Life Without and Life Within; or, Reviews, Narratives, Essays, and Poems.

be, in this matter, an elder sister, entitled to cry shame to us. And if her feelings be those of a sister indeed, how must she mourn to see her next of kin pushing back, as far as in her lies, the advance of this good cause, binding those whom the old world had awakened from its sins enough to loose! But courage, sister! All is not yet lost! There is here a faithful band, determined to expiate the crimes that have been committed in the name of liberty. On this day they meet and vow themselves to the service; and, as they look in one another's glowing eyes, they read there assurance that the end is not yet, and that they, forced as they are "To keep in company with Pain, And Fear, and Falsehood, miserable train," "Turn that necessity to glorious gain," "Transmute them and subdue." Indeed, we do not see that they "bate a jot of heart or hope," and it is because they feel that the power of the Great Spirit, and its peculiar workings in the spirit of this age, are with them. There is action and reaction all the time; and though the main current is obvious, there are many little eddies and counter-currents. Mrs. Norton writes a poem on the sufferings of the poor, and in it she, as episode, tunefully laments the sufferings of the Emperor of all the Russias for the death of a beloved daughter. And it _was_ a deep grief; yet it did not soften his heart, or make it feel for man. The first signs of his recovered spirits are in new efforts to crush out the heart of Poland, and to make the Jews lay aside the hereditary marks of their national existence--to them a sacrifice far worse than death. But then,--Count Apraxin is burned alive by his infuriate serfs, and the life of a serf is far more dog-like, or rather machine-like, than that of _our_ slaves. Still the serf can rise in vengeance--can admonish the autocrat that humanity may yet turn again and rend him. So with us. The most shameful deed has been done that ever disgraced a nation, because the most contrary to consciousness of right. Other nations have done wickedly, but we have surpassed them all in trampling under foot the principles that had been assumed as the basis of our national existence, and shown a willingness to forfeit our honor in the face of the world. The following stanzas, written by a friend some time since, on the fourth of July, exhibit these contrasts so forcibly, that we cannot do better than insert them here:-- Loud peal of bells and beat of drums Salute approaching dawn; And the deep cannon's fearful bursts Announce a nation's morn. Imposing ranks of freemen stand And claim their proud birthright; Impostors, rather! thus to brand A name they hold so bright. Let the day see the pageant show; Float, banners, to the breeze! Shout Liberty's great name throughout Columbia's lands and seas! Give open sunlight to the free; But for Truth's equal sake, When night sinks down upon the land, Proclaim dead Freedom's wake! Beat, muffled drums! Toll, funeral bell Nail every flag half-mast; For though we fought the battle well, We're traitors at the last. Let the whole nation join in one Procession to appear; We and our sons lead on the front, Our slaves bring up the rear. America is rocked within Thy cradle, Liberty, By Africa's poor, palsied hand-- Strange inconsistency! We've dug one grave as deep as Death, For Tyranny's black sin; And dug another at its side To thrust our brother in. We challenge all the world aloud,-- "Lo, Tyranny's deep grave!" And all the world points back and cries, "Thou fool! Behold thy slave!" Yes, rally, brave America, Thy noble hearts and free Around the Eagle, as he soars Upward in majesty. One half thy emblem is the bird, Out-facing thus the day; But wouldst thou make him wholly thine,-- _Give him a helpless prey!_ This should be sung in Charleston at nine o'clock in the evening, when the drums are heard proclaiming "dead Freedom's wake," as they summon to their homes, or to the custody of the police, every human being with a black skin who is found walking without a pass from a white. Or it might have been sung to advantage the night after Charleston had shown her independence and care of domestic institutions by expulsion of the venerable envoy of Massachusetts! Its expression would seem even more forcible than now, when sung so near the facts, when the eagle soars so close above his prey. How deep the shadow! yet cleft by light. There is a counter-current that sets towards the deep. We are inclined to weigh as of almost equal weight with all we have had to trouble us as to the prolongation of slavery, the hopes that may be gathered from the course of such a man as Cassius M. Clay,--a man open to none of the accusations brought to diminish the influence of abolitionists in general, for he has eaten the bread wrought from slavery, and has shared the education that excuses the blindness of the slaveholder. He speaks as one having authority; no one can deny that he knows where he is. In the prime of manhood, of talent, and the energy of a fine enthusiasm, he comes forward with deed and word to do his devoir in this cause, never to leave the field till he can take with him the wronged wretches rescued by his devotion. Now he has made this last sacrifice of the prejudices of "southern chivalry," more persons than ever will be ready to join the herald's cry, "God speed the right!" And we cannot but believe his noble example will be followed by many young men in the slaveholding ranks, brothers in a new, sacred band, vowed to the duty, not merely of defending, but far more sacred, of purifying their homes. The event of which this day is the anniversary, affords a sufficient guarantee of