of all the branches of your government, authorising the Governor to accept the services of a corps of two thousand free people of color. Sir, these were times which tried men's souls. In these times, it was no sporting matter to bear arms. These were times, when a man who shouldered his musket, did not know but he bared his bosom to receive a death wound from the enemy, ere he laid it aside; and, in these times, these people were found as ready and as willing to volunteer in your service as any other. They were not compelled to go; they were not drafted. No; your pride had placed them beyond your compulsory power. But there was no necessity for its exercise; they were volunteers; yes, Sir, volunteers to defend that very country from the inroads and ravages of a ruthless and vindictive foe, which had treated them with insult, degradation, and slavery.

THE Burlington Gazette gives the following account of an aged colored resident of that city, which will be read with much interest:—

“The attention of many of our citizens has, doubtless, been arrested by the appearance of an old colored man, who might have been seen, sitting in front of his residence, in East Union street, respectfully raising his hat to those who might be passing by. His attenuated frame, his silvered head, his feeble movements, combine to prove that he is very aged; and yet, comparatively few are aware that he is among the survivors of the gallant army who fought for the liberties of our country, ‘in the days which tried men's souls.’

“On Monday last, we stopped to speak to him, and asked him how old he was. He asked the day of the month, and, upon being told that it was the 24th of May, replied, with trembling lips, ‘I am very old—I am a hundred years old to-day.’

“His name is OLIVER CROMWELL, and he says that he was born at the Black Horse, (now Columbus,) in this county, in the family of John Hutchin. He enlisted in company commanded by Capt. Lowery, attached to the Second New Jersey Regiment, under the command of Col. Israel Shreve. He was at the battles of Trenton, Princeton, Brandywine, Monmouth, and Yorktown, at which latter place, he told us, he saw the last man killed. Although his faculties are failing, yet he relates many interesting reminiscences the Revolution. He was with the army at the retreat of the Delaware, on the memorable crossing of the 25th of December, 1776, and relates the story of the battles on the succeeding days with enthusiasm. He gives the details of the march from Trenton to Princeton, and told us, with much humor, that they ‘knocked the British about lively’ at the latter place. He was also at the battle of Springfield, and says that he saw the house burning in which Mrs. Caldwell was shot, at Connecticut Farms.”

I further learn, that Cromwell was brought up a farmer, having served his time with Thomas Hutchins, Esq., his maternal uncle. He was, for six years and nine months, under the immediate command of Washington, whom he loved affectionately. “His discharge,” (says Dr. M'Cune Smith,) “at the close of the war, was in Washington's own hand-writing, of which he was very proud, often speaking of it. He received, annually, ninety-six dollars pension. He lived a long and honorable life. Had he been of a little lighter complexion, (he was just half white,) every newspaper in the land would have been eloquent in praise of many virtues.” He left three sons and three daughters; had fourteen children who reached the age of maturity—seven sons and seven daughters. He saw his grand-children to the third generation. He was a man of strong natural powers—never chewed tobacco nor drank a glass of ardent spirit. He died, in the town of his birth, January 24th, 1853, and now sleeps in the church-yard of the Broad street Methodist Church.

“SAMUEL CHARLTON,” says Mr. McDougal, “was born in the State of New Jersey, a slave, in the family of Mr. M., who owned, also, other members belonging to his family—all residing in the English neighborhood. During the progress of the war, he was placed by his master, (as a substitute for himself,) in the army then in New Jersey, as a teamster in the baggage train. He was in active service at the battle of Monmouth, not only witnessing, but taking a part in, the struggle of that day. He was, also, in several other engagements in different sections of that part of the State. He was a great admirer of General Washington, and was, at one time, attached to his baggage train, and received the General's commendation for his courage and devotion to the cause of liberty. Mr. Charlton was about fifteen or seventeen years of age when placed in the army, for which his master rewarded him with a silver dollar. At the expiration of his time, he returned to his master, to serve again in bondage, after having toiled, fought and bled for liberty, in common with the regular soldiery. Mr. M., at his death, by will, liberated his slaves, and provided a pension for Charlton, to be paid during his lifetime. Mr. Charlton then, with his wife, took up his residence in New York city, with his son, Charles Charlton. He died twelve years since, being about eighty years of age. He and his partner were both honored and worthy members of the Dutch Reformed Church.

“An old colored woman,” says the Stamford Advocate, “familiarly known as HAGAR, died in this village, on Saturday last. Her age is not exactly known, but, from the most reliable data at our command, we infer that she must have been upward of a hundred years old. She was born a slave, in Newark, New Jersey, and was brought to Stamford when she was five or six years old, and lived here until the day of her death. A lady, Mrs. Knapp, now living, aged ninety-six years, remembers that Hagar used to carry her when a child. Assuming that Mrs. Knapp must have been three years old at the time to which her recollection extends, and that Hagar must have been thirteen to be charged with the care of children, it will make her, at the time of her death, one hundred and six years old. Another circumstance confirms this view of the case. During the Revolutionary War, Hagar was a cook in Weed's Tavern, and her husband, George Dykins, was hostler in the same establishment. Hagar used to relate, that she once cooked a dinner for General Washington, when he stopped at the tavern, on his way to Cambridge, Massachusetts, the head-quarters of the American army, in June, 1775. On the same occasion, Washington presented to her husband a silver dollar for his name's sake. Supposing Hagar to have been twenty-seven at that time, it would make her age one hundred and six, as is the case of the first supposition. In all probability, this is very nearly her age.”

