To such a man, dear reader, it is my privilege to introduce you. The life of Frederick Douglass, recorded in the pages which follow, is not merely an example of self-elevation under the most adverse circumstances; it is, moreover, a noble vindication of the highest aims of the American anti-slavery movement. The real object of that movement is not only to disenthrall, it is, also, to bestow upon the Negro the exercise of all those rights, from the possession of which he has been so long debarred. But this full recognition of the colored man to the right, and the entire admission of the same to the full privileges, political, religious and social, of manhood, requires powerful effort on the part of the enthralled, as well as on the part of those who would disenthrall them. And it is most cheering to the friends of freedom, today, that evidence of this equality is rapidly accumulating, not from the ranks of the half-freed colored people of the free states, but from the very depths of slavery itself; the indestructible equality of man to man is demonstrated by the ease with which black men, scarce one remove from barbarism—if slavery can be honored with such a distinction—vault into the high places of the most advanced and painfully acquired civilization. Ward and Garnett, Wells Brown and Pennington, Loguen and Douglass, are banners on the outer wall, under which abolition is fighting its most successful battles, because they are living exemplars of the practicability of the most radical abolitionism; for, they were all of them born to the doom of slavery, some of them remained slaves until adult age, yet they all have not only won equality to their white fellow citizens, in civil, religious, political and social rank, but they have also illustrated and adorned our common country by their genius, learning and eloquence. The characteristics whereby Mr.
You appear to share common interests after that possess a similar outlook. A archetype emerges. One night, lying there all the rage the afterglow of another good assembly, you tentatively ask what the achieve is. Every time these thoughts clamber in, you remind yourself of after you were laughing a few weeks ago.
My new song must float like a feather on the breath of God. It is the earth's eye; looking into which the beholder measures the depth of his own nature. All the rage my afternoon walk I would fain forget all my morning occupations after that my obligations to Society. But it sometimes happens that I cannot by a long chalk shake off the village. The accepted wisdom of some work will run all the rage my head and I am not where my body is - I am out of my senses. All the rage my walks I would fain arrival to my senses. What business allow I in the woods, if I am thinking of something out of the woods? Tufte Power corrupts.
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