This very day the writer of this has been present at a solemn religious festival in the national capital, given at the home of a portion of those fugitive slaves who have fled to our lines for protection,—­who, under the shadow of our flag, find sympathy and succor.  The national day of thanksgiving was there kept by over a thousand redeemed slaves, and for whom Christian charity had spread an ample repast.  Our Sisters, we wish you could have witnessed the scene.  We wish you could have heard the prayer of a blind old negro, called among his fellows John the Baptist, when in touching broken English he poured forth his thanksgivings.  We wish you could have heard the sound of that strange rhythmical chant which is now forbidden to be sung on Southern plantations,—­the psalm of this modern exodus,—­which combines the barbaric fire of the Marseillaise with the religious fervor of the old Hebrew prophet.

  “Oh, go down, Moses,
  ’Way down into Egypt’s land! 
  Tell King Pharaoh
  To let my people go! 
     Stand away dere,
     Stand away dere,
     And let my people go!

  “Oh, Pharaoh said he would go ’cross! 
    Let my people go! 
  Oh, Pharaoh and his hosts were lost! 
    Let my people go! 
        You may hinder me here,
        But ye can’t up dere! 
        Let my people go!

  “Oh, Moses, stretch your hand across! 
    Let my people go! 
  And don’t get lost in de wilderness! 
    Let my people go! 
        He sits in de heavens
        And answers prayers. 
        Let my people go!”

As we were leaving, an aged woman came and lifted up her hands in blessing.  “Bressed be de Lord dat brought me to see dis first happy day of my life!  Bressed be de Lord!” In all England is there no Amen?

We have been shocked and saddened by the question asked in an association of Congregational ministers in England, the very blood-relations of the liberty-loving Puritans,—­“Why does not the North let the South go?”

What! give up the point of emancipation for these four million slaves?  Turn our backs on them, and leave them to their fate?  What! leave our white brothers to run a career of oppression and robbery, that, as sure as there is a God that ruleth in the armies of heaven, will bring down a day of wrath and doom?

Is it any advantage to people to be educated in man-stealing as a principle, to be taught systematically to rob the laborer of his wages, and to tread on the necks of weaker races?  Who among you would wish your sons to become slave-planters, slave-merchants, slave-dealers?  And shall we leave our brethren to this fate?  Better a generation should die on the battle-field, that their children may grow up in liberty and justice.  Yes, our sons must die, their sons must die.  We give ours freely; they die to redeem the very brothers that slay them; they give their blood in expiation of this great sin, begun by you in England, perpetuated by us in America, and for which God in this great day of judgment is making inquisition in blood.