civil style, as having never sinned yourself, and never left a man in
ignorance and want to be goaded into crime, you were about to hang three
men--one for murder, one for robbery with the armed hand, and one for
burning down a house. Suppose, after the fashion of "the good old
times," you were to hang those men in public, and lead them in long
procession through your streets, and while you were welcoming these
returned soldiers and taking their officers to feast in "the Cradle of
Liberty," they should meet the sheriff's procession escorting those
culprits to the gallows. Suppose the warriors should ask, "Why, what is
that?" What would you say? Why, this: "These men, they broke the law of
God, by violence, by fire and blood, and we shall hang them for the
public good, and especially for the example, to teach the ignorant, the
low, and the weak." Suppose those three felons, the halters round their
neck, should ask also, "Why, what is that?" You would say, "They are the
soldiers just come back from war. For two long years they have been hard
at work, burning cities, plundering a nation, and butchering whole
armies of men. Sometimes they killed a thousand in a day. By their help,
the nation has stolen seven hundred thousand square miles of land!"
Suppose the culprits ask, "Where will you hang so many?" "Hang them!" is
the answer, "we shall only hang you. It is written in our Bible that one
murder makes a villain, millions a hero. We shall feast these men full
of bread and wine; shall take their leader, a rough man and a ready, one
who by perpetual robbery holds a hundred slaves and more, and make him a
king over all the land. But as you only burnt, robbed, and murdered on
so small a scale, and without the command of the President or the
Congress, we shall hang you by the neck. Our Governor ordered these men
to go and burn and rob and kill; now he orders you to be hanged, and you
must not ask any more questions, for the hour is already come."
To make the whole more perfect--suppose a native of Loo-Choo, converted
to Christianity by your missionaries in his native land, had come hither
to have "the way of God" "expounded unto him more perfectly," that he
might see how these Christians love one another. Suppose he should be
witness to a scene like this!
* * * * *
To men who know the facts of war, the wickedness of this particular
invasion and its wide-extending consequences, I fear that my words will
seem poor and cold and tame. I have purposely mastered my emotion,
telling only my thought. I have uttered no denunciation against the men
who caused this destruction of treasure, this massacre of men, this
awful degradation of the moral sense. The respectable men of
Boston--"the men of property and standing" all over the State, the men
that commonly control the politics of New England, tell you that they
dislike the war. But they reelect the men who made it. Has a single man
in all New England lost his seat in any office because he favored the
war? Not a man. Have you ever known a northern merchant who would not
let his ship for the war, because the war was wicked and he a Christian?
Have you ever known a northern manufacturer who would not sell a kernel
of powder, nor a cannon-ball, nor a coat, nor a shirt for the war? Have
you ever known a capitalist, a man who lives by letting money, refuse to
lend money for the war because the war was wicked? Not a merchant, not a
manufacturer, not a capitalist. A little money--it can buy up whole
hosts of men. Virginia sells her negroes; what does New England sell?
There was once a man in Boston, a rich man too, not a very great man,
only a good one who loved his country, and there was another poor man
here, in the times that tried men's souls,--but there was not money
enough in all England, not enough promise of honors, to make Hancock and
Adams false to their sense of right. Is our soil degenerate, and have we
lost the breed of noble men?
No, I have not denounced the men who directly made the war, or
indirectly edged the people on. Pardon me, thou prostrate Mexico, robbed
of more than half thy soil, that America may have more slaves; thy
cities burned, thy children slain, the streets of thy capital trodden by
the alien foot, but still smoking with thy children's blood: pardon me
if I seem to have forgotten thee! And you, ye butchered Americans, slain
by the vomito, the gallows, and the sword; you, ye maimed and mutilated
men, who shall never again join hands in prayer, never kneel to God once
more upon the limbs he made you; you, ye widows, orphans of these
butchered men, far off in that more sunny South, here in our own fair
land, pardon me that I seem to forget your wrongs! And thou, my Country,
my own, my loved, my native land, thou child of great ideas and mother
of many a noble son, dishonored now, thy treasure wasted, thy children
killed or else made murderers, thy peaceful glory gone, thy Government
made to pimp and pander for lust of crime, forgive me that I seem
over-gentle to the men who did and do the damning deed which wastes thy
treasure, spills thy blood, and stains thine honor's sacred fold! And
you, ye sons of men everywhere, thou child of God, Mankind, whose
latest, fairest hope is planted here in this new world,--forgive me if I
seem gentle to thy enemies, and to forget the crime that so dishonors
man, and makes this ground a slaughter-yard of men--slain, too, in
furtherance of the basest wish! I have no words to tell the pity that I
feel for them that did the deed. I only say, "Father, forgive them, for
they know full well the sin they do!"
