Showing posts with label Nathaniel P Rogers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nathaniel P Rogers. Show all posts

Wednesday, February 6, 2019

Nathaniel Peabody Rogers: Dr. Farmer Dead, September 1, 1838

We were amazed as well as deeply afflicted, at the death of this distinguished and most excellent man. His departure surprised us — invalid as he long has been, and feeble as was his hold on life — so insensible are we to the uncertainty and frailty of mortal existence! We have lost a highly valued personal friend, as well as our cause a faithful, devoted and invaluable advocate. We could weep for ourselves as well as for the poor slave, who does not know his loss. But it is not a time to weep. Survivors on the field do not pause in thick of the fight, to lament comrades or chieftains falling around them.

The departed Farmer lived and died a devoted abolitionist. We proclaim this amid the notes of his requiem and the tolling of his knell — in the ears of the scorner of the supplicating slave and of bleeding liberty. Admirers of his distinguished worth — his admirable industry — his capacity — his usefulness — his blameless life — who felt awed at his virtues, while he lived almost invisibly among men — mingling with the busy throng of life scarcely more than now his study-worn frame reposes in the grave — know all, and be reminded all, that Farmer was in zeal, in devotion, in principles and in measures, not a whit behind the very chiefest abolitionist. No heart beat more ardently than his, in the great cause of human rights — or more keenly felt the insults, the inhumanity and the ruffian persecutions, heaped upon its friends. How deep was his mortification at the brutal and ignoble treatment of the generous and gifted Thompson, and with what agonizing solicitude did his heart throb, as the life of that innocent and most interesting and wonderful stranger was hunted in our streets! How freely would he have yielded up his own sickness-wasted form, to save his friend! Scorners of the slave — sneerers at the negro's plea — ruthless invaders (whoever you are) of the hearth of hospitality and the sanctities of Home, we point you to the fresh grave of Farmer. To the grave of Kimball, too, his beloved brother — that young martyred heart — who still pleaded among you, unheeded but faithfully, the cause of the suffering and the dumb, when his voice was hollow with consumption — whose mild eye still beamed with remembrance of those in bonds, when lustrous with the hectic touch of death. To the grave of young Bradley too, who bowed his beautiful head to the destroyer, like the “lily of the field” surcharged with rain, remembering the down-trodden slave amid all the promises and allurements of youth and genius. And to other graves recent in your peopled church-yard, into which we should have looked with heart-broken disconsolation, but for thought of the resurrection. To these graves we point you — as you ponder on the past — not now to be recalled — registered for eternity.

Advocates of the slave too, a voice from the church-yard speaks also to you. There is neither knowledge, nor wisdom, nor device there, where the departed faithful lie, and whither you hasten. Your brothers and sisters in bondage descend thither in the darkness of brutal heathenism, from lives that know no consolation. What thy hands find to do, do with thy might.

SOURCE: Collection from the Miscellaneous Writings of Nathaniel Peabody Rogers, Second Edition, p. 13-4 which states it was published in the Herald of Freedom of September 1, 1838.

Friday, February 1, 2019

Nathaniel Peabody Rogers, September 1, 1838

“Only ye may opine it frets my patience, Mr. Osbaldistone, to be hunted like an otter, or a sealgh, or a salmon upon the shallows, and that by my very friends and neighbors.” — Rob Roy.

Whose patience has been fretted, if it had not been fret-proof, like the abolitionists’? Have they not been hunted like an otter, or a salmon among the shallows, or a partridge upon the mountains; or like David among the cliffs of Ziph and the rocks of the wild goats? And every body seems to think it is all as natural as life, and that they should bear it, and be thankful it is no worse. How they have been belied and slandered and insulted, by a stupid pro-slavery community! How church brethren and sisters have scowled upon them, and trifled with their rights and their feelings, as though they had no more of either than a “nigger!” How has the murderous scorn been extended from their poor, down-trodden — mark the phrase — down-trodden — not merely stamped upon, for once, or any given number of times, — but every time — by the common walking footstep of community, —  trodden on as universally as the path of the highway — “down trodden,” indeed! How has the scorn felt for the poor colored man, been extended to the abolitionist, and how he has borne it, with almost the “patient sufferance” of the “free negro,” or the Jew in Venice, — until sufferance is become “the badge of all our tribe.” And what avails it? “The brotherhood” have fallen into the idea, that we also are “an inferior race,” and that we are exceedingly out of our place, when we claim the common rights of humanity. As to the rights of citizenship, they do not dream that any appertain to us. See with what calm, summer-day serenity they look on, while we are mobbed. They think no more of it, than they do when a lane of “free niggers” is “smoked out” by “public sentiment” in New York or Philadelphia. Who cared for the outrages of the great Concord mob, in September, 1835? Tremendous public excitement!” shouted the N. H. Patriot — as if another revolution had been fought Tremendous public excitement! A grand popular victory. Victory indeed it was — but over what? Over innocency [sic], humanity, the law of the land, the public peace! An odd victory to boast of.—What a “frolic after Thompson,” (or to that effect) exclaimed the merry N. H. Courier. — O, what a joke! How funny and frolicsome the people were after Thompson! How they did frisk and caper, and how masterly funny they did chase him, and surround Neighbor ——‘s dwelling-house! O, what a sportive company of them got together, and how they did surround that house by moonlight, and what a merry time on't they caused in that dwelling!

