Article #90 - Slavery/abolition

                        The Journal

                   August 28th 1852

Devoted to Science, Art Literature Amusement &c.

Matter for the Journal

            In compliance with your request friend Editress, to write something for the Journal (in absence of other news), I send you the following – Riding a few evenings since to a neighbouring village, I chanced to overtake an old woman, “one of Afric’s sable daughters” who notwithstanding the inexpiable fault of having a “skin not coloured like my own” was a particular favourite of my childhood. I had not seen her for years before, and oh! how changed: her face which in my childhood always excited a thrill of pleasure to behold it, from the vivid expression of cheerfulness and merry gladness which it ever bore now bore the marks of a deep and consuming melancholy. Care and grief were deeply furrowed there. So I made inquiries concerning her welfare, and volunteered to carry the heavy load under which she appeared to be struggling with every effort of which she was master. A faint smile flickered for a moment upon her countenance and then like the last gleams of a dying ember, it paled away and the same sad, wan, steadfast melancholy assumed its place. It was evident that her heart long unused to a word of

kindness was unaccustomed to a smile. I asked her the cause of this mournful change and she replied as follows: – My husband died almost six years ago. Having a large family I struggled hard night and day to feed and clothe my little flock and keep them together. I wished that they might have [a chance?] of learning to read, and I sent them to school. But they told me they would not go to school for the white children used them so badly. I asked the Teacher to protect them, but he only said they have no business sticking themselves up with the white children anyhow. They grew up in ignorance and I had no way of helping it. But afterwhile [sic] heavier sorrows that I could scarcely bear up against, came upon me. Two of my girls whom I loved as my life had for

their husbands runaway slaves and when the fugitive law was passed it was no longer safe for them to stay here and they went to Canada. My other children are scattered and I scarce know where, and I was left alone. Oh I often wish I were dead when the boys point at me and call me old blackey. As she narrated this simple tale of her woes my heart was touched and I felt that death, her wished for friend was fast coming upon her. The cold contempt, the bitter sorrow, the

starving neglect of the world had crushed her spirit, broken hope, and well nigh destroyed life.

This is no fancy sketch, ‘tis reality, but short of Truth. Yet we live on selfishly in our own enjoyment, comfort and pleasure never thinking of those around us, never thinking of poor broken, bleeding humanity. Oh holy mercy twice blessed: thou blessest those that give and those that take yet how few understand thee how few know the sacred pleasure the inestimable blessing of doing good.