England stands pre-eminently the first government in the world for freedom of speech and of the press.  Not even in our own beloved America, can the man who feels himself oppressed speak as he can in Great Britain.  In some parts of England, however, the freedom of thought is tolerated to a greater extent than in others; and of the places favourable to reforms of all kinds, calculated to elevate and benefit mankind, Newcastle-on-Tyne doubtless takes the lead.  Surrounded by innumerable coal mines, it furnishes employment for a large labouring population, many of whom take a deep interest in the passing events of the day, and, consequently, are a reading class.  The public debater or speaker, no matter what may be his subject, who fails to get an audience in other towns, is sure of a gathering in the Music Hall, or Lecture Room in Newcastle.  Here I first had an opportunity of coming in contact with a portion of the labouring people of Britain.  I have addressed large and influential meetings in Newcastle and the neighbouring towns, and the more I see and learn of the condition of the working-classes of England the more I am satisfied of the utter fallacy of the statements often made that their condition approximates to that of the slaves of America.  Whatever may be the disadvantages that the British peasant labours under, he is free; and if he is not satisfied with his employer he can make choice of another.  He also has the right to educate his children; and he is the equal of the most wealthy person before an English Court of Justice.  But how is it with the American Slave?  He has no right to himself, no right to protect his wife, his child, or his own person.  He is nothing more than a living tool.  Beyond his field or workshop he knows nothing.  There is no amount of ignorance he is not capable of.  He has not the least idea of the face of this earth, nor of the history or constitution of the country in which he dwells.  To him the literature, science, and art—­the progressive history, and the accumulated discoveries of bygone ages, are as if they had never been.  The past is to him as yesterday, and the future scarcely more than to-morrow.  Ancestral monuments, he has none; written documents fraught with cogitations of other times, he has none; and any instrumentality calculated to awaken and expound the intellectual activity and comprehension of a present or approaching generation, he has none.  His condition is that of the leopard of his own native Africa.  It lives, it propagates its kind; but never does it indicate a movement towards that all but angelic intelligence of man.  The slave eats, drinks, and sleeps—­all for the benefit of the man who claims his body as his property.  Before the tribunals of his country he has no voice.  He has no higher appeal than the mere will of his owner.  He knows nothing of the inspired Apostles through their writings.  He has no Sabbath, no Church, no Bible, no means of grace,—­and yet we are told that he is as