The Newark Eagle published, some time ago, the following account of a consistent celebration of the Fourth of July, in Woodbridge:—

“We have recently had an interview with a person who was present at the first abolition meeting ever held in the United States. It took place in the township of Woodbridge, County of Middlesex, in this State, on the Fourth of July, 1783, being the first anniversary of our Independence, after the close of the Revolutionary War. Great preparations had been made—an ox was roasted, and an immense number had assembled on the memorable occasion. A platform was erected, just above the heads of the spectators, and, at a given signal, Dr. Bloomfield, father of the late Governor Bloomfield, of this State, mounted the platform, followed by his fourteen slaves, male and female, seven taking their stations on his right hand, and seven on his left. Being thus arranged, he advanced somewhat in front of his slaves, and addressed the multitude on the subject of slavery and its evils, and, in conclusion, pointing to those on his right and left, ‘As a nation,’ said he, ‘we are free and independent,—all men are created equal, and why should these, my fellow citizens, my equals, be held in bondage? From this day, they are emancipated; and I here declare them free, and absolved from all servitude to me or my posterity.’ Then, calling up before him one somewhat advanced in years—‘Hector,’ said the Doctor, ‘whenever you become too old or infirm to support yourself, you are entitled to your maintenance from me or my property. How long do you suppose it will be before you will require that maintenance?’ Hector held up his left hand, and, with his right, drew a line across the middle joints of his fingers, saying—‘Never, never, massa, so long as any of these fingers remain below these joints.’ Then, turning to the audience, the Doctor remarked,—‘There, fellow-citizens, you see that liberty is as dear to the man of color as to you or me.’ The air now rung with shouts of applause, and thus the scene ended.

“Dr. Bloomfield immediately procured for Hector, either by purchase or setting off from his own farm, three acres of land, and built him a small house, where he resided and cultivated his little farm until the day of his death;* and it was a common remark with the neighbors, that Hector's hay, when he took it to Amboy to sell, would always command a better price than their own.”†

In the engravings of Washington crossing the Delaware on the evening previous to the battle of Trenton, Dec. 25, 1779, a colored soldier is seen, on horseback, quite prominent, near the Commander-in-Chief, —the same figure that, in other sketches, is seen pulling the stroke oar in that memorable crossing. This colored soldier was PRINCE WHIPPLE, body-guard to Gen. Whipple, of New Hampshire, who was Aid to General Washington.

PRINCE WHIPPLE was born at Amabou, Africa, of comparatively wealthy parents. When about ten years of age, he was sent by them, in company with a cousin, to America, to be educated. An elder brother had returned four years before, and his parents were anxious that their other child should receive the same benefits. The captain who brought the two boys over proved a treacherous villain, and carried them to Baltimore, where he exposed them for sale, and they were both purchased by Portsmouth men, Prince falling to Gen. Whipple. He was emancipated during the war, was much esteemed, and was once entrusted by the General with a large sum of money to carry from Salem to Portsmouth. He was attacked on the road, near Newburyport, by two ruffians; one he struck with a loaded whip, the other he shot, and succeeded in arriving home in safety.

Prince was beloved by all who knew him. He was the “Caleb Quotem” of Portsmouth, where. he died at the age of thirty-two, leaving a widow and children. Their descendants now reside in that place, one being married to Dr. Isaac H. Snowden, son of Rev. Samuel Snowden, of Boston.

Delaware is yet disgraced by a statute forbidding the immigration of free colored persons. Even her own native-born colored citizens, on absenting themselves, cannot return to the State without being liable to fines and imprisonment. A colored man from Columbia, Penn., some six years since, going into the State, was informed against, and fined by a magistrate fifty dollars, after he had been some time in prison. That noble friend of humanity, THOMAS GARRETT, paid his fine and costs,—about eighty-six dollars, (a portion of which was contributed, in Pennsylvania.) The facts were published, when the magistrate sued Mr. Garrett for libel, and he was bound over in the sum of one thousand dollars. The magistrate committed an act of dishonesty, left his family and the State several years to avoid prosecution, and finally his friends obtained a pardon from the Governor, and he returned, and was reappointed magistrate. Mr. Garrett, fearing that, as he had once absented himself, he might do so again, had him bound over in the sum of five hundred dollars to prosecute the charge; but Mr. Garrett has not been troubled on the subject since.

