New York, Jan. 10, 1851.

Friend Douglass:—We live in a wonderful age of the world—we live in the nineteenth century; and I hasten to pen a few thoughts amid the lowering elements that surround us.

O Slavery, thou art a bitter draught! May Africa not mourn for the depredations committed upon her; may her descendants now existing on the Continent of America not regret that they have been brought to this enlightened land of liberty. Although we are laboring under the most grievous, illegal oppression, may the thought of having our lot cast among this enlightened people, and the possibility of attaining the arts and sciences which are essential to mankind, alleviate our pain and mitigate our grief, and be of more avail than abundant liberty in that heathen country, without understanding.—May that period shortly revole when we shall return to her blood-dyed shores and sunburnt plains, and there be instrumental in propagating the arts and sciences, and, above all, the light of the gospel, exempt from which, no people at any time can become truly civilized, noble and happy. "I will call them my people who were not my people, and those who were dead entire and those who were ready to perish in the land of Assyria, and throughout east of Egypt."

Dear sensibility, how refreshing art thou to nature! For this distribution and proportion of land is an incontrovertible evidence of the wisdom and goodness of an adorable Creator.—Thus the earth is rendered a suitable and commodious habitation for man. The blessings and advantages of commerce are augmented; and those extensive seas which afford a free intercourse between distant nations, are productive of the most felicitous consequences to the earth, by supplying a suitable quantity of vapor for the formation of clouds, which, in the eloquent language of scripture, "drop down a fatness upon the wilderness, while the little hills rejoice on every side." But oh, it is enough to wring the heart to glance at the horrors of those sufferings which thousands of poor Africans endure. A Riley may be taught with African cruelty. He might write a narrative of his sufferings, and his countrymen might read and curse in their hearts the horrid instruments of his sufferings. But who will write the history? The heart-sickening tales of husbands separated from their wives—of children torn from the fond embraces of their parents, and doomed to perpetual chains, where their hands and feet are placed together in a stooping posture, thus to endure the torture of famine until in despair they bite the flesh of their bodies to satisfy their uncontrollable cravings. They cannot write; they have no means to do it, nor to circulate it when written. We will weep over the sufferings of our brethren, and it is right that we should weep. If their story could be told, there is no heart but would feel the wound. For the sons and daughters of Africa have been handed down to America in ignorance and oppression. For the man who would justify our condition upon any other principle than liberty and equality, let him put himself in the place of one of these children of misfortune—let him imagine himself seized, perhaps in the night, and torn from all his friends and all his heart held dear, bound and forced into a vessel laden with wretches like himself, his tears answered with scorn, and his cry for pity with a bloody whip. If he does not perish with disease or hunger on his voyage, he is landed at length and consigned to a master who drives him into his fields to labor. He never more sees a friend; he never more hears from his lost relatives; his toils are perpetual, but not for himself; his labors incessant. He bids an eternal adiew to contentment, hope and enjoyment. He learns to brook insult by its repetition, and his only remedy for pain is habit and endurance. But for what purpose was he brought from his native country? Why was he torn from the season of his youth, and from the retreats of his native mountains? Did they desire to open his prospects into future life, and to inform his clouded soul of immortal joys, and to aid him in his pilgrimage to heaven? Oh no. Was it that he might witness the saving knowledge of the truth, that he might become a Christian? No. He was deprived of freedom, the dearest pledge of his existence. His mind was not cultivated by science, but he was placed among those who hated and despised him—who undervalued him for that of which he was entirely innocent, and which he could not possibly have avoided—detested for his complexion, and ranked among the beasts of stupidity. His laborious exertions, and his scanty allowance, only furnished that he may endure his toil for their aggrandizement. The sons and daughters of Africa have experienced more repression than any other nation under the canopy of the wide-spread heavens.—Experience, might we say—yes, experience, though a word that is lightly used, but little understood. It is a mysterious spirit; the result is felt by all; its nature is [illegible] by none.—The father [illegible] of the approach of experience, and has sometimes looked [illegible] and [illegible] consolation. We have heard of experience in the world—we have heard of experience in the nursery—we have read of experience in books; but who has realized experience until he was its subject, and who has discovered the object of so much fame until he had kissed its chain. To gain experience is the work of all. To our disadvantage, it is the curse of all; and though it is at the same time necessary to our happiness, yet it is destructive of our policy. It is the savior of all things; it is the destroyer of all things. It is our best friend, and it is our greatest enemy. Youths of Africa! Oh, that they could avoid oppression! But this is a proud day for us, an era full of interest, a day in which we have resolved to achieve our liberty by our honor, our industry and our fidelity.—Our enemies do not wish this, though they expect it. Why then will they not contribute a little of their abundance to a people deprived of every good, and, perhaps five years, three years, ere long we shall see the tree of liberty will be thriving in the soil of America. Churches will be erected and pulpits employed to celebrate our emancipation from the yoke of slavery and of sin. Hapless children of men! when shall light and order pervade the cheerless regions where we dwell?—What power shall break the admantine bars which secure the gates of our dungeons, and bring us forth? When shall the cheer of hope smile upon us from heaven, and with a compassionate voice call us to the delights and dictates of reason? Our destiny seems hopeless. No force of words can suitably describe or deplore our case. Our deliverance must be in Omnipotence, a being of almighty power, wisdom and goodness. To that Being, then, we commend ourselves, to his grace and to his everlasting mercy.

Respectfully yours,

T.