Francis Jackson Garrison, William Lloyd Garrison, 1805-1879; the story of his life told by his children: volume 1

[180] pride. I assure you, that, notwithstanding the massive dimensions of this superstructure—its imperishable strength, its redundant passages, its multicapsular apartments—I am as humble as any occupant of a ten-foot building in our great Babel;—which frame of mind, my friends must acknowledge, is very commendable. It is true, I am not the owner of this huge pile, nor the grave lord-keeper of it; but then, I pay no rent—am bound to make no repairs—and enjoy the luxury of independence divested of its cares. . . .

Now, don't look amazed because I am in confinement. I have neither broken any man's head nor picked any man's pocket, neither committed highway robbery nor fired any part of the city. Yet, true it is, I am in prison, as snug as a robin in his cage; but I sing as often, and quite as well, as I did before my wings were clipped. To change the figure: here I strut, the lion of the day; and, of course, attract a great number of visitors, as the exhibition is gratuitous—so that between the conversation of my friends, the labors of my brain, and the ever-changing curiosities of this huge menagerie, time flies astonishingly swift. Moreover, this is a capital place to sketch the lights and shadows of human nature. Every day, in the gallery of my imagination, I hang up a fresh picture. I shall have a rare collection at the expiration of my visit. . . .

A Card: to Mr. Francis Todd, merchant, of Newburyport, (Mass.）

sir: As a New-England man, and a fellow-townsman, I am ashamed of your conduct. How could you suffer your noble ship to be freighted with the wretched victims of slavery? Is not this horrible traffic offensive to God, and revolting to humanity? You have a wife—Do you love her? You have children—If one merchant should kidnap, another sell, and a third transport them to a foreign market, how would you bear this bereavement? What language would be strong enough to denounce the abettor? You would rend the heavens with your lamentations! There is no sacrifice so painful to parents as the loss of their offspring. So cries the voice of nature!

Take another case. Suppose you and your family were seized on execution, and sold at public auction: a New Orleans planter buys your children—a Georgian, your wife—a South Carolinian, yourself: would one of your townsmen (believing the job to be a profitable one) be blameless for transporting you all thither, though familiar with all these afflicting circumstances?