I learn from Mr. Garrett that three arrests have since been made in Newcastle county, but the law was so odious, that the magistrates, fearing their credit would be injured, released the men on their own recognizance, and they left the State. Judge Booth states that a colored girl, in order to obtain better wages, left her parents in Sussex and crossed over to Jersey, where she remained two years. Her mother was then taken ill, and she returned home to nurse her. After she died, before the funeral, some fiend in human shape informed against her. The magistrate issued the writ, and the constable served it before the corpse left the house. Such was the indignation of the neighborhood, however, (slaveholders though they were,) that the informer and constable would have been mobbed if they had not desisted from their attempt. The girl remained at her father's house unmolested.

DAVID WALKER was born in Wilmington, North Carolina September 28, 1785. His mother was a free woman but his father was a slave. His innate hatred to slavery was early developed. When yet a boy, he declared that the slaveholding South was not the place for him, and, receiving his mother's blessing, he turned his back upon North Carolina, and, after many trials, reached Boston Mass., where he took up his permanent residence.

He applied himself to study, in order to contribute some thing to the cause of humanity. In 1827, he entered into the clothing business, in Brattle street; married in 1828 and in 1829, published his “APPEAL,” which, as Henry H. Garnet truly says, “produced more commotion among slaveholders than any volume of its size that was ever issued from the American press. They saw that it was bold attack upon their idolatry, and that, too, by a black man, who once lived among them. It was merely a smooth stone which this David took up, yet it terrified a host of Goliahs. The Governor of Georgia wrote to the Hon. Harrison Gray Otis, then Mayor of Boston, requesting him to suppress the “Appeal.” His Honor replied to Southern censor, that he had no power nor disposition to hinder Mr. Walker from pursuing a lawful course in utterance of his thoughts.”

Mr. Walker died in Bridge street, in 1830, aged thirty-four. His son, Edward Garrison Walker, now resides in Charlestown, Mass., with his mother, Mrs. Dewson. Mr. Walker was a faithful member of the Methodist Church in Boston, whose pastor was the venerable Father Snowden.

JONATHAN OVERTON, (says the Edenton Whig,) a colored man, and a soldier of the Revolution, died at this place, at the advanced age of one hundred and years. The deceased served under Washington, and at the battle of Yorktown, besides other less important engagements. He was deservedly held in great respect by our citizens; for, apart from the feeling of veneration which every American must entertain for the scanty remnant of Revolutionary heroes, of which death is fast depriving us the deceased was personally worthy of the esteem and consideration of our community. He has lived among us longer than the ordinary period allotted to human life, and always sustained a character for honesty, industry, and integrity. It is not always that the eulogies or epitaphs of persons, in much more exalted positions than his, contain much truth as does this brief tribute to the humble and patriotic negro. We learn that several gentlemen have made arrangements to have the burial accompanied by every mark of respect.

ON the West side of the Apalachicola River, (says the Hon. Joshua R. Giddings, in a narrative from which this account is taken,) some forty miles below the line of Georgia, are yet found the ruins of what was once called “Blount's Fort.” Its ramparts are now covered with a dense growth of underbrush and small trees. You may yet trace its bastions, curtains, and magazine. At this time, the country adjacent presents the appearance of an unbroken wilderness, and the whole scene is one of gloomy solitude, associated, as it is, with one of the most cruel massacres which ever disgraced the American arms.

The fort had originally been erected by civilized troops, and, when abandoned by its occupants at the close of the war, in 1815, it was taken possession of by the refugees from Georgia. But little is yet known of that persecuted people; their history can only be found in the national archives at Washington. They had been held as slaves the State referred to; but, during the Revolution, they caught the spirit of liberty,—at that time so prevalent throughout our land,—and fled from their oppressors, and found an asylum among the aborigines living in Florida.

During forty years, they had effectually eluded or resisted all attempts to reënslave them. They were true to themselves, to the instinctive love of liberty which is planted in every human heart. Most of them had been born amidst perils, reared in the forests, and taught from their childhood to hate the oppressors of their race. Most of those who had been personally held in degrading servitude, whose backs had been scarred by the lash of the savage overseer, had passed to that spirit land, where clanking of chains is not heard, where slavery is not known. Some few of that class yet remained. Their grey hairs and feeble limbs, however, indicated that they, too, must soon pass away. Of the three hundred and eleven persons residing in “Blount's Fort,” not more than twenty had been actually held in servitude. The others were descended from slave parents, who fled from Georgia, and, according to the laws of the slave States, were liable to suffer the same outrage to which their ancestors had been subjected.

The slaveholders, finding they could not themselves obtain possession of their intended victims, called on the President of the United States for assistance to perpetrate the crime of enslaving their fellow-men.

General Jackson, Commander of the Southern Military District, directed Lieutenant-Colonel Clinch to perform the barbarous task. I was at one time personally acquainted with that officer, and know the impulses of his generous nature and can readily account for the failure of his expedition. He marched to the fort, made the necessary reconnoisance, and returned, making report that “the fortification was not accessible by land.”