O “riddle-cum-ritldle-cum-right!
“What a time we had, that Friday night!”
He, he, he — hah, hah, hah!!!

Hung be the heavens in black. Out, moon — and hide, stars, so that ye look not on and blench your light, at sight of such scenes. “Frolic!” Was the Alton night-scene a frolic? Was the hellish-gathering about that ware-house, rendering the dun night hideous, a joke — a fracas — “an abolition frolic?”

The time will come, when these deeds will be appreciated by the people of this country. Ay, it is at hand. We wait patiently, but not silently. "The brotherhood" may fix upon us its evil eye of menace and "frolic." They shall hear of their merry doings. If we cannot speak freely, we desire not to remain on the slavery-cursed soil. We call upon the people of the land, to look to their liberties. We have no freedom of speech, no liberty of the press, no freedom of assembly. The sovereign and tyrant of the country is Slavery. He holds his court in the South, and rules the vassal North by his vicegerent the mob, — or as Hubbard Winslow preaches it, “the brotherhood. We owe no allegiance to either. We shall pay none.

SOURCE: Collection from the Miscellaneous Writings of Nathaniel Peabody Rogers, Second Edition, p. 11-3 which states it was published in the Herald of Freedom of September 1, 1838.

Saturday, January 19, 2019

Nathaniel Peabody Rogers: The Convention, August 18, 1838

Thanks to our young brethren for their hearty — noble-souled committee's call. Now for obeying it. Now see if our abolitionists, who “remember those in bonds,” &c. will spend a day or two to make it manifest. We would spend time chiefly, brethren, so far as traveling expenses go. Our brethren, fortunately for the cause, have not much “property or standing.” They should not lay out much of either on the road. The grog-selling inns should receive little of anti-slavery patronage. The money is too sacred for their foul coffers. The “cold chunk,” or the johnny cake, or the saw-dust pudding, (Franklin's editorial dinner,) any thing on the road, and all the mites for the Society treasury. We have got to cure this glorious slaveholding republic of its character, and to pay all the doctors' bills, and we must spend little, very little, for confectionaries.

We echo the summons of the committee of arrangements. From our Moosehillock position we send it on, and back, to every point of compass. To none but the whole-hearted, fully-committed, cross-the-Rubicon spirits—men of more heart than “But— who can leave home for the sake of their principles — who can deny themselves, and “lap the water, as the dog lappeth,” for their thirst. From the sea coast, the Green Mountain west, the sky-seeking north, and the New Hampshire south — old, young and mid-aged — gray bearded and beardless — the sturdy and the infirm — from all streams and all valleys, and along all hill-sides — from rich “old Cheshire,” — from Rockingham, with her horizon setting down away to the salt sea. — Strafford, from the “slide”-scarred mountains of Sandwich to the rainbow mists of the Cocheco — from Pigwacket to Winnipisseogee — Strafford of the lakes — up from old Hillsborough, where the staunch yeoman drives his team from the mouths of Piscataquog and Souhegan, up to the very springs of the Contoocook, — young Sullivan, where she stretches from Sunapee to the valley of the Connecticut, and from the falls of Walpole to the cedars of Lebanon, —  Merrimack — key-stone of the Granite State — abolitionists “of our county of Merrimack,” start at day-break for the Convention, — from where the sun sets behind Kearsarge, even to where he rises gloriously over Moses Norris’ own town of Pittsfield; and from Amoskeag to Ragged Mountains, — Coos — Upper Coos, home of the everlasting hills, send out your bold advocates of human rights — wherever they lay scattered by lonely lake or Indian stream — or “Grant,” or “Location” — from the trout-haunted brooks of the Amoriscoggin, and where the adventurous streamlet takes up its mountain march for the St. Lawrence. — Scattered and insulated men, wherever the light of philanthropy and liberty has beamed in upon your solitary spirits, come down to us like your streams and clouds: — and our own Grafton, all about among your dear hills and your mountain-flanked valleys — whether you home along the swift Ammonoosuck, the cold Pemigewasset or the ox-bowed Connecticut; from the “heights of Dorchester,” and the “vale of Hebron” — from Canaan, that land of promise to the negro student boy — and from anti-slavery Campton — come from the meadows of Alexandria — one and all abolitionists of Grafton — Lyme, the peerless town of Lyme, the native town of temperance.

