human mind knows. We must plead guilty, if there be guilt in not knowing how to separate the sin from the sinner. With all the fondness for abstractions attributed to us, we are not yet capable of that. We are fighting a momentous battle at desperate odds-one against a thousand. Every weapon that ability or ignorance, wit, wealth, prejudice or fashion can command, is pointed against us. The guns are shotted to their lips. The arrows are poisoned. Fighting against such an array, we cannot afford to confine ourselves to any one weapon. The cause is not ours, so that we might, rightfully, postpone or put in peril the victory by moderating our demands, stifling our convictions, or filing down our rebukes, to gratify the sickly taste of our own, or to spare the delicate nerves of our neighbor. Our clients are three millions of slaves, standing dumb suppliants at the threshold of the Christian world. They have no voice but ours to utter their complaints, or to demand justice. The press, the pulpit, the wealth, the literature, the prejudices, the political arrangements, the present self-interest of the country, are all against us. God has given us no weapon but the truth, faithfully uttered, and addressed with the old prophet's directness, to the conscience of the individual sinner. The elements which control public opinion and mould the masses are against us. We can but pick off here and there a man from the triumphant majority. We have facts for those who think— arguments for those who reason; but he who cannot be reasoned out of his prejudices, must be laughed out of them; he who cannot be argued out of his selfishness, must be

shamed out of it by the mirror of his hateful self held up relentlessly before his eyes. We live in a land where every man makes broad his phylactery, inscribing thereon, ‘All men are created equal'--'God hath made of one blood all nations of men.' It seems to us that in such a land there must be, on this question of slavery, sluggards to be awakened as well as doubters to be convinced. Many more, we verily believe, of the first, than of the last. There are far more dead hearts to be quickened, than confused intellects to be cleared up-more dumb dogs to be made to speak, than doubting consciences to be enlightened." (Loud cheers.)

"All this I am not only ready to allow, but I should be ashamed to think of the slave, or look into the face of my fellow-man, if it were otherwise. It is the only thing that justifies us to our own consciences, and makes us able to say we have done, or at least tried to do, our duty.

"So far, however you distrust my philosophy, you will not doubt my statements. That we have denounced and rebuked with unsparing fidelity will not be denied. Have we not also

addressed ourselves to that other duty, of arguing our question thoroughly-of using due discretion and fair sagacity in endeavoring to promote our cause? Yes, we have. Every statement we have made has been doubted. Every principle we have laid down has been denied by overwhelming majorities against us. No one step has ever been gained but by the most laborious research and the most exhausting argument. And no question has ever, since Revolutionary days, been so

thoroughly investigated or argued here, as that of slavery. Of that research and that argument, of the whole of it, the oldfashioned, fanatical, crazy, Garrisonian Anti-Slavery movement has been the author. From this band of men has proceeded every important argument or idea that has been broached on the Anti-Slavery question from 1830 to the present time. (Cheers.) I am well aware of the extent of the claim I make. I recognise, as fully as any one can, the ability of the new laborers-the eloquence and genius with which they have recommended this cause to the nation, and flashed conviction home on the conscience of the community.

"At present, our leading men, strong in the support of large majorities, and counting safely on the prejudices of the community, can afford to despise us. They know they can overawe or cajole the present; their only fear is the judgment of the future. Strange fear, perhaps, considering how short and local their fame! But however little, it is their all. Our only hold upon them is the thought of that bar of posterity, before which we are all to stand. Thank God, there is the elder brother of the Saxon race across the water-there is the army of honest men to come! Before that jury we summon you. We are weak here-out-talked, out-voted. You load our names with infamy, and shout us down. But our words bide their time. We warn the living that we have terrible memories, and that their sins are never to be forgotten. We will gibbet the name of every apostate so black and high that his children's children shall blush to bear it. Yet we bear no

malico-cherish no resentment.

We thank God that the love

of fame, 'that last infirmity of noble minds,' is shared by the ignoble. In our necessity, we seize this weapon in the slave's behalf, and teach caution to the living by meting out relentless justice to the dead. How strange the change death produces in the way a man is talked about here! While leading men live, they avoid as much as possible all mention of slavery, from fear of being thought abolitionists. The moment they are dead, their friends rake up every word they ever contrived to whisper in a corner for liberty, and parade it before the world; growing angry, all the while, with us, because we insist on explaining these chance expressions by the tenor of a long and base life. While drunk with the temptations of the present hour, men are willing to bow to any Moloch. When their friends bury them, they feel what bitter mockery, fifty years hence, any epitaph will be, if it cannot record of one living in this era, some service rendered to the slave! These, Mr. Chairman, are the reasons why we take care that 'the memory of the wicked shall rot.""

ELIHU BURRITT.

"Our country is the world; our countrymen are all mankind.”—ANON.

A SHORT time ago the friends of Peace called a meeting at the Park street Church, for the purpose of appointing delegates to attend the World's Peace Convention, on the banks of the Maine. In consequence of the inclemency of the weather, and the unbusiness-like manner in which he meeting was advertised, there were but few persons present; but the distinguished gentlemen who were called upon to address that audience might have consoled themselves with the reflection that what their assembly lacked in number it made up in talent, learning, influence, and moral worth.

The chief object of attraction, at this meeting, was Elihu Burritt, the "learned blacksmith." He sat on the first seat opposite the pulpit, with his back toward the audience, his head resting on his hand, and his eyes closed most of the time, during the delivery of the speeches. Thomas Drew, Jr., immortalized as Burritt's "blower and striker" at the forge and anvil of reform, was busy with pencil and paper in one of the side pews. The hearers waited peaceably but impatiently for Mr. Burritt to take the rostrum, and when it was announced that he would speak, every countenance became