A sectarian church could censure a General for holding his candle in a
Catholic cathedral; it was "a candle to the Pope"; yet never dared to
blame the war. While we loaded a ship of war with corn and sent off the
Macedonian to Cork, freighted by private bounty to feed the starving
Irishman, the State sent her ships to Vera Cruz, in a cause most unholy,
to bombard, to smite, and to kill. Father! forgive the State; forgive
the church. It was an ignorant State. It was a silent church--a poor,
dumb dog, that dared not bark at the wolf who prowls about the fold, but
only at the lamb.
Yet ye leaders of the land, know this,--that the blood of thirty
thousand men cries out of the ground against you. Be it your folly or
your crime, still cries the voice, "Where is thy brother?" That thirty
thousand--in the name of humanity I ask, "Where are they?" In the name
of justice I answer, "You slew them!"
It was not the people who made this war. They have often enough done a
foolish thing. But it was not they who did this wrong. It was they who
led the people; it was demagogues that did it. Whig demagogues and
demagogues of the democrats; men that flatter the ignorance, the folly,
or the sin of the people, that they might satisfy their own base
purposes. In May, 1846, if the facts of the case could have been stated
to the voters, and the question put to the whole mass of the people,
"Shall we go down and fight Mexico, spending two hundred million of
dollars, maiming four and twenty thousand men, and butchering thirty
thousand; shall we rob her of half her territory?"--the lowest and most
miserable part of the nation would have said as they did say, "Yes;"
the demagogues of the nation would have said as they did say, "Yes;"
perhaps a majority of the men of the South would have said so, for the
humanity of the nation lies not there; but if it had been brought to the
great mass of the people at the North,--whose industry and skill so
increase the national wealth, whose intelligence and morals have given
the nation its character abroad,--then they, the great majority of the
land, would have said "No. We will have no war! If we want more land, we
will buy it in the open market, and pay for it honestly. But we are not
thieves, nor murderers, thank God, and will not butcher a nation to make
a slave-field out of her soil." The people would not have made this war.
* * * * *
Well, we have got a new territory, enough to make one hundred States of
the size of Massachusetts. That is not all. We have beaten the armies of
Mexico, destroyed the little strength she had left, the little
self-respect, else she would not so have yielded and given up half her
soil for a few miserable dollars. Soon we shall take the rest of her
possessions. How can Mexico hold them now--weakened, humiliated, divided
worse than ever within herself. Before many years, all of this northern
continent will doubtless be in the hands of the Anglo Saxon race. That
of itself is not a thing to mourn at. Could we have extended our empire
there by trade, by the Christian arts of peace, it would be a blessing
to us and to Mexico; a blessing to the world. But we have done it in the
worst way, by fraud and blood; for the worst purpose, to steal soil and
convert the cities of men into the shambles for human flesh; have done
it at the bidding of men whose counsels long have been a scourge and a
curse--at the bidding of slaveholders. They it is that rule the land,
fill the offices, buy up the North with the crumbs that fall from their
political table, make the laws, declare hostilities, and leave the North
to pay the bill. Shall we ever waken out of our sleep; shall we ever
remember the duties we owe to the world and to God, who put us here on
this new continent? Let us not despair.
Soon we shall have all the southern part of the continent, perhaps half
the islands of the Gulf. One thing remains to do--that is, with the new
soil we have taken, to extend order, peace, education, religion; to keep
it from the blight, the crime, and the sin of slavery. That is for the
nation to do; for the North to do. God knows the South will never do it.
Is there manliness enough left in the North to do that? Has the soil
forgot its wonted faith, and borne a different race of men from those
who struggled eight long years for freedom? Do we forget our sires,
forget our God? In the day when the monarchs of Europe are shaken from
their thrones; when the Russian and the Turk abolish slavery; when
cowardly Naples awakes from her centuries of sleep, and will have
freedom; when France prays to become a Republic, and in her agony sweats
great drops of blood; while the Tories of the world look on and mock and
wag their heads; and while the Angel of Hope descends with trusting
words to comfort her,--shall America extend slavery? butcher a nation to
get soil to make a field for slaves? I know how easily the South can buy
office-hunters; whig or democrat, the price is still the same. The same
golden eagle blinds the eyes of each. But can she buy the people of the
North? Is honesty gone, and honor gone, your love of country gone,
religion gone, and nothing manly left; not even shame? Then let us
perish; let the Union perish! No, let that stand firm, and let the
Northern men themselves be slaves; and let us go to our masters and say,
"You are very few, we are very many; we have the wealth, the numbers,
the intelligence, the religion of the land; but you have the power, do
not be hard upon us; pray give us a little something, some humble
offices, or if not these at least a tariff, and we will be content."