Abolitionists of New Hampshire! your brethren in bondage call loudly upon you for help — they clank their chains — they rattle their fetters — they lift up the cry of despair — will you hear them? Remember what God is doing for your cause. Hark, that shout from the isles of the sea! It is the emancipation cry of the West Indies — God hath given them liberty. Their deliverance has come — He is drawing nigh to us. We shall hear Him, or perish. And if this nation is marked out for destruction, let abolitionists remember Rahab of Jericho. We are slow, brethren, dishonorably slow, in a cause like ours. Our feet should be “as hinds’ feet.” “Liberty lies bleeding.” The leaden-colored wing of slavery obscures the land with its baleful shadow. Let us come together, and inquire at the hand of the Lord what is to be done.

SOURCE: Collection from the Miscellaneous Writings of Nathaniel Peabody Rogers, Second Edition, p. 9-11 which states it was published in the Herald of Freedom of August 18, 1838.

Thursday, January 10, 2019

Nathaniel Peabody Rogers: The Discussion, July 14, 1838

The discussion goes on. It pervades, it possesses, it “agitates” the land. It must be stopped, or slavery dies, and the colored man has his liberty and his rights, and Colonization is superseded. Can it not be stopped? Cannot the doctors, the editors, the “property and standing,” the legislatures, congress, the mob, Mr. Gurley, somebody or other, some power or other, the governors, his honor the Chief Justice Lynch; cannot any body, or every body united, put down this discussion? Alas for the “peculiar institution!” it cannot be done. The club of Hercules could not strike it down; it is as impalpable to the brute blow as the stately ghost of “buried Denmark” was to the “partisan” of Marcellus. It cannot be stopped or checked. It is unrestrainable as the viewless winds, or the steeds of Apollo. You hear it every where. The atmosphere is rife with it. “Abolition,” “immediate,” “compensation,” “amalgamation,” “inferior,” “equal;” “inalienable,” “rights,” “the Bible,” of one blood, West Indies,” “mobs,” “arson,” “petition,” “gag-law,” “John Quincy Adams,” “Garrison.” These are the words, and as familiar as household phrase. The air resounds to the universal agitation. Truth and conviction every where result, — the Genius of Emancipation moves triumphantly among the half-awakened people. And Slavery, aghast at the general outcry and the fatal discoveries constantly making of its diabolical enormities, gathers up its all for retreat or desperate death, as the case shall demand. The discussion can't be smothered — can't be checked — can't be abated — can't be endured by pro-slavery. The fiat has gone forth. It is registered in heaven. The colored man's humanity is ascertained and proved, and henceforth he is destined to liberty and honor. God is gathering his instrumentalities to purify this Ration. War, Slavery and Drunkenness are to be purged away from it. The drunkard, that wont reform, will be removed from the earth's surface, and his corporeal shame hidden in her friendly recesses, — his spiritual “shame,” alas, to be “everlasting” — with that unutterable “contempt” which must attend final impenitence, as saith God. Those persisting in the brute practice of what is styled military, which is nothing more or less than human tigerism — rational brutality — hatred dressed up in regimentals — malignity cockaded, — and “all uncharitableness” plumed and knapsacked, — homicide under pay, and murder per order, all who persist in this beastly and bloody mania, and refuse to join the standard of universal non-resistance peace-^will perish by the sword, or by some untimely touch of the Almighty, — for Christ hath said, “All they who take the sword shall perish with the sword; and the period of accomplishment of his work on this little globe is at hand. Let the warrior of the land take warning. “A prudent man foreseeth,” &c. And slaveholders, pilferers of humanity! those light-fingered ones, who “take without liberty” the very glory and essence of a man, — who put out that light which dazzles the eye of the sun, and would burn on, but for this extinction, when the moon hath undergone her final waning, — those traffickers in immortality, who sell a Man “for a pair of shoes;” those hope-extinguishers, heart-crushers, home-quenchers, family-dissolvers, tie-sunderers; — oh, for a vocabulary — new, copious and original, of awful significancy and expression — that should avail us to shadow forth faintly to the apprehensions of mankind, the unutterable character of this new “ill,” that hath befallen inheriting “flesh;” an “ill” that “flesh” by nature was not heir to;” — oh, those man, woman and child-thieves, — those unnatural, ultra and extra cannibals, who devour their own flesh; whose carniverous monstrosity is not limited to the blood and flesh of the stranger, — whose voracity invades the forbidden degrees, and eats its near relations within the matrimonial prohibitions, — son-eaters and daughter-consumers — who grow children to sell, and put into their coffers, to buy bread withal, the price of their own-begotten offspring; thus eating “themselves a third time,” as Pope says, “in their race” — “the cubless tigress in her jungle raging” is humanity and sympathy, compared to them: she “rages” when the hunter hath borne off her bruised young, and given her savage bosom the pang of maternal bereavement. She would waste her mighty nature to a shadow, and her strong frame to a skeleton, ere she would appease her hunger by profaning the flesh of her own cubs! Slaveholders! American slaveholders, republican slaveholders, liberty slaveholders, Christianity slaveholders, church-member slaveholders, minister slaveholders, doctor of divinity slaveholders, church slaveholders, missionary slaveholders, “Board of Commissioner” slaveholders, monthly concert slaveholders, Bible Society slaveholders, and Bible Withholders! What will the coming millennium say to you, or do with you? What disposition will it make of you and your system, should it burst upon you when it is in the full tide of experiment! the land smoking with it! Will not the glorious morn and opening dawn of Christ's kingdom prove flaming fire to devour you from the face of the earth? The millennial day pouring in its living light upon scenes, whose enormity shrouds the natural sun, what will become of the actors in these scenes? O for the warning voice that once affrighted Nineveh, and clad her nation in sackcloth, from the king on the throne to the beggar on the dunghill; that laid a people in ashes! But it may not be. Another fate, we fear, attends this last of republics. Warning is esteemed as mockery, and admonition as frenzy.

