Massachusetts, in the year 1761,--a little more than a hundred years
ago. At that time the people in Massachusetts held slaves. The wife of
Mr. John Wheatley of Boston had several slaves; but they were getting
too old to be very active, and she wanted to purchase a young girl, whom
she could train up in such a manner as to make her a good domestic. She
went to the slave-market for that purpose, and there she saw a little
girl with no other clothing than a piece of dirty, ragged carpeting tied
round her. She looked as if her health was feeble,--probably owing to
her sufferings in the slave-ship, and to the fact of her having no one
to care for her after she landed. Mrs. Wheatley was a kind, religious
woman; and though she considered the sickly look of the child an
objection, there was something so gentle and modest in the expression of
her dark countenance, that her heart was drawn toward her, and she
bought her in preference to several others who looked more robust. She
took her home in her chaise, put her in a bath, and dressed her in clean
clothes. They could not at first understand her; for she spoke an
African dialect, sprinkled with a few words of broken English; and when
she could not make herself understood, she resorted to a variety of
gestures and signs. She did not know her own age, but, from her shedding
her front teeth at that time, she was supposed to be about seven years
old. She could not tell how long it was since the slave-traders tore her
from her parents, nor where she had been since that time. The poor
little orphan had probably gone through so much suffering and terror,
and been so unable to make herself understood by anybody, that her mind
had become bewildered concerning the past. She soon learned to speak
English; but she could remember nothing about Africa, except that she
used to see her mother pour out water before the rising sun. Almost all
the ancient nations of the world supposed that a Great Spirit had his
dwelling in the sun, and they worshipped that Spirit in various forms.
One of the most common modes of worship was to pour out water, or wine,
at the rising of the sun, and to utter a brief prayer to the Spirit of
that glorious luminary. Probably this ancient custom had been handed
down, age after age, in Africa, and in that fashion the untaught mother
of little Phillis continued to worship the god of her ancestors. The
sight of the great splendid orb, coming she knew not whence, rising
apparently out of the hills to make the whole world glorious with light,
and the devout reverence with which her mother hailed its return every
morning, might naturally impress the child's imagination so deeply, that
she remembered it after she had forgotten everything else about her
native land.
A wonderful change took place in the little forlorn stranger in the
course of a year and a half. She not only learned to speak English
correctly, but she was able to read fluently in any part of the Bible.
She evidently possessed uncommon intelligence and a great desire for
knowledge. She was often found trying to make letters with charcoal on
the walls and fences. Mrs. Wheatley's daughter, perceiving her
eagerness to learn, undertook to teach her to read and write. She found
this an easy task, for her pupil learned with astonishing quickness. At
the same time she showed such an amiable, affectionate disposition, that
all members of the family became much attached to her. Her gratitude to
her kind, motherly mistress was unbounded, and her greatest delight was
to do anything to please her.
When she was about fourteen years old, she began to write poetry; and it
was pretty good poetry, too. Owing to these uncommon manifestations of
intelligence, and to the delicacy of her health, she was never put to
hard household work, as was intended at the time of her purchase. She
was kept constantly with Mrs. Wheatley and her daughter, employed in
light and easy services for them. Her poetry attracted attention, and
Mrs. Wheatley's friends lent her books, which she read with great
eagerness. She soon acquired a good knowledge of geography, history, and
English poetry; of the last she was particularly fond. After a while,
they found she was trying to learn Latin, which she so far mastered as
to be able to read it understandingly. There was no law in Massachusetts
against slaves learning to read and write, as there have been in many of
the States; and her mistress, so far from trying to hinder her, did
everything to encourage her love of learning. She always called her
affectionately, "My Phillis," and seemed to be as proud of her
attainments as if she had been her own daughter. She even allowed her to
have a fire and light in her own chamber in the evening, that she might
study and write down her thoughts whenever they came to her.
