THE Cuban merchant prosecutes his trade
Without a qualm, or a reproach being made;
Sits at his desk, and with composure sends
A formal order to his Gold-coast friends
For some five hundred "bultos" of effects,
And bids them ship "the goods" as he directs.
That human cargo, to its full amount,
Is duly bought and shipp'd on his account;
Stow'd to the best advantage in the hold,
And limb to limb, in chains, as you behold;
On every breast, the well-known brand, J. G.,
In letters bold, engraved on flesh you see.
And when the voyage to its close draws near,
No pains are spared to make the slaves appear
In fit condition for the market stall.

Their limbs are greased, their heads are shaved, and all
These naked wretches, wasted as they are,
And mark'd with many a recent wound and scar,
Are landed boldly on the coast, and soon
Are penn'd, like cattle, in the barricone ;*
Trick'd out for sale, and huddled in a mass,
Exposed to every broker who may pass,
Rudely examined, roused with the "courbash,"
And walk'd, and run, and startled with the lash,
Or ranged in line, are sold by parcel there,
Spectres of men! the pictures of despair.
Their owner comes, "the royal merchant" deigns
To view his chattels, and to count his gains.
To him what boots it how these slaves were made,
What wrongs the poor have suffer'd by his trade!
To him what boots it, if the sale is good,
How many perish'd in the fray of blood!
How many peaceful hamlets were attack'd,
What poor defenceless villages were sack'd!
How many wretched beings in each town
Maim'd at the onslaught, or in flight cut down,
How many infants from the breast were torn,
And frenzied mothers dragg'd away forlorn!

* A kind of barracks in which the newly-imported slaves are placed until they are sold.

THE CUBAN SLAVE-MERCHANT.

To him what boots it how the ship is cramm'd;
How many hundreds in the hold are jamm'd;
How small the space; what piteous cries below;
What frightful tumults in that den of woe;
Or how the hatches, when the gale comes on,
Are batten'd down, and ev'ry hope seems gone;
What struggling hands in vain are lifted there;
Or how the lips are parch'd that move in prayer,
Or utter imprecations wild and dread,

On all around, the dying and the dead.
What cares the merchant for that crowded hold;
The voyage pays if half the slaves are sold!
What does it matter to that proud senor,
How many sick have sunk to rise no more;
How many children in the waving throng,
Crush'd in the crowd, or trampled by the strong!
What boots it, in that dungeon of despair,
How many beings gasp and pant for air!
How many creatures draw infected breath,
And drag out life, ay, in the midst of death!
Yet to look down, my God, one instant there,
The shrieks and groans of that live mass to hear;
To breathe that horrid atmosphere, and dwell
But for one moment in that human hell!

It matters little, if he sell the sound,

How many sick, that might not sell, were drown'd;
How many wretched creatures pined away,

Or wasted bodies made their "plash" per day!
They're only negroes!-True, they count not here;
Perhaps their cries and groans may count elsewhere;
And ONE on high may say for these and all,
A price was paid, and it redeem'd from thrall.
If the proud "merchants who are princes" here,
Believe his word, or his commandments fear,
How can they dare to advocate this trade,
Or call the sacred Scriptures to its aid?
How can they have the boldness to lay claim,
And boast their title, to the Christian name;
Or yet pretend to walk in reason's light,
And wage eternal war with human right?

DR. MADDEN.

WHAT IS SLAVERY?

HAST thou ever ask'd thyself
What it is to be a slave ?
Bought and sold for sordid pelf,
From the cradle to the grave?

'Tis to know that all the powers
Of thy muscle, flesh, and bone,
Cannot, in thy happiest hours,
Be considred as thine own-

But thy Master's goods and chattels
Lent to thee for little more
Than to fight his selfish battles
For some bits of shining ore.

'Tis to learn thou hast a heart
Beating in that barter'd frame,
Of whose ownership no part

Is thy own except in name.

For the curse of slavery crushes
Out the life-blood from its core ;
And expands its throbbing gushes
But to swell another's store.

'Tis to feel, e'en worse than this,
If aught worse than this can be,
For thou hast for woe or bliss
An immortal soul in thee!

And what should have been thy light,
Shining e'en beyond the grave,
Thrust to darkness worse than night,
Leaving thee a hopeless slave!

Such is slavery! Could'st thou bear

Its vile bondage? Oh! my brother, How, then, canst thou, wilt thou dare To inflict it on another!

BARTON.

AN AFRICAN MISSIONARY STATION.

"THE wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them; the desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose."

How well do these words describe the good effects of faithful missionary labour. Only think a little. Before the missionary visited them, the people were wild as the beasts around them, without any knowledge to direct them-either to build houses or make furniture, or do anything to render themselves and their children happy and comfortable. They lived on trees, or in dens or caves, without any clothing, except the skin of some animal thrown over their shoulders or wound around their bodies. Their children grew up like so many little wild animals; all their fathers or mothers could do was to teach them how to walk, and run, and leap, and climb, and swim; and perhaps how to string a bow and trim an arrow-how to take the wild-fowl, and fish, and animals; where to dig for roots, and where to find

water and this would be all. They had no shops, no tools, no books; and what was worse, they had no sabbath days, no bibles, no preaching, no worshipthey were without hope, and without God. What an awful state! But the missionary visited their dreary region. At first they stood staring at him, and wondered what he could be. He was like them, for he had arms and hands, and he walked on his legs; but his face was white, and he was covered with clothes. What could he be, and what did he want? He tells them.-They listen: and after months and years of patient labour, behold the missionary village rises on the mountain side, or in the valley beneath, with its houses and furniture, its place of worship, and schools for the young. Now the men are employed in growing food, and the women are decently clad, and the children are taught to read and work. And on the sabbath-day, in decent order and in neat array, they may be found in the house of God, worshipping the Great Lord of heaven and of earth, and hearing of Jesus Christ, who came from heaven and died for our sins. Verily, missionaries are the most noble men in the world, and the most useful too. How true of them are the words "The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them; the desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose. It shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice even with joy and singing: the glory of Lebanon shall be given unto it, the excellency of Carmel and Sharon: they shall see the glory of the LORD, and the excellency of our God." Hail to the missionary band,

Who spread the news of peace,

On India's plains, on Afric's strand,
And Isles of tropic seas.

It is the joy-the joy of hope

The Saviour's word has given,

That they who sow and they who reap,
Shall meet ere long in heaven.