Shall we hold our peace amid scenes like these? Shall we argue and persuade, be courteous, convince, induce, and all that? No — we shall attempt no such thing, for the simple reason that such things are entirely uncalled for, useless, foolish, inadequate.

Argue with slavery, or argue about it; argue about a sinking ship, or a drowning man, or a burning dwelling! Convince a sleeping family, when the staircase and roof are falling in, and the atmosphere is loaded to suffocation with smoke! “Address the understanding,” and “soothe the prejudices,” when you see a man walking down the roof in his sleep, on a three-story house! Bandy compliments and arguments with the somnambulist, on “Table Rock,” when all the waters of lake Superior are thundering in the great Horse Shoe, and deafening the very war of the elements! Would you not shout to him with a clap of thunder through a speaking trumpet — if you could command it — if possible to reach his senses in his appalling extremity? Did Jonah argufy with the city of Nineveh, — “Yet forty days,” cried the vagabond prophet, “and Nineveh shall be overthrown!” That was his salutation. And did the “property and standing” turn up their noses at him, and set the mob on to him? Did the clergy discountenance him, and call him extravagant, misguided, a divider of churches, a disturber of parishes? What would have become of that city, if they had done this? Did they “approve his principles,” but dislike his “measures and his “spirit?

Slavery must be cried down, denounced down, ridiculed down, and pro-slavery with it, or rather before it. Slavery will go when pro-slavery starts. The sheep will follow, when the bell-wether leads. Down then with the bloody system! out of the land with it, and out of the world with it — into the Red sea with it! Men shan't be enslaved in this country any longer. Women and children shan't be flogged here any longer. If you undertake to hinder us, the worst is your own. The press is ours. Demolish it, if you please, — muzzle it, you shall never. Shoot down the Lovejoys you can; and if your skirts are not red enough with his blood, dye them deeper with other murders. You can do it with entire impunity. You can get the dead indicted and tried along with you, and the jury will find you all not guilty together; and “public sentiment” will back you up, and say you had ample provocation. To be sure, you will not escape the vengeance of Heaven; but who cares for that, in a free and christian country? You will come to an untimely end; — but that, you know, is nothing to a judicious, well-regulated,” “christian spirit!” But this is all fanaticism. Wait and see.

SOURCE: Collection from the Miscellaneous Writings of Nathaniel Peabody Rogers, Second Edition, p. 5-9 which states it was published in the Herald of Freedom of July 14, 1838.

