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.