Orders were then issued to Commodore Patterson, directing him to carry out the orders of the Secretary of War. He, at that time, commanded the American flotilla lying in “Mobile Bay,” and instantly issued an order to Lieutenant Loomis to ascend the Apalachicola River with two boats, “to seize the people in Blount's Fort, deliver them to their owners, and destroy the fort.”

On the morning of the 17th of September, 1816, a spectator might have seen several individuals standing upon the walls of that fortress, watching with intense interest the approach of two small vessels that were slowly ascending the river under full spread canvass, by the aid of a light southern breeze. They were in sight at early dawn, but it was ten o'clock when they furled their sails and cast anchor opposite the fort, and some four or five hundred yards distant from it.

A boat was lowered, and soon a midshipman and twelve men were observed making for the shore. They were met at the water's edge by some half-dozen of the principal men in the fort, and their errand demanded.

The young officer told them he was sent to make a demand of the fort, and its inmates were to be given up to the “slaveholders, then on board the gun-boat, who claimed them as fugitive slaves!” The demand was instantly rejected, and the midshipman and his men returned to the gun-boats, and informed Lieutenant Loomis of the answer he had received.

As the colored men entered the fort, they related to their companions the demand that had been made. Great was the consternation manifested by the females, and even a portion of the sterner sex began to be distressed at their situation. This was observed by an old patriarch, who had drank the bitter cup of servitude—one who bore on his person the visible marks of the thong, as well as, the brand of his master upon his shoulder. He saw his friends falter, and he spoke cheerfully to them. He assured them that they were safe from the cannon-shot of the enemy—that there were not men enough on board to storm their fort; and, finally, closed with the emphatic declaration, “Give me liberty, or give me death!” This saying was repeated by many agonized fathers and mothers on that bloody day.

A cannonade was soon commenced upon the fort, but without much apparent effect. The shots were harmless; they penetrated the earth of which the walls were composed, and were there buried without further injury. Some two hours were thus spent, without injuring any person in the fort. They then commenced throwing bombs. The bursting of these shells had more effect; there was no shelter from these fatal messengers. Mothers gathered their little ones around them, and pressed their babes more closely to their bosoms, as one explosion after another warned them of their imminent danger. By these explosions, some were occasionally wounded, and a few killed, until, at length, the shrieks of the wounded and the groans of the dying were heard in various parts of the fortress.

Do you ask why those mothers and children were butchered in cold blood? I answer, they were slain for adhering to the doctrine that “all men are endowed by their Creator with the inalienable right to enjoy life and liberty.” Holding to this doctrine of Hancock and Jefferson, the power of the nation was arrayed against them, and our army employed to deprive them of life.

The bombardment was continued some hours with but little effect, so far as the assailants could discover. They manifested no disposition to surrender. The day was passing away. Lieutenant Loomis called a council of officers, and put to them the question, “what further shall be done?” An under officer suggested the propriety of firing “hot shot at the magazine.” The proposition was agreed to. The furnaces were heated, balls were prepared, and the cannonade was resumed. The occupants of the fort felt relieved by the change. They could hear the deep humming sound of the cannon balls, to which they had become accustomed in the early part of the day, and some made themselves merry at the supposed folly of their assailants. They knew not that the shot were heated, and were, therefore, unconscious of the danger which threatened them.

Suddenly, a startling phenomenon presented itself to their astonished view. The heavy embankment and timbers protecting the magazine appeared to rise from the earth, and the next instant the dreadful explosion overwhelmed them, and the next found two hundred and seventy parents and children in the immediate presence of God, making their appeal for retributive justice upon the government which had murdered them, and the freemen of the North who sustained such unutterable crime.*

Many were crushed by the falling earth and timbers; many were entirely buried in the ruins. Some were horribly mangled by the fragments of timber and the explosion of charged shells that were in the magazine. Limbs were torn from the bodies to which they had been attached; mothers and babes lay beside each other, wrapped in that sleep which knows no waking. The sun had set, and the twilight of evening was closing around, when some sixty sailors, under the officer second in command, landed, and, without opposition, entered the fort. The veteran soldiers, accustomed to blood and carnage, were horror-stricken as they viewed the scene before them. They were accompanied, however, by some twenty slaveholders, all anxious for their prey. These paid little attention to the dead and dying, but anxiously seized upon the living, and, fastening the fetters upon their limbs, hurried them from the fort, and instantly commenced their return toward the frontier of Georgia. Some fifteen persons in the fort survived the terrible explosion, and they now sleep in servile graves, or moan and weep in bondage.

HENRY BOYD* was born a slave in Kentucky. Of imposing stature, well-knit muscles, and the countenance of one of Nature's noblemen, at the age of eighteen, he had so far won the confidence of his master, that he not only consented to sell him the right and title to his freedom, but gave him his own time to earn the money. With a general pass from his master, Henry made his way to the Kanawha salt works, celebrated as the place where Senator Ewing, of Ohio, chopped out his education with his axe! And there, too, with his axe, did Henry Boyd chop out his liberty. By performing double labor, he got double wages. In the daytime, he swung his axe upon the wood, and for half the night, he tended the boiling salt kettles, sleeping the other half by their side. After having accumulated a sufficient sum, he returned to his master, and paid it over for his freedom. He next applied himself to learn the trade of a carpenter and joiner. Such was his readiness to acquire the use of tools, that he soon qualified himself to receive the wages of a

* This account is taken from the lips of a friend who resided in Cincinnati, and had good opportunity to know the facts.