Tuesday, January 1, 2019

Nathaniel Peabody Rogers: The Presence of God, August 11,1838

The Presence of God

We wander a moment from our technical anti-slavery “sphere,” to say, with permission of our readers, a word or two on a beautiful article under this head, in the Christian Examiner. It is from the pen of one of our highly gifted fellow-citizens, to whom the unhappy subjects of insanity, in this state, owe so much for the public charity now contemplated in their behalf. It is written with great elegance, perspicuity and force of style—and what is more, it seems scarcely to want that spirit of heart-broken Christianity, so apt to be missing in the graceful speculations of reviewers, and may we not say, in the speculations of the elegant corps among whom the writer of the article is here found.

We will find, briefly, what fault we can with the article. Its beauties need not be pointed out — they lie profusely scattered over its face. It is an article on the presence of God, and treats of our relations to Him. But does it set forth that relation, as involving our need of the Lord Jesus Christ, in order that we may be able to stand in it? For ourselves, we cannot contemplate God — and dare not look towards Him, unconnected with Christ. Our writer seems boldly to look upon Him, as the strong-eyed eagle gazes into the sun. God is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity. He cannot look upon sin, but with abhorrence. We have sinned; therefore we fear to behold Him. In Christ, alone, is he our Father in heaven, and we his reconciled children. In Christ, we dare take hold of his hand and of the skirts of his almighty garments. The Lord Jesus Christ and “him crucified,” is the medium, through whom, alone, we dare look upon God, in his works, his providences or his grace. Sinless man might, without this medium. Fallen man may not. Like the Israelites at the mount of Sinai, he may “not break through unto the Lord to gaze,” lest “he perish.”

The writer contemplates God in his works — but he seems, though awed, elevated and delighted at their grandeur, beauty and wisdom, to feel still baffled of the great end in their contemplation. Does he not, we would ask him, feel the absence of some link in the chain of communication with this ineffable being — which might, if interrupted, anchor his soul securely within the veil, which, after all, continues to shroud him from communion and sight? Can he, in sight of the works of God, speak out and sing in the strains of the singer of Israel? Does he not experience, in view of them, an admiring enthusiasm and certain swellings of genius, rather than those spiritual heart-burnings felt by the two on the way to Emmaus, as they talked with the “stranger in Jerusalem?”

Here is the grand mistake of gifted humanity. Tired of the world — sick of its emptiness — shocked at its heartlessness — withdrawn from its unprincipled highway into the lonely by-path of a supererogatory morality, — moved by those “longings after immortality,” which haunt forever the unbesotted spirit — it tries to find God in his works, and peradventure in the majesty of his word — not looking for him, however, in “The Way” — seeking him along the high and ridgy road of a sort of spirito-intellectual philosophy, instead of down in the valley of humiliation.

The writer speaks of the communion of God with our minds. This he seems to regard with chief interest. He mentions “the need of having attention— meaning intellectual attention — “waked up to those old truths.” “Listlessness of mind,” he continues, “an inveterate habit of inattention to the existence of the Eternal Spirit, needs to be broken in upon. We need to help each other to escape a fatuity of mind on this subject, that we may feel that God's ark still rides o'er the world's waves, and that the burning bush has not gone out.” There is an “inattention, it is true; but it is of the heart, and not merely of the mind — of the nature, and not of “habit merely — a spiritual inattention or rather alienation from God, which must be broken in upon. It is not the creature of habit. Adam felt it in all its force, the very day of his first transgression. He heard the voice of God, which in his innocency he had hailed with joy, beyond all he felt at the beauties of Paradise, — heard it, walking in the garden, in the cool of the day, and he hid himself from the presence of the Lord God, among the trees of the garden. His wife also hid herself, for she too had transgressed — and we, their moral heirs, hide ourselves so to this day. They could walk in the garden in sight of the beautiful works of God, and perhaps admire the splendors of Eden; but when they heard his voice, they hid themselves. Not from habit surely, that not being the creature of a day. There was “inveteracy,” not of habit, but of fallen nature. It is that which must be “broken in upon,” before we shall incline to come out from among the trees, to welcome the presence of God. It may be there is a figurative meaning also in this hiding among the trees from the presence of him who made those trees — and may we not deceive ourselves in supposing we contemplate God in his works, when in truth we are seeking to hide ourselves from his presence, among the glorious trees of this earth's garden?

