ing gentlemen, who have heard the whole,
or a part of his story, from his own lips: Emmor Kimber, of Kimberton,
Pa., Lindley Coates, of Lancaster Co., do.; James Mott, of Philadelphia,
Lewis Tappan, Elizur Wright Jun., Rev. Dr. Follen, and James G. Birney,
of New York. The latter gentleman, who was a few years ago, a citizen of
Alabama, assures us that the statements made to him by James Williams,
were such as he had every reason to believe, from his own knowledge of
slavery in that State.]

The editor is fully aware that he has not been able to present this
affecting narrative in the simplicity and vivid freshness with which it
fell from the lips of the narrator. He has, however, as closely as
possible, copied his manner, and in many instances his precise language.
THE SLAVE HAS SPOKEN FOR HIMSELF. Acting merely as his amanuensis, he
has carefully abstained from comments of his own.[A]

[Footnote A: As the narrator was unable to read or write, it is quite
possible that the orthography of some of the names of individuals
mentioned in his story may not be entirely correct. For instance, the
name of his master may have been either Larrimer, or Larrrimore.]

The picture here presented to the people of the free states, is, in many
respects, a novel one. We all know something of Virginia and Kentucky
Slavery. We have heard of the internal slave trade--the pangs of
separation--the slave ship with its "cargo of despair" bound for the
New-Orleans market--the weary journey of the chained Coffle to the
cotton country. But here, in a great measure, we have lost sight of the
victims of avarice and lust. We have not studied the dreadful economy of
the cotton plantation, and know but little of the secrets of its
unlimited despotism.

But in this narrative the scenes of the plantation rise before us, with
a distinctness which approaches reality. We hear the sound of the horn
at daybreak, calling the sick and the weary to toil unrequited. Woman,
in her appealing delicacy and suffering, about to become a mother, is
fainting under the lash, or sinking exhausted beside her cotton row. We
hear the prayer for mercy answered with sneers and curses. We look on
the instruments of torture, and the corpses of murdered men. We see the
dogs, reeking hot from the chase, with their jaws foul with human blood.
We see the meek and aged Christian scarred with the lash, and bowed down
with toil, offering the supplication of a broken heart to his Fath