this government, for any such purpose
as to remove, in whole or in part, or
in any way to diminish or deal bene-
ficially with, the free colored popula-
tion of the Southern States. I have
said that I honor Virginia for her ces-
sion of this territory. There have been
received into the treasury of the United
States eighty millions of dollars, the
proceeds of the sales of the public lands 10
ceded by her. If the residue should
be sold at the same rate, the whole
aggregate will exceed two hundred mil-
lions of dollars. If Virginia and the
South see fit to adopt any proposition
to relieve themselves from the free peo-
ple of color among them, or such as
may be made free, they have my full
consent that the government shall pay
them any sum of money out of the pro- 20
ceeds of that cession which may be
adequate to the purpose.

And now, Mr. President, I draw these observations to a close. I have spoken freely, and I meant to do so. I have sought to make no display. I have sought to enliven the occasion by no animated discussion, nor have I attempted any train of elaborate argument. I have wished only to speak my 30 sentiments, fully and at length; being desirous, once and for all, to let the Senate know, and to let the country know, the opinions and sentiments which I entertain on all these subjects. These opinions are not likely to be suddenly changed. If there be any future service that I can render to the country, consistently with these sentiments and opinions, I shall cheerfully render it. 40 If there be not, I shall still be glad to have had an opportunity to disburden myself from the bottom of my heart, and to make known every political sentiment that therein exists.

And now, Mr. President, instead of speaking of the possibility or utility of secession, instead of dwelling in those caverns of darkness, instead of groping with those ideas so full of all that is 50 horrid and horrible, let us come out into the light of day; let us enjoy the fresh air of Liberty and Union; let us cherish those hopes which belong to

us; let us devote ourselves to those great objects that are fit for our consideration and our action; let us raise our conceptions to the magnitude and the importance of the duties that devolve. upon us; let our comprehension be as broad as the country for which we act, our aspirations as high as its certain destiny; let us not be pigmies in a case that calls for men. Never did there devolve on any generation of men higher trusts than now devolve upon us, for the preservation of this Constitution and the harmony and peace. of all who are destined to live under it. Let us make our generation one of the strongest and brightest links in that golden chain which is destined, I fondly believe, to grapple the people of all the States to this Constitution for ages to come. We have a great, popular, constitutional government, guarded by law and by judicature, and defended by the affections of the whole people. No monarchical throne presses the States together, no iron chain of military power encircles them; they live and stand under a government popular in its form, representative in its character, founded upon principles of equality, and so constructed, we hope, as to last for ever. In all its history it has been beneficent; it has trodden down no man's liberty; it has crushed no State. Its daily respiration is liberty and patriotism; its yet youthful veins are full of enterprise, courage, and honorable love of glory and renown. Large before, the country has now, by recent events, become vastly larger. This republic now extends, with a vast breadth, across the whole continent. The two great seas of the world wash the one and the other shore. We realize, on a mighty scale, the beautiful description of the ornamental border of the buckler of Achilles:

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE (1811-1896)

UNCLE TOM'S CABIN

of a little newspaper picture of a man with a stick and bundle, with "Ran away from the subscriber" under it. The magic of the real presence of distress, the imploring human eye, the frail, trembling human hand, the de

IN WHICH IT APPEARS THAT A SENATOR spairing appeal of helpless agony,

CHAPTER IX

IS BUT A MAN

these he had never tried. He had never thought that a fugitive might be a hap

Mrs. Bird hastily deposited the 10 less mother, a defenceless child,-like

various articles she had collected in a
small plain trunk, and locking it, de-
sired her husband to see it in the car-
riage, and then proceeded to call the
woman. Soon, arrayed in a cloak, bon-
net, and shawl, that had belonged to
her benefactress, she appeared at the
door with her child in her arms. Mr.
Bird hurried her into the carriage, and
Mrs. Bird pressed on after her to the 20
carriage steps. Eliza leaned out of the
carriage, and put out her hand,—a hand
as soft and beautiful as was given in
return. She fixed her large, dark eyes,
full of earnest meaning, on Mrs. Bird's
face, and seemed going to speak. Her
lips moved, she tried once or twice,
but there was no sound,--and pointing
upward, with a look never to be for-
gotten, she fell back in the seat, and 30
covered her face. The door was shut,
and the carriage drove on.

What a situation, now, for a patriotic senator, that had been all the week before spurring up the legislature of his native state to pass more stringent resolutions against escaping fugitives, their harborers and abettors!

