Again, it is said the slave has a maintenance guaranteed to him in old age, and is thus rendered free from those corroding cares in reference to his support which wear upon the poor free man. Is this provision of so high a consequence that men voluntarily submit to slavery? Are the masters willing to exchange the advantages derived from the unrequited labor of the slave for a freedom from this guarantee? The slave-holders of the south cannot make us believe they are so verdant as thus to have mistaken their interest. Away, then, with the argument that a God-created MAN should be made a man-created thing! American fathers, let me ask _you_, are the _advantages_ of slavery sufficient to induce _you_ to submit to the terrible wrong of being separated from _your_ wives and children, and sold to a distant owner? American mothers, do _you_ desire that _your_ husbands should be torn from the hearth-stone, and sold from your presence forever? Do you wish your children snatched from your cradles, knocked off at auction to the highest bidder, to go away from you forever? If not, then let your apologies for slavery cease. Reader, I take my leave of you, with the fond hope, that the recuperative moral energies both of the north and the south will soon herald the dawn of that glorious day when the sweat and blood of the unfortunate African shall no longer be struck into coin for the use of the cruel, unrelenting white man. ERRATA.--On page 13, second line from the bottom, for “writing” read writhing. THE TRAVELLING PILGRIM. I have no friends, no helper nigh, But He who heard the raven’s cry; My father’s house I’ve bid adieu, And on my journey I pursue. My sister wonders where I am, But I shall not return again; My sisters, brothers, think it strange That I should leave my nearest friends. But my kind friends I now must leave, And on my journey I proceed, To attend an appointment I have made, To find a place to lay my head. And if poor sinners did but know How much for them I undergo, They would not treat me with contempt, Nor curse me when I say “repent.” But O! the trials of my heart, Through rain, through snow, I have to go, And when I’m called to leave this flesh, I trust with Jesus Christ to rest.