ty she looked back to
see, with keen enjoyment, "Mort Cunningham" falling backward from the
fence she had leaped. Secure in a garret, she looked down into the
streets below, to see his vacant, dazed look as he sought, unable to
find her. Her rendering of the expression of his face at this time, was
irresistibly ludicrous, as was that of his whole bearing while searching
for her. "Mort Cunningham" did not get her, but whether or not she ever
returned to the enjoyment of her happy home, in West Chester, we never
knew, as this sudden flight was the last we ever heard of her. She was
one of the most wide-awake of human beings, and the world certainly lost
in the uneducated slave, an actor of great dramatic power.

FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS HARPER.

The narratives and labors of eminent colored men such as Banneker,
Douglass, Brown, Garnet, and others, have been written and sketched very
fully for the public, and doubtless with advantage to the cause of
freedom. But there is not to be found in any written work portraying the
Anti-Slavery struggle, (except in the form of narratives,) as we are
aware of, a sketch of the labors of any eminent colored woman. We feel,
therefore, not only glad of the opportunity to present a sketch not
merely of the leading colored poet in the United States, but also of one
of the most liberal contributors, as well as one of the ablest advocates
of the Underground Rail Road and of the slave.

No extravagant praise of any kind,--only simple facts are needed to
portray the noble deeds of this faithful worker.

The want of space forbids more than a brief reference to her early life.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper (Watkins being her maiden name) was born in
the City of Baltimore in 1825, not of slave parentage, but subjected of
course to the oppressive influence which bond and free alike endured
under slave laws. Since reaching her majority, in looking back, the
following sentences from her own pen express the loneliness of her
childhood days. "Have I yearned for a mother's love? The grave was my
robber. Before three years had scattered their blight around my path,
death had won my mother from me. Would the strong arm of a brother have
been welcome? I was my mother's only child." Thus she fell into the
hands of an aunt, who watched over her during these early helpless
years. Rev. William Watkins, an uncle, taught a school in Baltimore for
free colored children, to which she was sent until she was