Phillis was of a very religious turn of mind, and when she was about
sixteen she joined the Orthodox Church, that worshipped in the
Old-South Meeting-house in Boston. Her character and deportment were
such that she was considered an ornament to the church. Clergymen and
other literary persons who visited at Mrs. Wheatley's took a good deal
of notice of her. Her poems were brought forward to be read to the
company, and were often much praised. She was not unfrequently invited
to the houses of wealthy and distinguished people, who liked to show her
off as a kind of wonder. Most young girls would have had their heads
completely turned by so much flattery and attention; but seriousness and
humility seemed to be natural to Phillis. She always retained the same
gentle, modest deportment that had won Mrs. Wheatley's heart when she
first saw her in the slave-market. Sometimes, when she went abroad, she
was invited to sit at table with other guests; but she always modestly
declined, and requested that a plate might be placed for her on a
side-table. Being well aware of the common prejudice against her
complexion, she feared that some one might be offended by her company at
their meals. By pursuing this course she manifested a natural
politeness, which proved her to be more truly refined than any person
could be who objected to sit beside her on account of her color.
Although she was tenderly cared for, and not required to do any
fatiguing work, her constitution never recovered from the shock it had
received in early childhood. When she was about nineteen years old, her
health failed so rapidly that physicians said it was necessary for her
to take a sea-voyage. A son of Mr. Wheatley's was going to England on
commercial business, and his mother proposed that Phillis should go with
him.
In England she received even more attention than had been bestowed upon
her at home. Several of the nobility invited her to their houses; and
her poems were published in a volume, with an engraved likeness of the
author. In this picture she looks gentle and thoughtful, and the shape
of her head denotes intellect. One of the engravings was sent to Mrs.
Wheatley, who was delighted with it. When one of her relatives called,
she pointed it out to her, and said, "Look at my Phillis! Does she not
seem as if she would speak to me?"
Still the young poetess was not spoiled by flattery. One of the
relatives of Mrs. Wheatley informs us, that "not all the attention she
received, nor all the honors that were heaped upon her, had the
slightest influence upon her temper and deportment. She was still the
same single-hearted, unsophisticated being."
She addressed a poem to the Earl of Dartmouth, who was very kind to her
during her visit to England. Having expressed a hope for the overthrow
of tyranny, she says:--
"Should you, my Lord, while you peruse my song,
Wonder from whence my love of Freedom sprung,--
Whence flow these wishes for the common good,
By feeling hearts alone best understood,--
I, young in life, by seeming cruel fate,
Was snatched from Afric's fancied happy state.
What pangs excruciating must molest,
What sorrows labor in my parent's breast!
Steeled was that soul, and by no misery moved,
That from a father seized his babe beloved.
Such was my case; and can I then but pray
Others may never feel tyrannic sway."
The English friends of Phillis wished to present her to their king,
George the Third, who was soon expected in London. But letters from
America informed her that her beloved benefactress, Mrs. Wheatley, was
in declining health, and greatly desired to see her. No honors could
divert her mind from the friend of her childhood. She returned to Boston
immediately. The good lady died soon after; Mr. Wheatley soon followed;
and the daughter, the kind instructress of her youth, did not long
survive. The son married and settled in England. For a short time
Phillis stayed with a friend of her deceased benefactress; then she
hired a room and lived by herself. It was a sad change for her.
The war of the American Revolution broke out. In the autumn of 1776
General Washington had his head-quarters at Cambridge, Massachusetts;
and the spirit moved Phillis to address some complimentary verses to
him. In reply, he sent her the following courteous note:--
"I thank you most sincerely for your polite notice of me in the
elegant lines you enclosed. However undeserving I may be of such
encomium, the style and manner exhibit a striking proof of your
poetical talents. In honor of which, and as a tribute justly due to
you, I would have published the poem, had I not been apprehensive
that, while I only meant to give the world this new instance of
your genius, I might have incurred the imputation of vanity. This,
and nothing else, determined me not to give it a place in the
public prints.
"If you should ever come to Cambridge, or near head-quarters, I
shall be happy to see a person so favored by the Muses,[4] and to
whom Nature had been so liberal and beneficent in her
dispensations.
