[The granddaughter found friends at the North, and, being uncommonly quick in her perceptions, she soon did much to supply the deficiencies of early education. While leading a worthy, industrious life in New York, she twice very narrowly escaped becoming a victim to the infamous Fugitive Slave Law. A noble-hearted lady purchased her freedom, and thereby rescued her from further danger. She thus closes the story of her venerable ancestor:--] "My grandmother lived to rejoice in the knowledge of my freedom; but not long afterward a letter came to me with a black seal. It was from a friend at the South, who informed me that she had gone 'where the wicked cease from troubling, and where the weary are at rest.' Among the gloomy recollections of my life in bondage come tender memories of that good grandmother, like a few fleecy clouds floating over a dark and troubled sea." H. J. NOTE.--The above account is no fiction. The author, who was thirty years in Slavery, wrote it in an interesting book entitled "Linda." She is an esteemed friend of mine; and I introduce this portion of her story here to illustrate the power of character over circumstances. She has intense sympathy for those who are still suffering in the bondage from which she escaped. She has devoted all her energies to the poor refugees in our camps, comforting the afflicted, nursing the sick, and teaching the children. On the 1st of January, 1863, she wrote me a letter, which began as follows: "I have lived to hear the Proclamation of Freedom for my suffering people. All my wrongs are forgiven. I am more than repaid for all I have endured. Glory to God in the highest!" L. M. CHILD. * * * * * "THEY CANNOT TAKE CARE OF THEMSELVES." Our tobacco they plant, and our cotton they pick, And our rice they can harvest and thrash; They feed us in health, and they nurse us when sick, And they earn--while we pocket--our cash. They lead us when young, and they help us when old, And their toil loads our tables and shelves; But they're "niggers"; and _therefore_ (the truth must be told) They cannot take care of _themselves_. REV. JOHN PIERPONT. THE COLORED MOTHER'S PRAYER. Great Father! who created all, The colored and the fair, O listen to a mother's call; Hear Thou the negro's prayer! Yet once again thy people teach, With lessons from above, That they may _practise_ what they _preach_, And _all_ their neighbors love. Again the Gospel precepts give; Teach them this rule to know,-- Such treatment as ye should _receive_, Be willing to _bestow_. Then my poor child, my darling one, Will never feel the smart Of their unjust and cruel scorn, That withers all the heart.