Our good senator in his native state had not been exceeded by any of his 40 brethren at Washington, in the sort of eloquence which has won for them immortal renown! How sublimely he had sat with his hands in his pockets, and scouted all sentimental weakness of those who would put the welfare of a few miserable fugitives before great state interests!

He was as bold as a lion about it, and "mightily convinced" not only 50 himself, but everybody that heard him;

-but then his idea of a fugitive was only an idea of the letters that spell the word, or, at the most, the image

that one which was now wearing his lost boy's little well-known cap; and so, as our poor senator was not stone or steel, as he was a man, and a downright noble-hearted one, too, he was, as everybody must see, in a sad case for his patriotism. And you need not exult over him, good brother of the Southern States; for we have some inklings that many of you, under similar circumstances, would not do much better. We have reason to know, in Kentucky, as in Mississippi, are noble and generous hearts, to whom never was tale of suffering told in vain. Ah, good brother! is it fair for you to expect of us services which your own brave, honorable heart would not allow you to render, were you in our place?

Be that as it may, if our good senator was a political sinner, he was in a fair way to expiate it by his night's penance. There had been a long continuous period of rainy weather, and the soft, rich earth of Ohio, as every one knows, is admirably suited to the manufacture of mud, and the road was an Ohio railroad of the good old times.

"And pray, what sort of a road may that be?" says some eastern traveller, who has been accustomed to connect no ideas with a railroad but those of smoothness or speed.

Know, then, innocent eastern friend, that in benighted regions of the west, where the mud is of unfathomable and sublime depth, roads are made of round. rough logs, arranged transversely side by side, and coated over in their pristine freshness with earth, turf, and whatsoever may come to hand, and then the rejoicing native calleth it a road, and straightway essayeth to ride

thereupon. In process of time, the rains wash off all the turf and grass aforesaid, move the logs hither and thither, in picturesque positions, up, down, and crosswise, with divers chasms and ruts of black mud intervening.

Over such a road as this our senator went stumbling along, making moral

20

square plunge, which puts all on to their feet and then down into their seats with incredible quickness, the carriage stops, and, after much outside commotion, Cudjoe appears at the door.

"Please, sir, it's powerful bad spot, this yer. I don't know how we's to get clar out. I'm a thinkin' we'll have

reflections as continuously as under the 10 to be a gettin' rails."
circumstances could be expected, the
carriage proceeding along much as fol-
lows, bump! bump! bump! slush!
down in the mud!-the senator, woman,
and child reversing their positions so
suddenly as to come, without any very
accurate adjustment, against the win-
dows of the down-hill side. Carriage
sticks fast, while Cudjoe on the out-
side is heard making a great muster
among the horses. After various in-
effectual pullings and twitchings, just
as the senator is losing all patience, the
carriage suddenly rights itself with a
bounce, two front wheels go down into
another abyss, and senator, woman, and
child all tumble promiscuously on to
the front seat,-senator's hat is jammed
over his eyes and nose quite uncere-
moniously, and he considers himself 30
fairly extinguished;-child cries, and
Cudjoe on the outside delivers animated
addresses to the horses, who are kick-
ing, and floundering, and straining,
under repeated cracks of the whip.
Carriage springs up, with another
bounce, down go the hind wheels,-
senator, woman, and child fly over on
to the back seat, his elbows encounter-
ing her bonnet, and both her feet being 40
jammed into his hat, which flies off in
the concussion. After a few moments
the "slough" is passed, and the horses
stop, panting;—the senator finds his
hat, the woman straightens her bonnet
and hushes her child, and they brace
themselves firmly for what is yet to

The senator despairingly steps out, picking gingerly for some firm foothold; down goes one foot an immeasurable depth, he tries to pull it up, loses his balance, and tumbles over into the mud, and is fished out, in a very despairing condition, by Cudjoe.

But we forbear, out of sympathy to our readers' bones. Western travellers, who have beguiled the midnight hour in the interesting process of pulling down rail fences, to pry their carriages out of mud-holes, will have a respectful and mournful sympathy with our unfortunate hero. We beg them to drop a silent tear, and pass on.

It was full late in the night when the carriage emerged, dripping and bespattered, out of the creek, and stood at the door of a large farm-house.

come.