The elegant writer will bear with us in our coarse commentary. We would not expend critical attention on the literary merits or marks of genius, in a production treating of our relations to God. It is too awful and interesting a subject. We want reconciliation with God. That is the one thing needful. The crew of the ill-fated Pulaski wanted only one thing, when they were cast afloat upon the waves. When they retired to rest that night, each heart was tantalized with a thousand objects of desire. But when that explosion awoke them, they had all but one, — life — the shore — something on which to float. That, all needed, and all felt the need. Such is our need of reconciliation with God, to save us from greater depths than the sea. We have revolted from God. We are born universally in a state of alienation from him. The Scriptures and all experience teach this. We do not more certainly inherit the transmitted form of our fallen first-parents, than their descended nature. We are born with the need of being “born again.” Of this we are sure. The truth of it and the effects of it press continually upon us, with the universality of the air upon our bodily systems. We cannot evade it. It is our fate, in the wisdom of God. We cannot escape it, any more than the Old world could the deluge. They saw an ark of Gopher wood, building by an enthusiastic old man. It eventually saved none of them, who refused to enter its pitchy sides. The old man forewarned them. He was a preacher of righteousness. But they were philosophers, and he a fanatic. He talked of rain and flood, — the breaking up of the fountains of the deep, and the opening of the windows of heaven. The sky looked blue — the sun rose and set gloriously, and broke out, as wont, after the showers. And though there were tokens about that despised old man, which at times made them turn up an apprehensive eye into the cloudless firmament —  philosophy chose to risk it. The prediction was unnatural — irrational — it could not be so. They perished.

We have an ark of safety, capacious enough, to be sure, to save the entire race of man. It will save only those who will enter it, — and the time of entering, as it was at the flood, is before the sky of probation is overcast. The door is shut now, as then, before the falling of the first great drops of the eternal thunder shower.

The ark of safety, we need not say, is Christ. He is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. No man can come to the Father but by him. Whoever hath seen him, hath seen the Father, and by him is the only manifestation of God's presence. The presence of his power may be seen in all objects around us, but his strange love to the children of men cannot be seen, but through Christ. As the mortally bitten Israelite could be healed only by looking at the brazen serpent, so the mortally sin-infected descendant of fallen man can live only by looking at the Son of Man in the midst of his ignominious crucifixion—even where he was “lifted up.”

God may be seen in his works, by him whose sins are forgiven. He may be seen, then, in his word — and the Bible is then as self-evidently the word of God, as the sun, the mountain and the ocean are his works. His providential care and government are then palpably felt. The soul can then take him by the paternal hand, and feel that infinite safety which puts all human apprehension at rest.

But we are forgetting that our Herald is a small sheet. We have not space to notice the exquisite beauties of our writer's production as a composition merely, or the argument it draws of God's presence from his works, and as it purports merely to notice this evidence of his presence, we will not here express our regret that the name of Christ is not mentioned in the article.

May the gifted writer, if he be out of the ark of safety, not delay to enter in. Let him not tarry without, to gaze with the eye of elegant curiosity, on the scenery of this Sodom world, — but bow his neck, and “enter while there's room.” And as we bespeak his immediate heed to the “one thing needful,” — so we demand his pen, voice, influence, prayers, and active and open co-operation, in the deliverance of his fellow-countrymen from the CHAINS OF SLAVERY

SOURCE: Collection from the Miscellaneous Writings of Nathaniel Peabody Rogers, Second Edition, p. 1-5 which states this was published in The Herald of Freedom, August 11, 1838.

Nathaniel P. Rogers to William Lloyd Garrison, November 17, 1834

PLYMoUTH, N. H., Nov. 17, 1834.

DEAR GARRIsoN — We were highly animated Thursday, the 13th, at a stage arrival in our little village, bearing the “honored freight, Messrs. THoMPsoN, GRosvenoR and PHELPs, fresh from the field of Convention at Concord.

