Autographs for Freedom Part 11

He tells the story of his wrongs, so that they stand out in all their naked ugliness.

In Ward, you have one with strong native powers,--I know of none stronger; superadded a careful and extensive cultivation; an understanding so matured, that fully enables him to successfully grapple with men or errors, and portray truth in a manner equalled by few.

After all, it must be admitted, both are men of extraordinary powers of mind.

Both well qualified for the task they have undertaken.

I have, rather than anything else, drawn these outline portraits for our _young men_, who can fill them up at leisure.

The subjects are both fine models, and may be studied with profit by all,--especially those who are destined to stand in the front rank.

[Ill.u.s.tration: (signature) William J. Wilson]

NOTE.--It has been some years since the above sketch was drawn; and though my impressions, especially of Mr.

Dougla.s.s, has undergone some slight change since,--seeing in him enlarged, strengthened, and more matured thought, still I think, on the whole, the careful observer will attest substantially to its correctness.

"Who is my Neighbor?"

It gives me great pleasure to express my interest in your objects, by the following sentiment: Sympathy for the slave,--the clearest exhibition in modern times of the spirit which, in the parable of the Samaritan, first illumined the wrong of oppression, and the divineness of brotherly love.

[Ill.u.s.tration: (signature) Th. Starr King]

Consolation for the Slave.

Slave though thou art to unfeeling power, Till wrong shall reach her final hour, Mourn not as one on whom the day Will never shed a healing ray.

The star of hope, that leads the dawn, Appears, and night will soon be gone.

Long has thy night of sorrow been, Without a star to cheer the scene.

Nay; there was One that watched and wept, When thou didst think all mercy slept; That eye, which beams with love divine, Where all celestial glories s.h.i.+ne.

Justice will soon the sceptre take; The scourge shall fall, the tyrant quake.

Hark! 'tis the voice of One from heaven; The word, the high command is given, "Break every yoke, loose every chain, To usher in the Saviour's reign."

[Ill.u.s.tration: (signature) Samuel Willard]

The Key.

The Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin: a key to unlock any mind that is not rendered inaccessible by the rust of conservatism or party-spirit, and to open the fountain of every generous affection, which is not closed with impenetrable ice. With this key may every one become familiar, who would know, and both in word and deed "bear witness to the truth!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: (signature) Samuel Willard]

The True Mission of Liberty.

If Liberty were to go on a pilgrimage all over the earth, she would find a home in every house, and a welcome in every heart. None would reject the favors she offers if brought to their own doors. Sure and prompt as the impulses of instinct, every bosom would open to admit her and her blessings, but--when her gospel is proclaimed as a common bounty to all the world,--when she is seen visiting and feasting with publicans and sinners, and sitting with her unwashed disciples in familiar and loving companions.h.i.+p, Caesar and the synagogue are alike alarmed and enraged. When she is found daily in the marketplace and on the mountain-top, in the hamlet and on the highway, ministering to the mult.i.tude, healing and feeding them,--showing the same love and reverence for humanity in every variety of conditions, and however disguised or degraded,--the cruelty of caste and the bitterness of bigotry straightway take counsel among themselves how they may destroy her.

Heaven help us! Divided as we are, into the hating and the hated, the oppressors and the oppressed, we have settled it, somehow, that we are of necessity at war with each other--that the welfare of one in some way depends upon the wretchedness of another. How much madness and misery would be spared if we could in any way learn that we are brethren.

[Ill.u.s.tration: (signature) William Elder]

The true Spirit of Reform.

The religion of Jesus, acting as a vital principle in the individual heart, and thus leaving the entire ma.s.s of humanity, to this alone are we to look as of sufficient power to do away the evils that are now rife in the world. Just so far as the true spirit of Jesus is infused into the soul, and acts in the life of man, we know that sin, in its various forms of sensuality, oppression, and bloodshed, must disappear. All reforms, which are not based on this corner-stone, are superficial; and, however goodly their proportions may appear to the eye of man, they want that firm foundation which will secure them against being undermined or overthrown by the force of adverse circ.u.mstances. "Other foundation can no man lay, than that is laid,"

for the building up of all that is really excellent and heavenly.

But, while we acknowledge the omnipotence of true religion for the ratification of all social wrongs, we are not to rest in the inculcation of its abstract principles and outward forms alone. It is not enough that we ourselves become, or persuade our fellow-men to become professed disciples of Jesus; not enough that, in a general way, we urge the precepts of the gospel. The obtuseness of the human heart, when hardened by habit and early education, requires that we make particular application of the precepts of Christ, and address our efforts to the removal of specific sins: the sins of our own age and country. It may be that our brother, sincerely intending to act in the spirit of Jesus, is yet blinded by the force of habit, and fails to see the sin in which he is living. If our position make us to see more clearly than he the course he should pursue, let us endeavor gently to remove the veil from his eyes, remembering how often our own vision is dimmed by prejudice and outward circ.u.mstances. In the moral, as well as in the natural world, we believe that G.o.d demands our active cooperation; and, as the farmer not only sows the seed, but roots out the weeds from among the grain, so are we to endeavor to eradicate from the broad field of the moral world those evil practices which obstruct the growth of the harvest of pure and undefiled religion.

"The husbandman waiteth for the precious fruit of the earth, and hath long patience for it, until he receive the early and latter rain." So are we obliged often to have "long patience," until we see the manifest blessing of G.o.d on our labors. But patient waiting becomes a virtue, only when combined with the exercise of our best powers in promoting the object of our desire. We must adapt our efforts to the express object which we seek to attain. Taking those spiritual weapons which are "mighty for the pulling down of the strongholds" of sin, let us a.s.sault the great evils of slavery and oppression of every name and kind, always marching under the banners of the Prince of Peace, whose conquests are achieved not by violence, but by the subduing power of G.o.dlike love. Let us go forth, brethren, sisters, a feeble band though we may seem to the eye of man, yet strong in the a.s.surance that the hosts of heaven are encamped round about us, and that "more are they that are with us, than they that are" on the side of the oppressor; and let us not falter until in G.o.d's own good time the word shall be spoken, not as, we would hope, in the whirlwind or the earthquake, but in the "still small voice" of the oppressor's own conviction, saying to the slaves, "Go free!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: (signature) Mary Willard]

A Welcome to Mrs. H. B. Stowe, on her Return from Europe.

She comes, she comes, o'er the bounding wave, Borne swift as an eagle's flight; She comes, the tried friend of the slave,-- Truth's champion for the right.

Not as the blood-stained warrior comes, With shrill-sounding fife and drums; But peaceful by our quiet homes, The conquering heroine comes.

Then welcome to our Pilgrim sh.o.r.e, Tho' sad affliction[6] meet thee; Three million welcomes from G.o.d's poor, The south winds bear, to greet thee.

To thee, with chain-linked hearts we come, Which naught but death can sever, To thank thee for thy "Uncle Tom,"

Thy gentle-hearted "Eva."

When the crushed slave himself shall own, Three million fetters broken, Shall mount before thee, to the Throne; Of thy true life, the token.

Then welcome to our northern hills; Thy own New England dwelling; The birds, the trees, the sparkling rills, All, are thy welcome swelling.