It took no inconsiderable perseverance to arouse the inmates; but at last the respectable proprietor appeared, and undid the door. He was a great, tall, bristling Orson of a fellow, full six feet and some inches in his stockings, and arrayed in a red flannel hunting-shirt. A very heavy mat of sandy hair, in a decidedly tousled condition, and a beard of some days' growth, gave the worthy man an appearance, to say the least, not particularly prepossessing. He stood for a few minutes holding the candle aloft, and blinking on our travellers with a dismal and mystified expression that was truly ludicrous. It cost some effort of our senator to induce him to comprehend the case fully; and while he is doing his

For a while only the continuous bump! bump! intermingled, just by way 50 best at that, we shall give him a little

of variety, with divers side plunges and compound shakes; and they begin to flatter themselves that they are not so badly off, after all. At last, with a

introduction to our readers.

Honest old John Van Trompe was once quite a considerable land-holder and slave-owner in the State of Ken

up to all that sort o' thing," said he, pointing to two or three goodly rifles over the mantel-piece; "and most people that know me know that 'twouldn't be healthy to try to get anybody out o' my house when I'm agin it. So now you jist go to sleep now, as quiet as if yer mother was a rockin' ye," said he, as he shut the door.

tucky. Having "nothing of the bear about him but the skin," and being gifted by nature with a great, honest, just heart, quite equal to his gigantic frame, he had been for some years witnessing with repressed uneasiness the workings of a system equally bad for oppressor and oppressed. At last, one day, John's great heart had swelled altogether too big to wear its bonds 10 any longer; so he just took his pocketbook out of his desk, and went over into Ohio, and bought a quarter of a township of good, rich land, made out free papers for all his people,-men, women, and children,-packed them up in wagons, and sent them off to settle down; and then honest John turned his face up the creek, and sat quietly down on a snug, retired farm, to enjoy 20 sho! That's natur now, poor crittur! his conscience and his reflections.

"Are you the man that will shelter a poor woman and child from slavecatchers?" said the senator, explicitly.

"I rather think I am," said honest John, with some considerable emphasis.

"I thought so," said the senator.

"If there's anybody comes," said the good man, stretching his tall, muscular form upward, "why here I'm ready for him; and I've got seven sons, each six foot high, and they'll be ready for 'em. Give our respects to 'em," said John; "tell 'em it's no matter how soon they call,-make no kinder difference to us,' said John, running his fingers through the shock of hair that thatched his head, and bursting out into a great laugh.

Weary, jaded, and spiritless, Eliza dragged herself up to the door, with her child lying in a heavy sleep on her arm. The rough man held the candle to her face, and uttering a kind of compassionate grunt, opened the door of a small bedroom adjoining to the large kitchen where they were standing, and motioned her to go in. He took down a candle, and lighting it, set it upon the table, and then addressed himself to Eliza.

"Now, I say, gal, you needn't be a bit afeard, let who will come here. I'm

30

40

50

"Why, this is an uncommon handsome un," he said to the senator. "Ah, well; handsome uns has the greatest cause to run, sometimes, if they has any kind o' feelin', such as decent women should. I know all about that."

The senator, in a few words, briefly explained Eliza's history.

"Oh! ou! aw! now, I want to know?" said the good man, pitifully; "sho! now

hunted down now like a deer,-hunted down, jest for havin' natural feelin's, and doin' what no kind o' mother could help a doin'! I tell ye what, these yer things make me come the nighest to swearin', now, o' most anything," said honest John, as he wiped his eyes with the back of a great, freckled, yellow hand. "I tell yer what, stranger, it was years and years before I'd jine the church, 'cause the ministers round in our parts used to preach that the Bible went in for these ere cuttings up,and I couldn't be up to 'em with their Greek and Hebrew, and so I took up agin 'em, Bible and all. I never jined. the church till I found a minister that was up to 'em all in Greek and all that, and he said right the contrary; and then I took right hold, and jined the church, I did now, fact," said John, who had been all this time uncorking some very frisky bottled cider, which at this juncture he presented.

"Ye'd better jest put up here, now, till daylight," said he, heartily, "and I'll call up the old woman, and have a bed got ready for you in no time."

"Thank you, my good friend," said the senator. "I must be along, to take the night stage for Columbus."

"Ah! well, then, if you must, I'll go a piece with you, and show you a cross road that will take you there better

"Ay, ay," said John, with equal con- 10 clear. Have you got clear of all your ciseness.

to suppose nobody in this world ever 40 well, I never want to talk seriously in

hot weather. What with mosquitoes and all, a fellow can't get himself up to any very sublime moral flights; and I believe," said St. Clare, suddenly rousing himself up, "there's a theory, now! I understand now why northern nations are always more virtuous than southern ones, I see into that whole subject."

50 "O, Auguste, you are a sad rattlebrain!"

"Am I? Well, so I am, I suppose; but for once I will be serious, now; but you must hand me that basket of