caresses his children, and enjoys his cigar. The frivolous
smoke curls round his frivolous head, and at length he lays him down
to sleep, and, I suppose, such dreams as haunt such heads. But when he
wakes next morn, all the winds of indignation, wrath, and honest
scorn, are let loose. Before night, they are blowing all over this
commonwealth--ay, before another night they have gone to the
Mississippi, and wherever the lightning messenger can tell the tale.
So have I read in an old mediaeval legend that one summer afternoon,
there came up a 'shape, all hot from Tartarus,' from hell below, but
garmented and garbed to represent a civil-suited man, masked with
humanity. He walked quiet and decorous through Milan's stately
streets, and scattered from his hand an invisible dust. It touched the
walls; it lay on the streets; it ascended to the cross on the
minster's utmost top. It went down to the beggar's den. Peacefully he
walked through the streets, vanished and went home. But the next
morning, the pestilence was in Milan, and ere a week had sped half her
population were in their graves; and half the other half, crying that
hell was clutching at their hearts, fled from the reeking City of the
Plague!"

"I have studied the records of crime--it is a part of my ministry. I
do not find that any College Professor has ever been hanged for murder
in all the Anglo-Saxon family of men, till Harvard College had that
solitary shame. Is not that enough? Now she is the first to have a
Professor that kidnaps men. 'The Athens of America' furnished both!

"I can understand how a man commits a crime of passion, or
covetousness, or rage, nay, of revenge, or of ambition. But for a man
in Boston, with no passion, no covetousness, no rage, with no ambition
nor revenge, to steal a poor negro, to send him into bondage,--I
cannot comprehend the fact. I can understand the consciousness of a
lion, not a kidnapper's heart."

"But there is another court. The Empsons and the Dudleys have been
summoned there before: Jeffreys and Scroggs, the Kanes, and the
Curtises, and the Lorings, must one day travel the same unwelcome
road. Imagine the scene after man's mythological way. 'Edward, where
is thy brother, Anthony?' 'I know not; am I my brother's keeper,
Lord?' 'Edward, where is thy brother, Anthony?' 'Oh, Lord, he was
friendless, and so I smote him; he was poor, and I starved him of more
than life. He owned nothing but his African body. I took that aw