only by being introduced as amendments into the Constitution. The Constitution of the United States, as is generally the case with the constitutions of nations which have created them de novo, instead of gradually evolving them, can be altered only by a slow and difficult process. Congress cannot make

amendments in it without the consent of two-thirds of both houses, and cannot call a convention to make them without the concurrence of the legislatures of two-thirds of the States, and when made they require ratification by three-fourths of the States.

The Free States are now sixteen, the Slave States fifteen. To obtain the requisite majority of threefourths, six of the Slave States must join the Free States. We do not believe that this is to be hoped for now. If, under the operation of the Nebraska and Kansas Act, two or three more Slave States are added to the Union, it will become obviously impossible.

That Act, however, is not part of the Constitution. Congress, by a simple majority, can repeal it, and arrest the territorial progress of slavery.

It can also repeal the Fugitive Slave Act, and relieve the Northerns from the hateful liability to become slave hunters for the Southerns.

But it can do no more.

Beyond the repeal of these Acts, what can an American statesman, anxious to free his country from this intolerable load of misery and crime effect?

Nothing.

He may indulge the hope that the ameliorating influence of knowledge and religion will induce the inhabitants of the Southern States themselves to amend gradually their atrocious slave codes. He may console himself with such a hope. We should be sorry to deprive him of it, but we do not share it. Public

opinion in the Slave States instead of improving is deteriorating. There are no instruments by which it can be enlightened or shamed. The press, the pulpit, the legislative bodies are silenced. Any man "tainted," to use the language of a Southern Presbyterian clergyman, "with the blood-hound prin"ciples of abolition," or even suspected of being so tainted, is ruined, outraged, and exiled, if he is allowed to live.†

That Providence will, in its own way and in its own time, work out a cure, we believe; because we believe improvement, progressive, though always slow and often interrupted, to be among the laws by which this earth is governed. But we do not venture to hope that we, or our sons, or our grandsons, will see American slavery extirpated, or even materially mitigated.

NOTE I., p. 27.

The following story, which we take from an American paper of July, 1855, illustrates the remarks in the text.

"A Mr. Pardon Davis, of Marquette County, in the State of Winconsin, was temporarily resident at Tensas, in Louisiana, near which was a plantation, the scene of horrible cruelties. Some negroes escaped from it, took refuge in his wood-yard, were concealed by him, and sent in a canoe across the river. A negro-hunter discovered their trail, hunted them for forty miles, overtook them, and gave them to his dogs to be worried, until at last they confessed whence they came and who had assisted them. For this crime Mr. Davis was sentenced to twenty years' imprisonment in the State prison of Louisiana, and is now at Baton Rouge undergoing his punishment.

"The following passages are extracted from a letter, which he wrote before his trial, to the Baptist community of which he is a member.

"I ask my brethren and sisters, in the fear of God, if a man should come to you, presenting a lacerated back, exposed to the rays of a southern summer's sun for want of a shirt, feet bleeding from having been torn by snags and briars, hungry and faint, whose crime was that he failed, after straining every nerve, to perform the labour appointed him—I ask, would you could you-turn him away without assisting him? No, brethren, I think I know you too well -I think you would hand up a loaf of bread, part with some of your surplus clothing, or, if you had no surplus, buy some, as I did help them across the river, point them to the star of Liberty, and bid them God speed.

"And now what more can I say? Have I done wrong? Have I done more than any man ought to do? Dear brethren, I leave you to judge; I am willing to be governed by your decision. I wait with the greatest anxiety to hear from you,

to know whether I shall receive your sympathies and prayers, or whether I have done wrong and am considered a heathen. If the former, I can bear my affliction with fortitude; but if the latter, I feel that my life hangs by a slender thread — that my days are numbered. In the meantime, brethren, pray for me; sisters, remember me in your prayers.

"I must cease, for the last paper in my possession is nearly covered over. And now, my brethren, when you meet to pray for heathen lands, remember, O! remember our own country. Watch over the declining steps of my parents; 'tis the greatest boon I can ask, for I fear that this intelligence will bring the grey hairs of loving father and affectionate mother to the grave. Comfort them with the thought that we may meet in heaven.'

NOTE II., p. 68.

Even in Virginia, once the most civilised of the States, to speak, though in another State, against slavery is punished by exile.

This crime was committed by a Mr. Underwood, a Virginian, on the 26th of June, 1856. We copy a letter to him from his wife, warning him of what was to come, and also the sentence inflicted on him by a self-constituted tribunal.

"MY DEAR JOHN C.,

"June 23rd, 1856.

"A friend communicated to me yesterday that there existed the greatest excitement and indignation against you for making, as reported in The Herald, an anti-slavery speech. told our friend, they were watching at Piedmont on Saturday for your arrival, and he had no doubt

if you had come that day, you would have met with personal violence. At Markham Station the leaders say they go for giving you notice, and a reasonable time to wind up your business and leave the State. I send this morning to Alexandria to mail this letter at that place, and telegraph to you to remain in New York till you receive it. I know not what to advise. I am afraid the excitement will meet you if you come. You know I am a Jackson, and I could not have Jackson blood in my veins without resisting till the last drop is shed in defence of life and liberty; but I do not believe in courting mob law or martyrdom. I feel greatly troubled at this state of things, and fear if your speech can be obtained it will exasperate the people here greatly. I hope you will be prudent; remain awhile in New York. Write immediately, and tell me what to do on the farm, and I will try to have your wishes carried out as nearly as

I can.

"With sorrow and much love, I remain, as ever, "Your devoted wife,

"M. G. UNDERWOOD."

FROM "THE VIRGINIA SENTINEL," JUNE 27TH, 1856.

"At a large and respectable meeting held at Piedmont Station, on the 26th instant, for the purpose of expressing their sentiments in relation to the course pursued by John C. Underwood, of Clarke County, and George Rye, of Shenandoah, at the Black Republican Convention, recently held at Philadelphia

"Resolved, That a committee be appointed to wait upon Mr. Underwood, to inform him of the just feelings of indignation created by his course in the Convention, together with his former (reputed) course in regard to the institution of slavery, and that they deem it just and advisable that he should leave the State as speedily as he can find it in his power so to do.

"Resolved, That the Alexandria Gazette, Alexandria