THE colored citizens of Ohio held a Mass Convention at Cleveland, September 9th, 1852. I cull the following incidents and tributes, as peculiarly appropriate to a military history of Colored Americans.

At sunrise, a salute was fired in the public square, in honor of the day, by the “Cleveland Light Artillery,” and another at nine o'clock, as the procession formed, of which the orator of the day subsequently said :—“They are the first thunders of artillery that ever awoke the echoes of these hills in honor of the colored people. But they shall not be the last.”

Rev. Dr. J. W. C. Pennington delivered a speech, of which Mr. Howland, a colored phonographic reporter, says,—“The Doctor took the stand and delighted the Convention with a short, brilliant and instructive address on the history of the past, and the part which the colored people have taken in the struggles of this nation for independence, and its various wars since its achievement.”

Says the Daily True Democrat,—“The principal feature in the ceremonials of this jubilee was the address of our fellow-citizen, Mr. William H. Day, a performance worthy of its great purpose, and, therefore, most creditable to the author. Not often have we heard an address listened to with so absorbing an attention, nor observed an audience to be more deeply moved, than was Mr. Day's, by some parts of that address. After noticing the day, the 9th of September, which had been selected for their jubilation, and illustrating its preeminent suitableness to the occasion, by happy references to many illustrious events of which it was the anniversary, Mr. Day addressed himself to an able vindication of the claims of his race, in this country, to an equal participation in the exercise and enjoyment of those American rights which large numbers of that race, in common with the men of fairer complexion, had fought, suffered, and died to establish. Behind the orator sat seven or eight veteran colored men. Mr. D.'s apostrophe to those veterans was as touching as admirable, and produced a profound sensation.”

Happily, it is in our power to furnish extracts from the speech thus referred to, as follows:—

“ ‘Of the services and sufferings of the colored soldiers of the Revolution,’ says one writer, ‘no attempt has, to our knowledge, been made to preserve a record.’ This is mainly true. Their history is not written. It lies upon the soil watered with their blood: who shall gather it? It rests with their bones in the charnel-house: who shall exhume it? Their bodies, wrapped in sacks, have dropped from the decks where trod a Decatur and a Barry, in a calm and silence, broken only by the voice of the man of God—‘We commit this body to the deep;’ and the plunge and the ripples passing, the sea has closed over their memory for ever. Ah! we have waited on shore and have seen the circle of that ripple. We know, at least, where they went down; and so much, to-day, we come to record.

“We have had in Ohio, until very recently, and if they are living, have here now, a few colored men who have thus connected us with the past. I have been told, recently, of one in the Southern portion of the State.

“Another, of whom we all know, has resided, for many years, near Urbana, Champaigne county. He was invited to, and expected at, this meeting. FATHER STANUP* (as he is familiarly called) has lived to a good old age. He has been afflicted with recent sickness, and it may have prostrated him permanently. The frosts of a hundred winters will shrivel any oak; the blasts of a century will try any vitality. The aged soldier must soon die. O! that liberty, for which he fought, be bequeathed to his descendants! The realization of that idea would smooth his dying pillow, and make the transit from this to another sphere a pleasant passage. I am credibly informed, that the age of Mr. Stanup is one hundred and nine; that he was with General Washington; and that his position, in this respect, has been recognised by officers of the Government.”

IN 1814, when New Orleans was in danger, and the proud and criminal distinctions of caste were again demolished by one of those emergencies in which Nature puts to silence, for the moment, the base partialities of art, the free colored people were called into the field in common with the whites; and the importance of their services was thus acknowledged by General Jackson:—

The second proclamation is one of the highest complicated compliments ever paid by a military chief to his soldiers.

December 18, 1814, General Jackson issued, in the French language, the following address to his colored members of his army:—

TONEY PROCTOR, a free man of color, died in Tallahassee, at the residence of H. L. Rutgers, Esq., on the 15th of June, 1855, in the 112th year of his age. The Tallahassee Sentinel thus notices the death of this remarkable man:—

“ ‘UNCLE TONEY,’ as he was familiarly called, must have been, at the time of his death, at least one hundred and twelve years old, and the probabilities are that he was several years older. It is known, as a historical fact, that he was at the battle of Quebec, on the 13th of September, 1759, some ninety-six years ago. His recollection of that event was clear and distinct. He was there in the capacity of a body servant to an English officer, and was sixteen years of age or more at the time of sailing, in company with the English sailors, from the Island of Jamaica, to return no more to the place of his nativity. He was subsequently engaged in the same capacity, though under a different officer, during the early period of the Revolutionary War between this and the mother country. He was in the vicinity of Boston at the time the tea was thrown overboard, and afterwards at the battle of Lexington. He came to Florida long before the change of flags, and settled in St. Augustine, where he purchased his freedom, married, and reared a large family. During his long residence in the ‘Ancient City,’ where he experienced many reverses—living through a period much longer than is allotted to an ordinary life-time—his conduct was such as to command the esteem and respect of its inhabitants, as well under the administration of the United States as the dominion of Spain.