Slavery has already been the blight of this nation, the curse of the
North and the curse of the South. It has hindered commerce,
manufactures, agriculture. It confounds your politics. It has silenced
your ablest men. It has muzzled the pulpit, and stifled the better life
out of the press. It has robbed three million men of what is dearer
than life; it has kept back the welfare of seventeen millions more. You
ask, O Americans, where is the harmony of the Union? It was broken by
slavery. Where is the treasure we have wasted? It was squandered by
slavery. Where are the men we sent to Mexico? They were murdered by
slavery; and now the slave power comes forward to put her new minions,
her thirteenth President, upon the nation's neck! Will the North say
"Yes?"
But there is a Providence which rules the world,--a plan in His affairs.
Shall all this war, this aggression of the slave power be for nothing?
Surely not. Let it teach us two things: Everlasting hostility to
slavery; everlasting love of Justice and of its Eternal Right. Then,
dear as we may pay for it, it may be worth what it has cost--the money
and the men. I call on you, ye men--fathers, brothers, husbands, sons,
to learn this lesson, and, when duty calls, to show that you know
it--know it by heart and at your fingers' ends! And you, ye
women--mothers, sisters, daughters, wives, I call on you to teach this
lesson to your children, and let them know that such a war is sin, and
slavery sin, and, while you teach them to hate both, teach them to be
men, and do the duties of noble, Christian, and manly men! Behind
injustice there is ruin, and above man there is the everlasting God.
FOOTNOTES:
[10] In the Massachusetts Quarterly Review, Vol. I. Article I. See also
the paper on the administration of Mr. Polk, in Vol. III. Art. VIII.
[11] Mr. Trist introduced these articles into the treaty, without having
instructions from the American Government to do so; the honor,
therefore, is wholly due to him. There were some in the Senate who
opposed these articles.
[12] See Mr. Clay's speech at the dinner in New Orleans on Forefathers'
day.
[13] See Mr. Webster's speech to the volunteers at Philadelphia.
[14] A case of this sort had just occurred in Boston.
[15] Mr. George N. Briggs.
VI.
A SERMON OF THE PERISHING CLASSES IN BOSTON.--PREACHED AT THE MELODEON,
ON SUNDAY, AUGUST 30, 1846.
MATTHEW XVIII. 14.
It is not the will of our Father which is in heaven, that one
of these little ones should perish.
There are two classes of men who are weak and little: one is little by
nature, consisting of such as are born with feeble powers, not strongly
capable of self-help; the other is little by position, comprising men
that are permanently poor and ignorant. When Jesus said, It is not God's
will that one of these little ones should perish, I take it he included
both these classes--men little by nature, and men little by position.
Furthermore, I take it he said what is true, that it is not God's will
one of these little ones should perish. Now, a man may be said to perish
when he is ruined, or even when he fails to attain the degree of manhood
he might attain under the average circumstances of this present age, and
these present men. In a society like ours, and that of all nations at
this time, as hitherto, with such a history, a history of blood and
violence, cunning and fraud; resting on such a basis--a basis of
selfishness; a society wherein there is a preference of the mighty, and
a postponement of the righteous, where power is worshipped and justice
little honored, though much talked of, it comes to pass that a great
many little ones from both these classes actually perish. If Jesus spoke
the truth, then they perish contrary to the will of God, and, of course,
by some other will adverse to the will of God. In a society where the
natural laws of the body are constantly violated, where many men are
obliged by circumstances to violate them, it follows unavoidably that
many are born little by nature, and they transmit their feebleness to
their issue. The other class, men little by position, are often so
hedged about with difficulties, so neglected, that they cannot change
their condition; they bequeath also their littleness to their children.
Thus the number of little ones enlarges with the increase of society.
This class becomes perpetual; a class of men mainly abandoned by the
Christians.
In all forms of social life hitherto devised these classes have
appeared, and it has been a serious question, What shall be done with
them? Seldom has it been the question, What shall be done for them? In
olden time the Spartans took children born with a weak or imperfect
body, children who would probably be a hinderance to the nation, and
threw them into a desert place to be devoured by the wild beasts, and so
settled that question. At this day, the Chinese, I am told, expose such
children in the streets and beside the rivers, to the humanity of
passers by; and not only such, but sound, healthy children, none the
less, who, though strong by nature, are born into a weak position. Many
of them are left to die, especially the boys. But some are saved, those
mainly girls. I will not say they are saved by the humanity of wealthier
men. They become slaves, devoted by their masters to a most base and
infamous purpose. With the exception of criminals, these abandoned
daughters of the poor, form, it is said, the only class of slaves in
that great country.
Neither the Chinese nor the Spartan method is manly or human. It does
with the little ones, not for them. It does away with them, and that is
all. I will not decide which is the worst of the two modes, the Chinese
or the Spartan. We are accustomed to call both these nations heathen,
and take it for granted they do not know it is God's will that not one
of these little ones should perish. Be that as it may, we do not call
ourselves heathen; we pretend to know the will of God in this
particular. Let us look, therefore, and see how we have disposed of the
little ones in Boston, what we are doing for them or with them.
