over the whole earth—better that an earthquake should engulph it—than that it should be used for so unhallowed and detestable a purpose!
Is the spirit of seventy-six cowering beneath the whip of the slave-driver?
Has Bunker hill no voice for a crisis like this?
What! is Faneuil Hall to ring with curses upon the heads of those who plead for liberty and equal rights—for the emancipation of millions of enslaved American citizens!
O, horrible prostitution!
O, base subserviency to tyrants!
O, damnable stain upon its fair fame, throughout all time!
Let those who contemplate addressing that meeting in opposition to the inalienable rights of their colored countrymen, pause before it is too late—their names and their memories will be covered with eternal infamy.
No fiction, no sophistry, can hide the fact from the intelligence of an impartial posterity, that the contemplated meeting is a meeting to take sides with the slaveholder, and against his victim—to palliate and countenance a bloody despotism, and to plant a dagger in the bosom of Liberty!
Perilous times had surely come.
, just arrived on August 17 at New Haven from New York,1
reported a horrible state of things in the latter city.
There would be no safety there for Thompson
—no, nor even in New Haven, thronged with Southerners attending the Yale Commencement
; that very day Thompson
had taken the stage from New Haven for Boston via Hartford
, where (it was rumored) a mob had burnt the colored people's church the day before; Thompson
, the Tappans, were all marked for assassination.
Still, the good man found comfort in the thought that ‘the bonfire at Charleston
is exciting a great curiosity to read our papers.’
wrote to Mrs. Ellis Gray Loring
from New York, on August 15:
I am at Brooklyn, at the house of a very hospitable 2 Englishman, a friend of Mr. Thompson's.3 I have not ventured into the city, nor does one of us dare to go to church to-day, so great is the excitement here.
You can form no conception of it. 'Tis like