"I am, with great respect,
"Your obedient, humble servant,
"GEORGE WASHINGTON."
The early friends of Phillis were dead, or scattered abroad, and she
felt alone in the world. She formed an acquaintance with a colored man
by the name of Peters, who kept a grocery shop. He was more than
commonly intelligent, spoke fluently, wrote easily, dressed well, and
was handsome in his person. He offered marriage, and in an evil hour she
accepted him. He proved to be lazy, proud, and harsh-tempered. He
neglected his business, failed, and became very poor. Though unwilling
to do hard work himself, he wanted to make a drudge of his wife. Her
constitution was frail, she had been unaccustomed to hardship, and she
was the mother of three little children, with no one to help her in her
household labors and cares. He had no pity on her, and instead of trying
to lighten her load, he made it heavier by his bad temper. The little
ones sickened and died, and their gentle mother was completely broken
down by toil and sorrow. Some of the descendants of her lamented
mistress at last heard of her illness and went to see her. They found
her in a forlorn situation, suffering for the common comforts of life.
The Revolutionary war was still raging. Everybody was mourning for sons
and husbands slain in battle. The country was very poor. The currency
was so deranged that a goose cost forty dollars, and other articles in
proportion. In such a state of things, people were too anxious and
troubled to think about the African poetess, whom they had once
delighted to honor; or if they transiently remembered her, they took it
for granted that her husband provided for her. And so it happened that
the gifted woman who had been patronized by wealthy Bostonians, and who
had rolled through London in the splendid carriages of the English
nobility, lay dying alone, in a cold, dirty, comfortless room. It was a
mournful reverse of fortune; but she was patient and resigned. She made
no complaint of her unfeeling husband; but the neighbors said that when
a load of wood was sent to her, he felt himself too much of a gentleman
to saw it, though his wife was shivering with cold. The descendants of
Mrs. Wheatley did what they could to relieve her wants, after they
discovered her extremely destitute condition; but, fortunately for her,
she soon went "where the wicked cease from troubling, and where the
weary are at rest."
Her husband was so generally disliked, that people never called her Mrs.
Peters. She was always called Phillis Wheatley, the name bestowed upon
her when she first entered the service of her benefactress, and by which
she had become known as a poetess.
FOOTNOTE:
[4] The ancient Greeks supposed that nine goddesses, whom they named
Muses, inspired people to write various kinds of poetry.
A PERTINENT QUESTION.
BY FREDERICK DOUGLASS.
"Is it not astonishing, that while we are ploughing, planting, and
reaping, using all kinds of mechanical tools, erecting houses and
constructing bridges, building ships, working in metals of brass, iron,
and copper, silver and gold; that while we are reading, writing, and
ciphering, acting as clerks, merchants, and secretaries, having among us
lawyers, doctors, ministers, poets, authors, editors, orators, and
teachers; that while we are engaged in all manner of enterprises common
to other men, digging gold in California, capturing the whale in the
Pacific, breeding sheep and cattle on the hillside; living, moving,
acting, thinking, planning; living in families as husbands, wives, and
children; and, above all, confessing and worshipping the Christian's
God, and looking hopefully for immortal life beyond the grave;--is it
not astonishing, I say, that we are called upon to prove that we are
_men_?"
THE WORKS OF PROVIDENCE.
BY PHILLIS WHEATLEY.
[Written at sixteen years of age.]
Arise, my soul! on wings enraptured rise,
To praise the Monarch of the earth and skies,
Whose goodness and beneficence appear,
As round its centre moves the rolling year;
Or when the morning glows with rosy charms,
Or the sun slumbers in the ocean's arms.
Of light divine be a rich portion lent,
To guide my soul and favor my intent.
Celestial Muse, my arduous flight sustain,
And raise my mind to a seraphic strain!
Adored forever be the God unseen,
Who round the sun revolves this vast machine;
Though to his eye its mass a point appears:
Adored the God that whirls surrounding spheres,
Who first ordained that mighty Sol[5] should reign,
The peerless monarch of th' ethereal train.