To see George Thompson here among us, at some period of his beneficent sojourn, we had fondly hoped, from the moment you announced to us his intended embarkation from England. But to greet him so soon after his landing, and to hear him speak, within our own walls, while his locks were yet wet with the dews of New York hospitality, was a favor we had not anticipated. What a delicate and discerning taste, by the way, this despotic New York tavern-keeper must have, and this mobocracy of ours in general, to vent their fine courtesies upon a subject like him!  I Who that beheld George Thompson merely, could imagine that there existed a brutality, even in New-York, brutal enough to do him harm or show him unkindness? Burns tells of a Scottish lass, that the “very de'il” could not look in the face but he would cry out — “I canna wrang thee.” Our mobocracy might take lessons of civility and humanity of the bard’s “de'il, as I fear they have taken, of a spirit having other existence than in the imagination of profane poetry. I really wondered, as I gazed on the elegant and interesting stranger, that a tavern-keeper could be found in all the hog-traversed streets of our republican Babylon, of a civility so swinish as to turn him from his door, — even were it to humor the sovereign and awful caprice of a man-jockey from the south? His wife and little children, too, routed of a poor home that a tavern could yield them in a strange land, — the first night, I believe, of their respite from the sea! Shame on you, most magnanimous inn-holder! and shame on the public, that will countenance the impudent brutality.

But I set out to give you a slight account of our antislavery occasion, and the addresses of our noble friends to the good people of Grafton county. It was a capital occasion. A court session had drawn together the flower of the shire. Our fine, intellectual bar, that will rank in talent and honorable character with any in New England; — our jury pannels, the prime of the yeomanry of a temperance community; — these, with a considerable amount of merit and eminence ex officio, and the other following of a county assize, making up a pretty full representation of our local public, afforded grand materials for an anti-slavery auditory. Then we had some distinguished talent from out the county. Our ample court house, condescendingly opened to us in the evening, was filled at first ray of candle. A fair proportion of ladies graced the attendance, — the clergy from this and other surrounding towns, — and, to add dignity and interest to the meeting, gentlemen advanced somewhat in life, of high judicial station in better times than these, — now retired, — came several miles, in the air of a November evening, to countenance the occasion and hear the advocate of the Negro — gentlemen who, though not professedly abolitionists, and not altogether ready perhaps to allow the colored man his right, if it were thought immediately practicable, yet far above the vulgar prejudice against him that infects our ordinary great, and too sagacious to trifle with the black man's plea. The auditory was, on the whole, one of the finest that could be gathered, and numbered several hundreds. The Hon. S. P. Webster was prevailed on to incur the hazards of the chair... The meeting was opened by prayer from the Rev. Mr. Grosvenor — our own beloved minister being called for, but not not [sic] having reached the meeting. A hymn followed-appropriate words, set to music by an ingenious abolition neighbor, who led the singing. Bro. Phelps then offered the following resolution — if I can remember accurately, through the splendid discussion that followed — That Immediate and Entire Emancipation is the only righteous, efficient, safe or practicable remedy for American slavery; and that it was the solemn duty of every American citizen to address himself forthwith to its consummation, by every christian means. He sustained the resolution in a series of pertinent and forcible remarks for fifteen or twenty minutes; though evidently, to us who knew him, with restrained powers. He was succeeded by Mr. Grosvenor, who spoke about the same time; and though manifestly with intent mainly to pave the way for what was to come after, he rose to high and affecting strains of eloquence. He was especially happy in a comparison of the trifling causes which employed the zeal and talents of counsel in that Seat of Justice, with the unutterable wrongs of two millions and a half of clients, in whose behalf he pleaded. But he forebore, he said, to take the time belonging to his gifted friend, who was to follow him, for whom he hoped the candid hearing of the auditors, as he was sure he would have their hearts.

