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Page 9
SECTION IV.
How mortifying the reflection, that such a work as Uncle Tom's Cabin,
should have become so popular in England and America. As an American,
we can but view it with shame and regret. Where is the Bible? Where
are Shakespeare and Milton, and Addison and Johnson? And where are our
own immortal poets and prose writers? Who reads the chaste and
beautiful writings of Washington Irvin? What has become of our well
written and instructive histories and biographies? Why is it that a
filthy negro novel is found in every body's hand? Uncle Tom's Cabin!
What is it? What can be expected from it? Will it improve the manners,
the morals, or the literary tastes of our country-men, and fair
country-women? No! Never! Its very touch is contaminating. Filth,
pollution, and mental degradation, follow in the train of this class
of writers. In what consists the merit of Uncle Tom's Cabin? It is
hard to tell. Look at its dark design--its injustice--its falsehoods!
Its vulgarisms, negroisms, localisms, and common place slang! Its
tendency to pervert public taste, and corrupt public morals. How
remarkable that a work of its character, should have been so much read
and admired! We may boast of our intelligence and virtue to our hearts
content, the reception of this work is a sad commentary on the age in
which we live. We may boast of our religion; it is little else at
last, but self-righteous phariseism! We throw around ourselves
religion as a cloak; the more effectually to conceal our dark designs!
Yes, verily, while we stab an erring, or unerring brother in the dark!
We are all prostrate before the god of mammon, and there are but few
of us, who would not sell our Saviour for less than thirty pieces of
silver! Professedly we are Christians, but practically we are
infidels! The Bible is no longer our guide. The fact is, we know but
little about it, and care less! We profess to believe that it is the
word of God; and yet it is laid aside for any impure negro novel, or
other filthy tale, that may chance to fall in our way? Uncle Tom's
Cabin has been read more within the past year, than the Bible had been
for the last ten years, immediately preceding its appearance!
Thousands of Christians have gloated over its pages with rapture and
delight, from the rising till the setting sun, for days and nights in
succession, who had not during their lives read a dozen chapters in
the Bible! We will now remove the veil and look within. Its high time
that the motives which prompt us to action were exposed to public
gaze. Let us then take a peep at the "inward man."
A portion of our fellow citizens in another part of this Union, had,
by no fault or agency of their own, become involved in the evils and
calamities of slavery. We turned our eyes in that direction, and
looked on the dark pictures. We felt that we were great sinners.
Guilt pressed heavily upon us. "The sorrows of death compassed us:
and the pains of hell got hold upon us;" and we "found trouble and
sorrow." The anguish of our guilt was insupportable. We were in deep
distress, and we longed for some thing to soothe and ease our troubled
minds: but we did not, with the Psalmist, call upon the Lord to
"deliver us." No! By no means, for we thought if we could find worse
sinners than ourselves, it would afford us some relief.
Twas thus we sought, but sought in vain
A panacea for all our pain!
Are there not those more vile than we--
If baser mortal man can be!
We looked around--and looked again,
And searched the world--but searched in vain;
For more depraved--more vile than we
Sure there were none--none could there be!
Alas our souls are steeped in sin!
Though clean without--impure within--
As sepulchers adorned with paint
A devil within--without a saint!
Our condition was pitiable indeed. We said among ourselves, "What now
shall we do?" "Where! O! Where shall we find worse sinners than
ourselves?" Our woe-begone looks betrayed the secret workings and
intentions of our hearts; We again went forth in search of those more
wicked than ourselves; but we were destined to disappointment, for we
sought in vain,--they were hard to find. They were neither here--nor
there--nor any where to be found in all the land of the living! Worse
sinners than ourselves could not be found upon this terrestial
globe--among all the degenerate sons and daughters of Adam. When we
had well nigh given up in despair, we again directed our eyes to the
dark picture of African slavery. "Oh!" said we, to ourselves, "how it
would soothe and tranquilize our troubled consciences, if we could but
find worse sinners than ourselves." "We know that we are vile and
depraved, but are not those slaveholders, a little worse than we are?"
Anxiously and intensely we gazed on, but we were disappointed! The
picture was dark, _to be sure_; but we failed to observe all that we
expected! We then called for glasses that magnified a thousand fold,
and again, and again, we surveyed the dark picture! Ah! we saw
something at last! What was it? Well, we either saw something, or,
otherwise, we thought we saw something. Chagrin and despair seized
upon us, and we exclaimed in the bitter agonies of our souls,
"merciful God, are we sinners above all sinners--are there none, so
vile as we are?" "But stop--hold on," (said we), "we are not done with
negrodom yet--we cannot let those rascally slaveholders off so
lightly--we will yet make it appear, that they are more wicked than
ourselves--or, at all events, we will not give them up yet." It was
but seldom that we troubled the good old Bible, but as we were in a
difficulty, we decided at once to consult her--perchance she might
talk about right on the subject of slavery. After a long search we
found the old book; brushed off the dust and opened it. Well, now, we
felt quite certain, that the Bible would tell us, that we were better
Christians than slaveholders; for we had already succeeded in
persuading ourselves, that we were not quite so bad as we imagined at
the outset; and we moreover thought, that we got a glimpse of some
thing dreadful about these Southern folks, but hardly knew what it
was. We then proceeded to examine the Bible. "Where is it," (said we),
"that the Bible denounces these slaveholders, as the chief of
sinners?" "Well, we don't know, but we think it says something
dreadful about them; but we don't know where it is, or what it is."
We searched, but searched in vain; almost ready to abuse the good
Boob, because it refused to abuse slaveholders. We then soliloquized
in the following words. "We don't like these slaveholders--never
did--nor did our fathers before us. Our fathers told us that they were
bad men--that they were guilty of many horrible things; and that they
were not good Christians, like the people out here North." We were,
nevertheless, still oppressed by a load of guilt, and felt the
insupportable gnawings of a guilty conscience. We had oppressed the
poor and robbed the widow and orphans! We had defrauded our neighbor
and slandered our brother! We had lied to both God and man! "Can it be
possible," (said we to ourselves), "that there are human beings
living, who have been guilty of more abominable crimes?" "What is more
odious?" "What could be more detestable?" "What could render a human
being more obnoxious to eternal vengeance?" We were in this deplorable
condition, when we first set about trying to deceive ourselves. We
pondered the matter well, and could devise no means, that in our
judgment, would be so likely to bring relief to our troubled minds, as
to find that there were others who were as bad, or probably a little
worse than ourselves. We flattered ourselves, that while we were
talking about the sins of others, we might forget our own; and at
length be able to persuade ourselves that we were Christians. But it
was all of no avail. Our consciences said "nay"--the Bible said "nay."
It was at this critical moment, that Uncle Tom's Cabin came to our
relief, and it settled the difficulty. It proved to our satisfaction,
that these Southern people were infinitely worse than ourselves. We
now found but little difficulty in persuading ourselves that we were
really Christians. We then had Southern men just where we had long
been trying to place them. We had nothing then to do, but to compare
ourselves with them; and the result of the whole matter was, Mrs.
Stowe had made them out so much worse than ourselves, that we were
forced to the conclusion, that we were good Christians at last.
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