But should the monarchial government of England call for the services of the colored man, freely would his heart’s blood be poured out in her defence,—­not because he has a particular preference for that form of government; not because he has ceased to love his native country,—­but because she has acknowledged his manhood, and given him a home to defend.  Beneath the floating banner of the British Lion, he finds inducements to lay down his life, if need be, in defence of his own broad acres, his family and fireside,—­all of which were denied him under the Stars and Stripes of his fatherland.  But a short time ago, the colored men of Cincinnati, O., were promptly denied the privilege they had solicited, to join with other citizens, in celebrating the anniversary of WASHINGTON’S Birth Day!  Oh, no; there must be no colored man in the company, met to honor him who still lives in the heart of every American citizen,—­“the father of his country,”—­and yet, who scorned not to sleep beside his faithful negro!  Nor did the nephew of the illustrious General, despise the command of the black regiment, which Gen. Jackson so proudly commended for their bravery, and bestowed upon it his personal thanks, for their services on the field of battle.

Do the Northern or Free States of the Union think to clear their skirts of the abomination of Slavery, by saying that they own no slaves?  Very true.  But is the poor, flying fugitive from the house of bondage, safe one moment within your borders?  Will he be welcomed to your homes, your tables, your firesides?  Will your clergymen bid you clothe and feed him, or give him a cup of cold water, in the name of a disciple of that holy Christ, who has said,—­“inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these little ones, ye have done it unto me?”—­Or will your own miserable Fugitive Slave Law, close the mouth of your clergy; crush down the rising benevolence of your heart; and convert you into a human blood-hound, to hunt down the panting fugitive, and return him to the hell of Slavery?  Oh, my God!—­the fact is too horrible to acknowledge, and yet it is a stubborn one.  Not on one foot of land under the broad folds of Columbia’s banner, can the slave say, “I am free!” Hungry, naked, and forlorn, he must flee onward; nor stop short of the outstretched arms of an English Queen.  Yet, thanks be to our Heavenly Father, that all have not bowed the knee to the Southern autocrat or slave power.  A few noble souls, thank God, remain, who, in defiance of iniquitous laws, throw open wide their doors to the trembling, fleeing bondman, whose purses are freely emptied to supply his wants, and help him on in his flight to the British dominion.  But can these out-gushings of a benevolent heart—­the purest impulses of a noble nature—­be permitted to flow out spontaneously, in open daylight?  Alas, no!  You must be quiet; make no noise, lest an United States’ Marshal wrest from you the object of your Christian sympathy, and impose on you a heavy fine, for your daring to do to another as you would he should do to you.