Having received from Great Britain the minutes of a special meeting of the Anti-Slavery Society, called to consider the time of holding a second General Convention, I met some of the friends of the cause in New York, together with John G. Whittier and Elizur Wright, of Boston, to obtain an interchange of their sentiments on the same subject.  After considerable discussion, they unanimously concluded to leave the decision as to the time of holding a future Convention to the London Committee—­the question of time being the summer of 1842 or 1843.

The numerous persons on whom I called, before leaving New York, concurred uniformly in the belief that public opinion was steadily, and somewhat rapidly advancing, in favor of emancipation, and that the prejudice against color was lessening.

The unanimity I found in the opinion that public feeling in favor of peace was continually strengthening, was very encouraging.  All whom I consulted, approved of the suggestion of Judge Jay, already mentioned, though I had no suitable opportunity of obtaining the collective sentiments of the friends of peace in New York upon it.

The Secretary of the Vigilance Committee, an association existing in several of the Northern cities, formed to aid runaway slaves in escaping to a place of safety, as well as to protect the free colored people from kidnappers, informed me that the number of slaves who applied for assistance was constantly on the increase.  He said that, only a few days before, a man, who was a preacher of the gospel, who was escaping to Canada, called upon him; and on being asked why he was fleeing from slavery, he exposed his naked back, lacerated with a recent flogging, and said that he had received that punishment for going to his place of worship.

On the evening of the 24th I went up the river Hudson to Sing Sing, in company with Lewis Tappan.  Our object was to spend the next day, which was the first day of the week, in this celebrated state prison.  We lodged at a quiet hotel, on an eminence above the village; and next morning, about eight o’clock, we went to the prison, where we were very kindly received by the superintendent, J.G.  Seymour, and by the chaplain.  Soon afterwards, we had the opportunity of seeing all the male prisoners, about seven hundred and fifty, in the chapel, when they were addressed by a minister of the Presbyterian persuasion, whom we had met on board the steamer, and whom Lewis Tappan had invited to be there.  We were informed that about one-third of the prisoners were colored:  these did not sit separate, but were intermixed with the rest.  In general, however, the striking language of De Beaumont, a late French traveller in the United States, will be found true.  “The prejudice against color haunts its victim wherever he goes,—­in the hospitals where humanity suffers,—­in the churches where it kneels to God,—­in the prisons where it expiates its offences,—­in the grave-yards where it sleeps the last sleep.”