They searched the ancient records through, And this they found was written true, That once was lost a bride so fine From this same city Grosswardein. The length of time they came to try, And sixteen years they find passed by; And yet the maid was fresh and fair, As when first in her fifteenth year. Thereby the guardians understand This is the work of God's own hand. They bring the maiden food to eat, She turns white as a winding-sheet. "Of earthly things I wish for nought," Cries she; "but let a priest be brought, That I may take ere death is sent, The body true in sacrament. As soon as this last act was done-- And many a Christian looked thereon-- Free from all pain and mortal smart, Then ceased to beat that holy heart. [Illustration: (signature) Theo. Parker] Visit of a Fugitive Slave to the Grave of Wilberforce. On a beautiful morning in the month of June, while strolling about Trafalgar Square, I was attracted to the base of the Nelson column, where a crowd was standing gazing at the bas-relief representations of some of the great naval exploits of the man whose statue stands on the top of the pillar. The death-wound which the hero received on board the Victory, and his being carried from the ship's deck by his companions, is executed with great skill. Being no admirer of warlike heroes, I was on the point of turning away, when I perceived among the figures (which were as large as life) a full-blooded African, with as white a set of teeth as ever I had seen, and all the other peculiarities of feature that distinguish that race from the rest of the human family, with musket in hand and a dejected countenance, which told that he had been in the heat of the battle, and shared with the other soldiers the pain in the loss of their commander. However, as soon as I saw my sable brother, I felt more at home, and remained longer than I had intended. Here was the Negro, as black a man as was ever imported from the coast of Africa, represented in his proper place by the side of Lord Nelson, on one of England's proudest monuments. How different, thought I, was the position assigned to the colored man on similar monuments in the United States. Some years since, while standing under the shade of the monument erected to the memory of the brave Americans who fell at the storming of Fort Griswold, Connecticut, I felt a degree of pride as I beheld the names of two Africans who had fallen in the fight, yet I was grieved but not surprised to find their names colonized off, and a line drawn between them and the whites. This was in keeping with American historical injustice to its colored heroes. [Illustration: Wm. W. Brown. (Engraved by J. C. Buttre)]