“At the change of flags, he considered himself an American citizen, and remained in St. Augustine, true to his allegiance, during the campaigns and military regime of General Jackson; and subsequently rendered himself very useful to General Harney and others, as an Indian interpreter in the late Seminole war.

“Coming out of that protracted and disastrous war reduced in circumstances, with nothing to rely upon for support except a claim upon the Government for service rendered, but little of which was ever recognised and paid, he came, some ten years or more ago, to Tallahassee, to live with his son George.

“In 1849, George went a gold-hunting, with the intention, if successful, of returning in a few years, at the furthest, and relieving himself of his embarrassments. In the mean time, his family, as well as ‘Uncle Toney,’ were left in charge of Mr. Rutgers.

“The circumstances attending his death were very remarkable. He died of no disease. His health continued good and his spirits cheerful down to within a day or so of his death. The first evidence of decay was that of sight; time, in other respects, working but little change in his appearance. Death seemed to come over him like falling into a gentle sleep. The vital spark, like the socket of a candle, literally burned out.

UNCLE TONEY was much beloved by his own people. He was a zealous member of the Baptist Church. His funeral was one of the largest processions we remember to have seen.”

Congress can as well naturalize Asiatics, South Americans and Africans, as Europeans; and yet, for reasons best known to the Slave Power which rules this nation, the instances are few and far between where colored aliens have received naturalization papers. One case, however, occurred, as early as 1804, where a colored man received a certificate of naturalization, of which the following is a copy:

COEVAL with the establishment of The Liberator in Boston, in the year 1831, the dormant energies of the oppressed colored Americans became actively aroused, and the ways and means of elevation were prolific themes in their social gatherings. Among the causes contributing to this hopeful state of things may be mentioned the pamphlet of DAVID WALKER, published during the eventful period of Mr. Garrison's imprisonment in a Baltimore jail, for being an Anti-Slavery man, which was signally effective in rousing the eloquence of Walker. This appeal waked up some feeling at the South, and a corresponding degree of vitality among the colored people. But the most potent instrumentality that inspired the hearts of the colored Americans with faith, hope, and perseverance “for the good time coming,” was the publication of that fearless, uncompromising sheet, The Liberator, which, when commenced, had arrayed against it the 30,000 churches, and clergy of the country—its wealth, its commerce, its press. At that time, there was the most entire ignorance and apathy on the slave question. In that dark hour, The Liberator was unfurled to the breeze, in the eyes of the nation, within sight of Bunker Hill, and in the birth-place of American liberty, consecrated to the cause till every chain be broken, and every bondman set—free its Editor pledging himself to the work in these immortal words:—“I am in earnest! I will not equivocate—I will not excuse—I will not retreat a single inch—and I WILL BE HEARD!” For twenty-five years has that clarion voice sounded in the ears of this guilty nation, and twenty-three millions of people complain, to-day, that they hear of nothing but slavery! It has unmasked the hydra-headed monster, Colonization, and secured an audience for the colored man, who before could hardly utter his thoughts.

Before The Liberator was issued, Mr. Garrison delivered Anti-Slavery lectures in Boston, at Julien Hall, and the old Athenaeum Hall, Pearl street. Among the colored friends present, on one very interesting occasion, at the latter place, were Rev. Thomas Paul and Rev. Samuel Snowden. The hearty amen of Father Snowden was responded to by the eloquent eye and earnest hand-shaking of the other favorite colored pastor, both of whom then vowed their devotion to the cause and its enthusiastic young advocate, to which pledge their life was remarkably consistent.

I remember, when a boy, in January, 1832, looking in at the vestry window of Belknap Street Church, while the Editor of The Liberator and a faithful few organized the first Anti-Slavery Society.

The immediate result of the labors of the Anti-Slavery press and the public lecturers, was the formation of exclusive organizations among the colored people. They, and the great body of the Abolitionists, did not then see eye to eye in the matter of combined action, for many of the latter supposed their Anti-Slavery mission was ended when they had publicly protested against slavery, without being careful to exemplify their principles in every-day practice. Many of the colored people, too, seemed to think that enough of heaven was opened unto them, when white people would talk Anti-Slavery; the idea of social political equality seemingly never being dreamed of by them.

