on.

You want my autograph. Permit me, then, to sign myself the friend of
every effort for human emancipation in our own country, and throughout
the world. God speed the day when all chains shall fall from the limbs
and from the soul, and universal liberty co-exist with universal
righteousness and universal peace. In this work I am

Yours truly,

[Illustration: (signature) E. H. Chapin.]

NEW YORK, Nov. 22d.

[Illustration: E. H. Chapin (Engraved by J. C. Buttre)]

The Dying Soliloquy of the Victim of the Wilkesbarre Tragedy.

He was approached from behind by Deputy Marshal Wyncoop and his
assistants, knocked down with a mace and partially shackled. The
fugitive, who had unsuspectingly waited upon them during their
breakfast at the Phenix Hotel, was a tall, noble-looking, remarkably
intelligent, and a nearly white mulatto; after a desperate effort and
severe struggle, he shook off his _five_ assailants, and with the loss
of everything but a remnant of his shirt, rushed from the house and
plunged into the water, exclaiming: "I will drown rather than be taken
alive." He was pursued and fired upon several times, the last ball
taking effect in his head, his face being instantly covered with
blood. He sprang up and shrieked in great agony, and no doubt would
have sunk at once, but for the buoyancy of the water. Seeing his
condition, the slave-catchers retreated, coolly remarking that "dead
niggers were not worth taking South."

Than be a slave,
Dread death I'll brave,
And hail the moment near,
When the soul mid pain,
Shall burst the chain
That long has bound it here.

Earth's thrilling pulse,
Man's stern repulse,
This weary heart no longer feels;
Its beating hushed
Its vain hopes crushed,
It craves that life which death reveals.

That moment great
My soul would wait,
In awe and peace sublime;
Nor bitter tears,
Nor slave-born fears,
As I pass from earth to time.

The angry past,
Like phantoms vast,
Glides by like the rushing wave;
So soon shall I,
Forgotten lie,
In the depths of my briny grave.

The time shall be,
"When no more sea"
Shall hide its treasures lone;
Then my soul shall rise,
Clothed for the skies,
To find its blissful home.

Foul deeds laid wrong