Of all the anti-slavery men that I met with, Wendell Phillips was, in my judgment, the only one who faced the question logically, and was prepared to admit, even to himself, that if the Union could not be maintained without preserving slavery, then the Union was not worth maintaining. The majority of the party laboured under the fatal weakness, from their own point of view, that, holding slavery to be a national sin, they yet could not reconcile themselves to the conclusion, that the Union had been hitherto the stronghold of the very system they inveighed against. They were always seeking to serve both Freedom and the Union, and, seeking this, they failed to preserve either. I do not wonder at their weakness, but I wonder all the more at the mental independence of the few who, like Wendell Phillips, were able to rise above the influences, amongst which they were reared and bred.

The mere perusal of this summary, meagre and broken as it inevitably is, can hardly give the reader any impression of the effect produced by it on the audience. No doubt the circumstances under which it was delivered, the state of passionate excitement with which his audience were then hourly expecting to hear tidings from the army of the Potomac, had much to do with it. There was something impressive, too, in the reflection, which every one of the hearers must have made for himself, that, twelve months before, the orator could no more have delivered such an address in the capital of

the Union than a Christian could go into the Mosque of St. Sophia, and there preach against the doctrines of Mahommedanism. Even as it was, there was known to be risk of an assault upon the speaker; and the impression that, in some sense, he carried his life in his hands, amidst a population half of whom were interested in slavery, gave a somewhat similar excitement to the performance, to that which forms the real attraction of Blondin's exhibitions.

Still, with all this, even after the sensation had passed away, it seems to me that, as a mere oratorical display, the address was a very remarkable one. It was curious to notice how the audience warmed beneath its delivery. During the first few minutes, the speaker was interrupted with occasional hisses, but gradually he appeared to acquire the mastery over his hearers, and to be able to work upon their feelings as he chose. The political parts of his speech-the attacks upon McClellan, the eulogy of Fremont, the sneers at England, and, above all, the prognostications of the future of America-created immense enthusiasm, compared with that which greeted the purely anti-slavery portions of his speech; but, towards the end, the excitement had grown to such a height that there was nothing, I think, which Phillips could have said, which would not have been cheered enthusiastically. The charm of the speaker consisted in the perfect self-possession, the lucid fluency, and the never-faltering sequence with which his words

were spoken. His delivery reminded me of that of the Bishop of Oxford, accompanied, however, with an apparent earnestness which I never was fortunate enough to see exhibited in any speech of the English prelate. How far the speech was absolutely impromptu, I was not able to satisfy myself. No notes were used, but then, with a speaker who, like Wendell Phillips, lectures perpetually on the same subject, it is impossible but that a great part of what he says one night should be a repetition of what he has said before. Much of it, however, must have been spoken for the occasion, and on the spur of the moment. I remember one passage, that I have not quoted in my summary, because I was not able to recall the order in which it was spoken, which created a great sensation. The bill for the abolition of slavery in the district of Columbia was at that time being passed through Congress, and, though its passage was certain, yet it had been delayed by the opposition of the Border State Democrats. Wendell Phillips was speaking of his personal hatred to slavery: "I have never," he said, "set foot on slave ground." There was an expression of disapprobation from the back benches, which recalled to his mind the fact that Washington was still a slave territory. "No!" he went on, "I am wrong; I have this day, for the first time, and, I hope, for the last, set foot on ground where my fellow-men are slaves, and for this, if for no other cause, I bear no love to the men whose

obstinacy has caused me to forego the resolve of my life." Passages like these read tamely afterwards, but, at the moment, they produced an effect upon the audience which was absolutely startling; and when he finished speaking, after two hours or more, the audience still lingered in their seats, as though they were unwilling to break the spell.

THE PROCLAMATION AND THE BORDER

STATES.

I HAVE often heard it asserted, and I have seen the statement constantly repeated in the English press, that slavery had nothing to do with the questions at issue between the North and South. I can only say, that during my residence in Washington, I heard little talked about except the question of slavery. At the time I arrived there, the chief discussion was, whether the President would or would not issue a proclamation advocating emancipation. At last, after much hesitation, Mr. Lincoln published the manifesto of the 6th of March, proposing gradual emancipation throughout the Slave States. The gist of that proclamation lay in the first paragraph. "The United States ought to cooperate with any State which may adopt a gradual "abolishment of slavery, giving to such State pecuniary "aid, to be used by it in its discretion to compensate "for the inconvenience, public and private, produced by "such change of system." This step, unimportant as it