Rochester, Jan., 1852.

Friend Douglass: — In this time of excitement and enthusiasm of man-worship, as regards the great Hungarian, I think it would be well to consider some principles and incongruities which are quite obvious to the reflecting mind, especially to those who may be justly denominated real lovers of humanity. The following poem is expressive of a few thoughts upon the subject, which I offer for publication in the columns of your valuable paper. We cannot but regard Kossuth as a great and noble man, to aid, no doubt, in the accomplishment of good to mankind. But the inconsistency of our nation, or more particularly its leaders, is too clearly marked to be passed in silence. This is the particular point which absorbed the mind when the lines were penned.

In true sympathy, yours,

Mrs. A. C. JudsonJudson, Abigail Cooke (Pratt)

.

KOSSUTH.

By Mrs. A. C. Judson.

Our nation's idol! See the multitudes

Gather to do him homage! they adore

Profoundly him whom they denominate

The incarnation of fair Freedom's soul—

The walking principles of Liberty,

And yet despise and trample under foot

The very principle they so revere!

They open mammon's stores, and freely pour

Its treasures forth—aye, breathe out sympathies

Most lavishly for Hungary oppressed,

While for the poor down-trodden slave at home,

They never sigh or cry, nor lend one mite

For his relief. But rather hunt him down,

As the wild beast is hunted, and his chains

Bind fast upon him. Strange consistency!

"'Tis distance lends enchantment" to the ear

As well as "to the eye." And this loud cry

Of woes and wrongs in yonder foreign land,

Has rous'd more zeal, even in one short hour,

Than all the blood and tears of those who groan

In our own borders, gain for many years.

Kossuth is lauded to the very skies

Because he is a patriot—love the land

Of his nativity—can pray forsooth

For darling Hungary, but man, as such,

Only abstractly loves. While they who gave

Their sympathies and self-devoted zeal

In liberty's true cause; for man oppressed,

Whatever his tribe or hue, were smitten down,

Martyr'd instead of praised. Thus Lovejoy fell,

And noble Torrey, and a host beside,

(Of whom the world have yet unworthy proved,)

Condemn'd unjustly, and unjustly slain.

Such is the strange consistency we find

Among the ruling spirits of our land,

Who would be called the very pillars firm

Of Freedom's sacred dome. O! "tell it not

In Gath or Askelon." Proclaim no more

Our country's boast, which is its very shame!

A land of freedom, home for the oppress'd,

Refuge for exiles whom the tyrant's blood,

Hath scourged severely. Thus with eloquence

The noble Magyar speaks. Is he deceived!

What! freedom's soil, where millions lie in chains

Of hopeless bondage, worse indeed, by far,

Than Austrian dungeon! Home for the oppress'd,

When the poor fugitive, like a trembling dove,

Flees from the face of man and finds no rest.

For weary foot-sole, till he goes beyond

His hunter's grasp, e'en to another clime!

A land of freedom, when its very laws

Are so unjust, tyrannical, severe,

That not a counterpart in any land

Or nation can be found! When thousands walk

In fear the livelong day, and scarcely dare

To close their eyes in sleep lest one, perchance,

(Devoted to his country, and its laws!)

Tear them from home, and all that they hold dear,

And yield them to a Southern despot's power!

If this be freedom, let it be, we pray.

PURGED FROM THE EARTH AS AN UNHALLOWED THING,

ITS VERY NAME REMEMBER'D BUT IN WRATH,

A RIGHTEOUS WRATH, SUCH AS HIGH HEAVEN INSPIRES,

'Tis freedom from the pit, where Satan stalks

Sole arbiter and chief.

Then crave it not—

For thy lov'd land, Hungarian—ask no more

For liberty like this. 'Twould be a curse,

Blacker and deeper than thou e'er hast known

From Austrian tyrant, or the Russian Czar.

Go tell thy nation that America

Hath burst, indeed, the bonds of foreign power,

Hath raised her flag of freedom to the breeze,

But hath herself assumed despotic sway

O'er subjects found within her own domain,

More cruel, far, than that from which she's freed,

A pattern most unfit for those who seek

Democracy, yea, God-like liberty.