the safety and practicability of strong measures for this purification. Various accounts are given to the public, of the state of the British West Indies, and the foes of emancipation are of course constantly on the alert to detect any unfavorable result which may aid them in opposing the good work elsewhere. But through all statements these facts shine clear as the sun at noonday, that the measure was there carried into effect with an ease and success, and has shown in the African race a degree of goodness, docility, capacity for industry and self-culture entirely beyond or opposed to the predictions which darkened so many minds with fears. Those fears can never again be entertained or uttered with the same excuse. One great example of the _safety of doing right_ exists; true, there is but one of the sort, but volumes may be preached from such a text. We, however, preach not; there are too many preachers already in the field, abler, more deeply devoted to the cause. Endless are the sermons of these modern crusaders, these ardent "sons of thunder," who have pledged themselves never to stop or falter till this one black spot be purged away from the land which gave them birth. They cry aloud and spare not; they spare not others, but then, neither do they spare themselves; and such are ever the harbingers of a new advent of the Holy Spirit. Our venerated friend, Dr. Channing, sainted in more memories than any man who has left us in this nineteenth century, uttered the last of his tones of soft, solemn, convincing, persuasive eloquence, on this day and this occasion. The hills of Lenox laughed and were glad as they heard him who showed in that last address (an address not only to the men of Lenox, but to all men, for he was in the highest sense the friend of man) the unsullied purity of infancy, the indignation of youth at vice and wrong, informed and tempered by the mild wisdom of age. It is a beautiful fact that this should have been the last public occasion of his life. Last year a noble address was delivered by R. W. Emerson, in which he broadly showed the _juste milieu_ views upon this subject in the holy light of a high ideal day. The truest man grew more true as he listened; for the speech, though it had the force of fact and the lustre of thought, was chiefly remarkable as sharing the penetrating quality of the "still small voice," most often heard when no man speaks. Now it spoke _through_ a man; and no personalities, or prejudices, or passions could be perceived to veil or disturb its silver sound. These speeches are on record; little can be said that is not contained in them. But we can add evermore our aspirations for thee, O our country! that thou mayst not long need to borrow a _holy_ day; not long have all thy festivals blackened by falsehood, tyranny, and a crime for which neither man below nor God above can much longer pardon thee. For ignorance may excuse error; but thine--it is vain to deny it--is conscious wrong, and vows thee to the Mammon whose wages are endless remorse or final death. THANKSGIVING. "Canst thou give thanks for aught that has been given Except by making earth more worthy heaven? Just stewardship the Master hoped from thee; Harvests from time to bless eternity." Thanksgiving is peculiarly the festival day of New England. Elsewhere, other celebrations rival its attractions, but in that region where the Puritans first returned thanks that some among them had been sustained by a great hope and earnest resolve amid the perils of the ocean, wild beasts, and famine, the old spirit which hallowed the day still lingers, and forbids that it should be entirely devoted to play and plum-pudding. And yet, as there is always this tendency; as the twelfth-night cake is baked by many a hostess who would be puzzled if you asked her, "Twelfth night after or before what?" and the Christmas cake by many who know no other Christmas service, so it requires very serious assertion and proof from the minister to convince his parishioners that the turkey and plum-pudding, which are presently to occupy his place in their attention, should not be the chief objects of the day. And in other regions, where the occasion is observed, it is still more as one for a meeting of families and friends to the enjoyment of a good dinner, than for any higher purpose. This, indeed, is one which we want not to depreciate. If this manner of keeping the day be likely to persuade the juniors of the party that the celebrated Jack Horner is the prime model for brave boys, and that grandparents are chiefly to be respected as the givers of grand feasts yet a meeting in the spirit of kindness, however dull and blind, is not wholly without use in healing differences and promoting good intentions. The instinct of family love, intended by Heaven to make those of one blood the various and harmonious organs of one mind, is never wholly without good influence. Family love, I say, for family pride is never without bad influence, and it too often takes the place of its mild and healthy sister. Yet where society is at all simple, it is cheering to see the family circle thus assembled, if only because its patriarchal form is in itself so excellent. The presence of the children animates the old people, while the respect and attention they demand refine the gayety of the young. Yes, it is cheering to see, in some large room, the elders talking near the bright fire, while the cousins of all ages are amusing themselves in knots. Here is almost all the good, and very little of the ill, that can be found in society, got together merely for amusement. Yet how much nobler, more exhilarating, and purer would be the atmosphere of that circle if the design of its pious founders were