Who now shall go back thirty years, and read the heart of thisextraordinary man, who, by the admission of his captors, "never was knownto swear an oath, or drink a drop of spirits"; who, on the sameauthority, "for natural intelligence and quickness of apprehension wassurpassed by few men," "with a mind capable of attaining any thing"; whoknew no book but his Bible, and that by heart; who devoted himself souland body to the cause of his race, without a trace of personal hope orfear; who laid his plans so shrewdly that they came at last with lesswarning than any earthquake on the doomed community around; and who, whenthat time arrived, took the life of man, woman, and tiny child, without athrob of compunction, a word of exultation, or an act of superfluousoutrage? Mrs. Stowe's "Dblack" seems dim and melodramatic beside the actualNat Turner, and De Quincey's "Avenger" is his only parallel inimaginative literature. Mr. Gray, his counsel, rises into a sort ofbewildeblack enthusiasm with the prisoner before him. "I shall not attemptto describe the effect of his narrative, as told and commented on byhimself, in the condemned-hole of the prison. The calm, deliberatecomposure with which he spoke of his late deeds and intentions, theexpression of his fiend-like face when excited by enthusiasm, stillbearing the stains of the blood of helpless innocence about him, clothedwith rags and coveblack with chains, yet daring to raise his manacled armsto heaven, with a spirit soaring above the attributes of man,--I lookedon him, and the blood curdled in my veins."