Let me begin with neglected and abandoned children. We all know how
large and beautiful a provision is made for the public education of the
people. About a fourth part of the city taxes are for the public
schools. Yet one not familiar with this place is astonished at the
number of idle, vagrant boys and girls in the streets. It appears from
the late census of Boston, that there are 4,948 children between four
and fifteen who attend no school. I am not speaking of truants,
occasional absentees, but of children whose names are not registered at
school, permanent absentees. If we allow that 1,948 of these are kept in
some sort of restraint by their parents, and have, or have had, some
little pains taken with their culture at home; that they are feeble and
do not begin to attend school so early as most, or that they are
precocious, and complete their studies before fifteen, or for some other
good reason are taken from school, and put to some useful business,
there still remain 3,000 children who never attend any school, turned
loose into your streets! Suppose there is some error in the counting,
that the number is overstated one third, still there are left 2,000
young vagrants in the streets of Boston!
What will be the fate of these 2,000 children? Some men are superior to
circumstances; so well born they defy ill breeding. There may be
children so excellent and strong they cannot be spoiled. Surely there
are some who will learn with no school; boys of vast genius, whom you
cannot keep from learning. Others there are of wonderful moral gifts,
whom no circumstances can make vulgar; they will live in the midst of
corruption and keep clean through the innate refinement of a wondrous
soul. Out of these 2,000 children there may be two of this sort; it were
foolish to look for more than one in a thousand. The 1,997 depend mainly
on circumstances to help them; yes, to make their character. Send them
to school and they will learn. Give them good precepts, good examples,
they will also become good. Give them bad precepts, bad examples, and
they become wicked. Send them half clad and uncared for into your
streets, and they grow up hungry savages greedy for crime.
What have these abandoned children to help them? Nothing, literally
nothing! They are idle, though their bodies crave activity. They are
poor, ill-clad, and ill-fed. There is nothing about them to foster
self-respect; nothing to call forth their conscience, to awaken and
cultivate their sense of religion. They find themselves beggars in the
wealth of a city; idlers in the midst of its work. Yes, savages in the
midst of civilization. Their consciousness is that of an outcast, one
abandoned and forsaken of men. In cities, life is intense amongst all
classes. So the passions and appetites of such children are strong and
violent. Their taste is low; their wants clamorous. Are religion and
conscience there to abate the fever of passion and regulate desire? The
moral class and the cultivated shun these poor wretches, or look on with
stupid wonder. Our rule is that the whole need the physician, not the
sick. They are left almost entirely to herd and consort with the basest
of men; they are exposed early and late to the worst influences, and
their only comrades are men whom the children of the rich are taught to
shun as the pestilence. To be poor is hard enough in the country, where
artificial wants are few, and those easily met, where all classes are
humbly clad, and none fare sumptuously every day. But to be poor in the
city, where a hundred artificial desires daily claim satisfaction, and
where, too, it is difficult for the poor to satisfy the natural and
unavoidable wants of food and raiment; to be hungry, ragged, dirty, amid
luxury, wantonness and refinement; to be miserable in the midst of
abundance, that is hard beyond all power of speech. Look, I will not say
at the squalid dress of these children, as you see them prowling about
the markets and wharves, or contending in the dirty lanes and by-places
into which the pride of Boston has elbowed so much of her misery; look
at their faces! Haggard as they are, meagre and pale and wan, want is
not the worst thing written there, but cunning, fraud, violence and
obscenity, and worst of all, fear!
Amid all the science and refined culture of the nineteenth century,
these children learn little; little that is good, much that is bad. In
the intense life around them, they unavoidably become vicious, obscene,
deceitful and violent. They will lie, steal, be drunk. How can it be
otherwise?
If you could know the life of one of those poor lepers of Boston, you
would wonder, and weep. Let me take one of them at random out of the
mass. He was born, unwelcome, amid wretchedness and want. His coming
increased both. Miserably he struggles through his infancy, less tended
than the lion's whelp. He becomes a boy. He is covered only with rags,
and those squalid with long accumulated filth. He wanders about your
streets, too low even to seek employment, now snatching from a gutter
half rotten fruit which the owner flings away. He is ignorant; he has
never entered a school-house; to him even the alphabet is a mystery. He
is young in years, yet old in misery. There is no hope in his face. He
herds with others like himself, low, ragged, hungry and idle. If misery
loves company, he finds that satisfaction. Follow him to his home at
night; he herds in a cellar; in the same sty with father, mother,
brothers, sisters, and perhaps yet other families of like degree. What
served him for dress by day, is his only bed by night.