In accordance with this view, a society was formed, called the “Massachusetts General Colored Association,” of which Hosea and Joshua Easton, John E. Scarlett, Thomas Cole, James G. Barbadoes, William G. Nell, and others, now numbered with the dead, were members,—together with Thomas Dalton, John T. Hilton, Frederick Brimley, Coffin Pitts, Walker Lewis, and others of the “Old Guard,” who yet remain with us. The object of this Association was the promulgation of Anti-Slavery truth. In January, 1833, it made application to be received as an auxiliary to the Massachusetts (then New England) Anti-Slavery Society,* through the following letter:—

Of course, this request was cordially granted; but they and their white friends soon learned that complexional Anti-Slavery societies, as such, were absurdities, to say the least, and hence, such distinctions soon melted into thin air; and if the spirit of Susan Paul takes cognizance of events familiar to her when in the flesh, she is now rejoicing in her association with the Anti-Slavery societies of that time, their “Martyr Acre,” and her share in the perils consequent upon the burning of Pennsylvania Hall.

From the time of the mobbing of William Lloyd Garrison and George Thompson, and the women's meeting at Francis Jackson's, in Hollis street, where Harriet Martineau consecrated herself to the cause, and historically identified herself with the colored people, colored and white have met together on one Anti-Slavery platform, where, “like kindred drops, they mingle into one.”

John Remond and Prince Farmer, of Salem, and Susan Paul, of Boston, became life-members of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society in 1835. Subsequently, other names were enrolled from New Bedford and elsewhere, and colored persons also connected themselves with the American Anti-Slavery Society. And if there are any colored friends who do not now participate freely with their white brethren and sisters, in their efforts for the slave's redemption and their own elevation, it is only because they choose to absent themselves, and not because of objections on the part of others.

The presence of ROBERT PURVIS on the platform of the American A. S. Society as presiding officer, or of CHARLES LENOX REMOND, President, for several years, of the Essex County Anti-Slavery Society, with the distinguished position occupied by themselves and WILLIAM WELLS BROWN as orators, fully justifies what MARIA WESTON CHAPMAN claims for the American Anti-Slavery Society, when she says it is “church and university, high school and common school, to all who need real instruction and true religion. Of it what a throng of authors, editors, lawyers, orators, and accomplished gentlemen of color have taken their degree! It has equally implanted hopes and aspirations, noble thoughts and sublime purposes, in the hearts of both races. It has prepared the white man for the freedom of the black man, and it has made the black man scorn the thought of enslavement, as does a white man, as far as its influence has extended. Strengthen that noble influence! Before its organization, the country only saw here and there in slavery some ‘faithful Cudjoe or Dinah,’ whose strong natures blossomed even in bondage, like a fine plant beneath a heavy stone. Now, under the elevating and cherishing influence of the American Anti-Slavery Society, the colored race, like the white, furnishes Corinthian capitals for the noblest temples. Aroused by the American Anti-Slavery Society, the very white men who had forgotten and denied the claim of the black man to the rights of humanity, now thunder that claim at every gate, from cottage to capitol, from schoolhouse to university, from the railroad carriage to the house of God. He has a place at their firesides, a place in their hearts—the man whom they once cruelly hated for his color. So feeling, they cannot send him to Coventry with a horn-book in his hand, and call it instruction! They inspire him to climb to their side by a visible, acted gospel of freedom. Thus, instead of bowing to prejudice, they conquer it.”

In 1831, the plan of Arnold Buffum for a colored college at New Haven was thought favorably of by the friends, white and colored, and Mr. Garrison, during his first mission to England, was expected to secure funds for the same; but a variety of causes prevented his receiving any donations, and the persecution of Prudence Crandall at Canterbury, Conn, and the attack upon the school-house at Canaan, N. H., bad the effect to open the doors of colleges and seminaries to youth, irrespective of complexion, and the necessity (or what seemed to be such) for a colored college was superseded.

Since that time, colored students have been admitted at Wilbraham, Leicester, Andover, Dartmouth, and at the majority of the institutions of learning in the New England, Central, and Western States.

In June, 1831, six months after the advent of The Liberator, the first Annual Convention of the People of Color was held in Philadelphia. New York, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Delaware and Virginia were the only States represented. This Convention appointed Provisional Committees, and named for Boston, Hosea Easton, Robert Roberts, James G. Barbadoes, and the late lamented Rev. Sam. Samuel Snowden. Since then, there have been several Conventions held by colored Americans in different parts of the country, and no one can deny that some good has resulted therefrom.

The Hamiltons, the Sipkinses, and a constellation of others from the Empire State, with those named elsewhere from the various sections, acted according to the light and promise of the times. Let us fulfil, during our mission, the prophecy of our fathers, who, in passing away, have left us the legacy of their prayers and fondest aspirations for success. While they have wept in remembrance of the past, when denied even a tithe of our present opportunities, their hearts were made glad in the anticipation of better associations for their sons,—the gaining of access to various avenues of improvement in morals, science, and the mechanic arts, and through such mediums, effecting an opening for their brethren to the position of free and independent citizenship.