Of miles twice forty millions is his height,
And yet his radiance dazzles mortal sight,
So far beneath,--from him th' extended earth
Vigor derives, and every flowery birth.
Vast through her orb she moves, with easy grace,
Around her Phoebus[6] in unbounded space;
True to her course, the impetuous storm derides,
Triumphant o'er the winds and surging tides.
Almighty! in these wondrous works of thine,
What power, what wisdom, and what goodness shine!
And are thy wonders, Lord, by men explored,
And yet creating glory unadored?
Creation smiles in various beauty gay,
While day to night, and night succeeds to day.
That wisdom which attends Jehovah's ways,
Shines most conspicuous in the solar rays.
Without them, destitute of heat and light,
This world would be the reign of endless night.
In their excess, how would our race complain,
Abhorring life! how hate its lengthened chain!
From air, or dust, what numerous ills would rise!
What dire contagion taint the burning skies!
What pestilential vapor, fraught with death,
Would rise, and overspread the lands beneath!
Hail, smiling Morn, that, from the orient main
Ascending, dost adorn the heavenly plain!
So rich, so various are thy beauteous dyes,
That spread through all the circuit of the skies,
That, full of thee, my soul in rapture soars,
And thy great God, the cause of all, adores!
O'er beings infinite his love extends,
His wisdom rules them, and his power defends.
When tasks diurnal tire the human frame,
The spirits faint, and dim the vital flame,
Then, too, that ever-active bounty shines,
Which not infinity of space confines.
The sable veil, that Night in silence draws,
Conceals effects, but shows th' Almighty Cause.
Night seals in sleep the wide creation fair,
And all is peaceful, but the brow of care.
Again gay Phoebus, as the day before,
Wakes every eye but what shall wake no more;
Again the face of Nature is renewed,
Which still appears harmonious, fair, and good.
May grateful strains salute the smiling morn,
Before its beams the eastern hills adorn!
FOOTNOTES:
[5] _Sol_ is the word for sun in Latin, the language spoken by the
ancient Romans.
[6] Phoebus was the name for the sun, in the language of the ancient
Greeks.
THE DYING CHRISTIAN.
BY FRANCES E. W. HARPER.
The silver cord was loosened,
We knew that she must die;
We read the mournful token
In the dimness of her eye.
Like a child oppressed with slumber,
She calmly sank to rest,
With her trust in her Redeemer,
And her head upon his breast.
She faded from our vision,
Like a thing of love and light;
But we feel she lives forever,
A spirit pure and bright.
KINDNESS TO ANIMALS.
BY L. MARIA CHILD.
There are not many people who are conscientious about being kind in
their relations with human beings; and therefore it is not surprising
that still fewer should be considerate about humanity to animals. But
the Father of all created beings made dumb creatures to enjoy existence
in their way, as he made human beings to enjoy life in their way. We do
wrong in his sight if we abuse them, or keep them without comfortable
food and shelter. The fact that they cannot speak to tell of what they
suffer makes the sad expression of their great patient eyes the more
touching to any compassionate heart. Fugitive slaves, looking out
mournfully and wearily upon a cold, unsympathizing world, have often
reminded me of overworked and abused oxen; for though slaves were
endowed by their Creator with the gift of speech, their oppressors have
made them afraid to use it to complain of their wrongs. In fact, they
have been in a more trying situation than abused oxen, for they have
been induced by fear to use their gift of speech in professions of
contentment with their bondage. Therefore, those who have been slaves
know how to sympathize with the dumb creatures of God; and they, more
than others, ought to have compassion on them. The great and good
Toussaint l'Ouverture was always kind to the animals under his care, and
I consider it by no means the smallest of his merits.
