igion and civilization, imported here from Africa,
will not need to be increased, considering that one hundred and fifty
per cent. of deaths by violence take place in procuring a given number
of slaves. This is but one objection; others are sufficiently obvious.
Both parts of that passage of Scripture are exceedingly interesting:
"Princes shall come out of Egypt; Ethiopia shall stretch out her hands
unto God." Egypt, the basest of kingdoms, shall yet send forth
first-rate men; and Ethiopia, even, shall be the worshipper of God. I
hope that these prophecies, though fulfilled once, are yet to have their
great accomplishment. This is my persuasion, and I trust that every
nation will be independent; but I shall not discard the Bible, if my
interpretation and hope should fail. Ethiopia is certainly stretching
out her hands unto God in our Southern country.

Hattie received some papers for children from a young friend at the
North, last week. After attending the colored Sabbath-school in ----,
and teaching a class of nicely-dressed, bright little "slave" girls, and
hearing the school sing their beautiful songs, with melodious voices,
such as, I can truly say, I never heard surpassed at the North, and
after looking upon the teachers, who represented the very flower of
Southern society, the superintendent being a man who would adorn any
station, you cannot fully conceive with what feelings I read, in one of
Hattie's little papers from the North, these lines, set to music for the
use of Northern children:

"I dwell where the sun shines gayly and bright,
Where flowers of rich beauty are ever in sight;
Here blooms the magnolia, here orange-trees wave;
But oh, not for _me_,--I'm a poor little slave.

"They say 'Sunny South' is the name of my home;
'Tis here that your robins and blue-birds are come,
While snows cover nests up, and angry winds rave;
_They_ may rest here,--not _I_; _I'm_ a poor little slave.

"Here beautiful mothers, 'mid splendors untold.
Their fairy-like babes to their fond bosoms fold;
My mammy's worked out, and lies here in the grave;
There's none to kiss _me_,--I'm a poor little slave.

"I've heard mistress telling her sweet little son,
What Jesus, the loving, for children has done;
Perhaps little black ones he also will save;
I ask him to take _me_, a poor little slave!"

No wonder, Gustavus, that you write such letters as your last, fed and
nourished as you are on such t