In the Declaration of Sentiments adopted by the American Anti-Slavery Society in Philadelphia, in 1833, they pledged themselves to secure to the colored population of the United States all the rights and privileges which belong to them as men and as Americans, “come what may to our persons, our interests, or our reputation.” The colored persons who signed this declaration were, Robert Purvis, of Pennsylvania, and James G. Barbadoes, of Massachusetts. The Anti-Slavery women of the United States assembled in Convention at New York, May, 1837, and published a circular, from which the following is extracted:—

“Those Societies that reject colored members, or seek to avoid them, have never been active or efficient. The blessing of God does not rest upon them, because they ‘keep back a part of the price of the land,’—they do not lay all at the apostle's feet.

“The abandonment of prejudice is required of us as a proof of our sincerity and consistency. How can we ask our Southern brethren to make sacrifices, if we are not even willing to encounter inconveniences? First cast the beam from thine own eye, then wilt thou see clearly to cast it from his eye.”

FROM the foregoing pages, it will be seen that the various conflicts by sea and land, which have challenged the energies of the United States, have been signalized by the devotion and bravery of colored Americans, despite the persecutions heaped, Olympus high, upon them, by their fellow countrymen. They have ever proved loyal, and ready to worship or die, if need be, at Freedom's shrine. The amor patriæ has always burned vividly on the altar of their hearts. They love their native land:

Let it not be inferred, however, that because many colored soldiers were, from the force of circumstances, assigned a subordinate position by themselves during the war, that their more immediate descendants are to remain satisfied with a half-way excellence. But, like Crispus Attucks, leading on Boston citizens to resist tyranny, 1770,—Major Jeffrey, Latham and Freeman, each gallant and brave,—Jordan B. Noble, the drummer of Chalmette Plains,—and the many others, in more or less responsible departments, during their country's trial hour, so, henceforward, in our battle for equality, each should aim to be incorporated with the mass of Americans,—unite, when possible, as affinities may lead, with the various political literary, benevolent, ecclesiastical, business and social, organizations of the land, and so prove valiant and consistent soldiers in Freedom's army, without arranging ourselves in a colored section.

There is, however, a historical propriety in setting forth the service's of those colored Americans, who, in the “day of small things,” have labored earnestly for the welfare of humanity. If others fail to appreciate the merit of the colored man, let us cherish the deserted shrine. The names which others neglect should only be the more sacredly our care. Let us keep them for the hoped-for day of full emancipation, when, in the possession of all our rights, and redeemed from the long night of ignorance that has rested over us, we may recall them to memory, recollecting, with gratitude, that the stars which shone in our horizon have ushered in a glorious dawn.

The light which radiated from the prison-cell Of WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON, in Baltimore, is yet diffusing itself over the land. The past, present and future agitation of the slavery question in these United States owes itself to that man, and the hour when he nobly dedicated his life to the emancipation of the slave, and the elevation of the nominally free colored Americans.

“I CAN WAIT,” were the memorable words of John Q. ADAMS, when his mouth was gagged on the floor of Congress. The world will bear witness, that we have waited; and, O! how patiently! We have learned “How sublime a thing it isTo suffer and be strong;” but, though familiar with, we shall never grow reconciled to, the treatment:— “Our hearts, though ofttimes made to bleed,Will gush afresh at every wound.”

The Revolution of 1776, and the subsequent struggles in our nation's history, aided, in honorable proportion, by colored Americans, have (sad, but true, confession) yet left the necessity for a second revolution, no less sublime than that of regenerating public sentiment in favor of Universal Brotherhood. To this glorious consummation, all, of every complexion, sect, sex and condition, can add their mite, and so nourish the tree of liberty, that all may be enabled to pluck fruit from its bending branches; and, in that degree to which colored Americans may labor to hasten the day, they will prove valid their claim to the title, “Patriots of the Second Revolution.”

The Anti-Slavery war waged for the last twenty-five years has indeed been prolific in noble words and deeds, and is remarkable for the succession of victories, always the reward of the faithful and persevering. To compare the present with the past —those dark hours when the bugle blast was first sounded among the hills and valleys of New England,—we can hardly believe the evidence daily presented of the onward progress of those mighty principles then proclaimed to the American nation. The treatment of the colored man in this country is a legitimate illustration of “hating those whom we have injured,” and brings to my recollection that chapter in Waverly where Fergus Mac Ivar replies to his friend, when being led to execution—“You see the compliment they pay to our Highland strength and courage. Here we have lain until our limbs are cramped into palsy, and now they send six soldiers with loaded muskets to prevent our taking the castle by storm.” The analogy is found in the omnipotent and omnipresent influence of American pro-slavery in crushing every noble and praiseworthy aspiration of the persecuted colored man. As in nature, the smiles of summer are made sweeter by the frowns of winter, the calm of ocean is made more placid by the tempest that has preceded it, so in this moral battle, these incidental skirmishes will contribute to render the hour of victory indeed a blissful realization.

So sure as night precedes day, war ends in peace, and winter wakes spring, just so sure will the persevering efforts of Freedom's army be crowned with victory's perennial laurels!