It is selfish and cruel thoughtlessness to stand laughing and talking,
or to be resting at ease, while horses or oxen are tied where they will
be tormented by flies or mosquitos. Last summer I read of a horse that
was left fastened in a swamp, where he could not get away from the swarm
of venomous insects, which stung him to death, while his careless,
hard-hearted driver was going about forgetful of him. It would trouble
my conscience ever afterward if I had the death of that poor helpless
animal to answer for.
There is a difference in the natural disposition of animals, as there is
in the dispositions of men and women; but, generally speaking, if
animals are bad-tempered and stubborn, it is owing to their having been
badly treated when they were young. When a horse has his mouth hurt by
jerking his bridle, it irritates him, as it irritates a man to be
violently knocked about; and in both cases such treatment produces an
unwillingness to oblige the tormentor. Lashing a horse with a whip, to
compel him to draw loads too heavy for his strength, makes him angry and
discouraged; and at last, in despair of getting any help for his wrongs,
he stands stock still when he finds himself fastened to a heavy load,
and no amount of kicking or beating will make him stir. He has
apparently come to the conclusion that it is better to be killed at once
than to die daily. Slaves, who are under cruel taskmasters, also
sometimes sink down in utter discouragement, and do not seem to care for
being whipped to death. The best way to cure the disheartened and
obstinate laborer is to give him just wages and kind treatment; and the
best way to deal with the discouraged and stubborn horse is to give him
light loads and humane usage.
It is a very bad custom to whip a horse when he is frightened. It only
frightens the poor creature all the more. Habits of running when
frightened, or of sheering at the sight of things to which they are not
accustomed, is generally produced in horses by mismanagement when they
are colts. By gentle and rational treatment better characters are
formed, both in animals and human beings. There was a gentleman in the
neighborhood of Boston who managed colts so wisely, that all who were
acquainted with him wanted a horse of his training. He was very firm
with the young animals; he never allowed them to get the better of him;
but he was never in a passion with them. He cured them of bad tricks by
patient teaching and gentle words; holding them tight all the while,
till they did what he wanted them to do. When they became docile, he
rubbed their heads, and patted their necks, and talked affectionately to
them, and gave them a handful of oats. In that way, he obtained complete
control over them. He never kicked them, or jerked their mouths with the
bridle; he never whipped them, or allowed a whip to be used; and the
result was that they learned to love him, and were always ready to do as
he bade them.
I have read of a horse that was so terrified by the sound of a drum,
that if he heard it, even from a distance, he would run furiously and
smash to pieces any carriage to which he was harnessed. In consequence
of this, he was sold very cheap, though he was a strong, handsome
animal. The man who sold him said he had whipped and whipped him, to
cure him of the trick, but it did no good. People laughed at the man who
bought him, and said he had thrown money away upon a useless and
dangerous creature; but he replied, "I have some experience in horses,
and I think I can cure him."
He resolved to use no violence, but to deal rationally and humanely with
the animal, as he would like to be dealt with if he were a horse.
He kept him without food till he had become very hungry, and then he
placed a pan of oats before him on the top of a drum. As soon as he
began to eat, the man beat upon the drum. The horse reared and plunged
and ran furiously round the enclosure. He was led back to the stable
without any provender. After a while, oats were again placed before him
on the top of a drum. As soon as the drum was beaten, the horse reared
and ran away. I suppose he remembered the terrible whippings he had had
whenever he heard a drum, and so he thought the thing that made the
noise was an enemy to him. The third time the experiment was tried, he
had become excessively hungry. He pricked up his ears and snorted when
he heard the sound of the drum; but he stood still and looked at the
oats wistfully, while the man played a loud, lively tune. Finding the
noise did him no harm, he at last ventured to taste of the oats, and his
owner continued to play all the while he was eating. When the breakfast
was finished, he patted him on the neck and talked gently to him. For
several days his food was given to him in the same way. He was never
afraid of the sound of a drum afterward. On the contrary, he learned to
like it, because it made him think of sweet oats.
The fact is, reasonable and kind treatment will generally produce a
great and beneficial change in vicious animals as well as in vicious
men.
JAMES FORTEN.
BY L. MARIA CHILD.