ldness
of thought, arising from the different manner, in which the organs of
rude and civilized people will be struck by the same object. And as to
their want of harmony and rhyme, which is the last objection, the
difference of pronunciation is the cause. Upon the whole, as they are
perfectly consistent with their own ideas, and are strictly musical as
pronounced by themselves, they afford us as high a proof of their
poetical powers, as the works of the most acknowledged poets.

But where these impediments have been removed, where they have received
an education, and have known and pronounced the language with propriety,
these defects have vanished, and their productions have been less
objectionable. For a proof of this, we appeal to the writings of an
African girl[069], who made no contemptible appearance in this species
of composition. She was kidnapped when only eight years old, and, in the
year 1761, was transported to America, where she was sold with other
slaves. She had no school education there, but receiving some little
instruction from the family, with whom she was so fortunate as to live,
she obtained such a knowledge of the English language within sixteen
months from the time of her arrival, as to be able to speak it and read
it to the astonishment of those who heard her. She soon afterwards
learned to write, and, having a great inclination to learn the Latin
tongue, she was indulged by her master, and made a progress. Her
Poetical works were published with his permission, in the year 1773.
They contain thirty-eight pieces on different subjects. We shall beg
leave to make a short extract from two or three of them, for the
observation of the reader.

_From an Hymn to the Evening_[070].

"Fill'd with the praise of him who gives the light,
And draws the sable curtains of the night,
Let placid slumbers sooth each weary mind,
At morn to wake more heav'nly and refin'd;
So shall the labours of the day begin,
More pure and guarded from the snares of sin.
----&c. &c."

* * * * *

_From an Hymn to the Morning_.

"Aurora hail! and all the thousand dies,
That deck thy progress through the vaulted skies!
The morn awakes, and wide extends her rays,
On ev'ry leaf the gentle zephyr plays.
Harmonious lays the feather'd race resume,
Dart the bright eye, and shake the painted plume.
----&c. &c."

* * * * *

_From Thoughts on Imag