dancing as they are practised in their native land; those songs, for instance, with the chorus, which seems to be the heart of all songs among the natives of Africa, and which should contain some sensible meaning.
There is one song which might serve as a model for all such songs. It was sung by African women to a white traveller, to whom they gave shelter one stormy night in their hut, and its words are these:—
| The storm roared, and the rain fell; | |
| The poor white man, | |
| Worn and weary in the dark night, | |
| Sate alone beneath our tree. | |
| He has no mother who can give him milk, | |
| No wife who can grind his corn! | |
| Chorus.— | Have pity on the white man, |
| He has no mother, &c. | |
This song from the mother-heart of Africa might show to America the best mode for the cultivation of the negro people. A popular mind which can produce such a song ought to be treated with respect. Such an occupation would be more beautiful and more worthy of the young daughters of the South, than wasting their days in levity, or in paying visits, or in empty pastime, as most of them do now.
Yet I know some who have chosen the better part; many there ought to be. Blessings be upon them! May they become many! And the great work of emancipation will proceed in silence and in beauty, as if of itself.
It is very common in Europe to lay the blame of the institution of slavery on the United States of America, as a sin against the Holy Ghost, which takes away all truth and all value from their free estate. But people forget that it is only a part of these States which have slaves, and that it was Europe who first compelled them to have them! Many of the young colonies, in particular Virginia and Georgia, protested in the commencement, and that in the most strong and earnest manner, against
