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Page 35
* * * * *
England stands pre-eminently the first government in the world for
freedom of speech and of the press. Not even in our own beloved America,
can the man who feels himself oppressed speak as he can in Great
Britain. In some parts of England, however, the freedom of thought is
tolerated to a greater extent than in others; and of the places
favourable to reforms of all kinds, calculated to elevate and benefit
mankind, Newcastle-on-Tyne doubtless takes the lead. Surrounded by
innumerable coal mines, it furnishes employment for a large labouring
population, many of whom take a deep interest in the passing events of
the day, and, consequently, are a reading class. The public debater or
speaker, no matter what may be his subject, who fails to get an audience
in other towns, is sure of a gathering in the Music Hall, or Lecture
Room in Newcastle. Here I first had an opportunity of coming in contact
with a portion of the labouring people of Britain. I have addressed
large and influential meetings in Newcastle and the neighbouring towns,
and the more I see and learn of the condition of the working-classes of
England the more I am satisfied of the utter fallacy of the statements
often made that their condition approximates to that of the slaves of
America. Whatever may be the disadvantages that the British peasant
labours under, he is free; and if he is not satisfied with his employer
he can make choice of another. He also has the right to educate his
children; and he is the equal of the most wealthy person before an
English Court of Justice. But how is it with the American Slave? He has
no right to himself, no right to protect his wife, his child, or his own
person. He is nothing more than a living tool. Beyond his field or
workshop he knows nothing. There is no amount of ignorance he is not
capable of. He has not the least idea of the face of this earth, nor of
the history or constitution of the country in which he dwells. To him
the literature, science, and art--the progressive history, and the
accumulated discoveries of bygone ages, are as if they had never been.
The past is to him as yesterday, and the future scarcely more than
to-morrow. Ancestral monuments, he has none; written documents fraught
with cogitations of other times, he has none; and any instrumentality
calculated to awaken and expound the intellectual activity and
comprehension of a present or approaching generation, he has none. His
condition is that of the leopard of his own native Africa. It lives, it
propagates its kind; but never does it indicate a movement towards that
all but angelic intelligence of man. The slave eats, drinks, and
sleeps--all for the benefit of the man who claims his body as his
property. Before the tribunals of his country he has no voice. He has no
higher appeal than the mere will of his owner. He knows nothing of the
inspired Apostles through their writings. He has no Sabbath, no Church,
no Bible, no means of grace,--and yet we are told that he is as well off
as the labouring classes of England. It is not enough that the people of
my country should point to their Declaration of Independence which
declares that "all men are created equal." It is not enough that they
should laud to the skies a constitution containing boasting declarations
in favour of freedom. It is not enough that they should extol the genius
of Washington, the patriotism of Henry, or the enthusiasm of Otis. The
time has come when nations are judged by the acts of the present instead
of the past. And so it must be with America. In no place in the United
Kingdom has the American Slave warmer friends than in Newcastle.
* * * * *
I am now in Sheffield, and have just returned from a visit to James
Montgomery, the poet. In company with James Wall, Esq., I proceeded to
The Mount, the residence of Mr. Montgomery; and our names being sent in,
we were soon in the presence of the "Christian Poet." He held in his
left hand the _Eclectic Review_ for the month, and with the right gave
me a hearty shake, and bade me "Welcome to old England." He was anything
but like the portraits I had seen of him, and the man I had in my mind's
eye. I had just been reading his "Pelican Island," and I eyed the poet
with no little interest. He is under the middle size, his forehead high
and well formed, the top of which was a little bald; his hair of a
yellowish colour, his eyes rather small and deep set, the nose long and
slightly aquiline, his mouth rather small, and not at all pretty. He was
dressed in black, and a large white cravat entirely hid his neck and
chin: his having been afflicted from childhood with salt-rhum, was
doubtless the cause of his chin being so completely buried in the
neckcloth. Upon the whole, he looked more like one of our American
Methodist parsons, than any one I have seen in this country. He entered
freely into conversation with us. He said he should be glad to attend my
lecture that evening, but that he had long since quit going out at
night. He mentioned having heard William Lloyd Garrison some years
before, and with whom he was well pleased. He said it had long been a
puzzle to him, how Americans could hold slaves and still retain their
membership in the churches. When we rose to leave, the old man took my
hand between his two, and with tears in his eyes said, "Go on your
Christian mission, and may the Lord protect and prosper you. Your
enslaved countrymen have my sympathy, and shall have my prayers." Thus
ended our visit to the Bard of Sheffield. Long after I had quitted the
presence of the poet, the following lines of his were ringing in my
ears:--
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