George Thompson rose before the hushed assembly. They did not cheer him — it is not their habit — and if it had been, they had no such welcome for the advocate of the despised Negro. We have wronged the colored man too long and too deeply to readily forgive him, or to regard with complacency the man who ventures to take up his cause. Had the orator risen for the Polander or the Greek, or in behalf of any honorable or classical suffering, the walls would have rung with enthusiastic acclamation; but it is otherwise towards the advocate of the poor, the despised, the injured, the scorned, and “him that had none to help him.” The multitude regarded him in deep silence. Slowly, solemnly, and with wonderful expression, he summoned them to the momentous importance of the subject on which he was entering, and challenged the mention of any that could hold comparison with it, as it bore on the interests of man or the weal of this nation. After a brief preliminary, he bore away into a stream of argument and eloquent appeal to which I had witnessed no parallel, and of which I can attempt no account. For an hour — it may be two hours — I could form no estimate of the time by its lapse — he held the surprised and reluctant assembly in breathless attention. I do not conjecture their emotions or convictions. There were no plaudits — no more than at the defence before Agrippa, or the reasonings before Felix. To some the orator may have seemed “beside himself” — “mad” with “much learning. Others may have “almost been persuaded.” I cannot detail his arguments, or give any — the faintest idea of his impression. I have a dazzling impression on my memory of a portraiture of American slavery — terribly graphic — an exposition of the Levittical Law, in its bearings on ancient servitude and on modern slavery — one which, I think, will forever deter all who heard it, from venturing thither for warrant or apology for the infamous system of American slaveholding — of a glance at Abraham and his household, marching to the slaughter of the kings — a train little enough resembling a gang of sullen, heavy-footed negroes, goaded to the rice swarm — and still less a coffle of chained men moving through Freedom's capital, at the sound of her national music, to a more dismal bondage in the far south. St. Paul's recapture and remanding of the fugitive Onesimus, was illustrated by a commentary that will effectually warn all our scripture-mongers, who go about vindicating this slavery (which they hate worse than the abolitionists) from the bible, against quoting again from the epistle to Philemon! The utter impracticability of gradual or partial emancipation, — the danger of indulging the captive with a lengthened chain, while you hold him still bound, — the folly of attempting a lingering release of him from his thraldrom, link by link, — and the dangers of immediate emancipation, he portrayed. From the two million and a half of butchers who would be let loose upon the defenceless white folks, by immediate, abolition, he begged leave to make some detachments. First, he begged to detach all the infancy. This would hardly add to the force of an insurrection. Then all the childhood, below the years tall enough to reach a throat to cut it; — then the decripit age, whose vigor had long been exhausted in slavery’s toil, and which even emancipation could not recall; — the mothers rejoicing in their children — theirs at last beyond the reach of the auctioneer and the kidnapper; — the countless band of sable youth and beauty, with modesty sacrificed and affections offered up on the altar of the white man’s shame; then the sick — a host at all times under the “tender mercies” of the system; the christians — “resisting not evil” — much less rising upon benefactors; and last and least too — the favorite slaves — the kindly treated. All these he would detach, and be thankful for; and against the revengeful gratitude of the residue, he commended the defenceless master to the strong arm of the law, to justice and to God. Oh, for the pen of a ready writer, to have caught his glorious refutation of the impious slander that the black man was inferior in native capacity to his oppressor! His burning reprehension of our demanding fruit from the tree to which we denied the fertility of the earth, the dew, the shower, and the sunshine; consigning it to darkness and sterility, and then scornfully demanding of it foliage and fruits! I doubt if the stenographer could have availed himself of his art to arrest his enchanting exclamations, “they could be felt, but could not be followed.” I cannot speak of his reading and comments on the fiftieth of Isaiah. Every christian ought to have come to the field upon it, as at the sound of a trumpet. He cried aloud, and he did not spare. He spoke of the south and the slaveholder in terms of christian affection — declared himself a brother to the slave-master — a fellow sinner — under like condemnation with him, but for the grace of God— of the country—its history, its great names, its blood-bought privileges, and its blood-cemented union; he spoke with thrilling and overpowering admiration, lamenting the stain of slavery upon our otherwise glorious renown. Much as I was captivated with his oratory and force, it was the sweet spirit of the christian that won most my admiration and affection, it was the spirit of the “beloved disciple” — and he comes into this guilty land not “to spy out its nakedness, or abundance, or to regard our boasted politics;[”] but in obedience to that solemn command, “Go ye into all nations;” and to the “Lo, I am with you,” we commit him, for protection against the violence of our multitudes and the councils of our chief priests and pharisees.

After he had closed, the resolution was put to the meeting for their adoption. It was read by the chairman with a feeling somewhat below the fervor of the speaker. Still, a very goodly number of hands were raised in its support, and only three were seen to go up in answer to the call for opposition. Three hands! — and these were of gentlemen-scholars — bred to the generous pursuits of learning ! Before the addresses, scarcely three, beside the few professed abolitionists, would have risen in favor of the doctrines of the resolution.

The assembly dispersed quietly and with the utmost decorum, after prayer by our beloved pastor.

Many abolitionists were confirmed, and many, I have no doubt, made at the meeting. The addresses were spoken of with universal admiration, the cause opposed with moderated and respectful tone. The result will be most happy for the cause. I have only to say that our brethren might come among us again. Another such hearing would assemble thousands, and thousands may assemble in Grafton county without danger of mobs. We have enough of honorable character among the opposition to hold our mobocracy in respectful check. I hope they will visit us again early. This county is an important section of the State. The temperance cause received some of its earliest and most powerful impulses here, and “good temperance ground is good abolition ground.”

In haste, my dear sir,-too much to retrench my long and crude letter, — I remain, truly and affectionately, yours,
N. P. ROGER.S.

SOURCE: Isaac Knapp, Publisher, Letters and Addresses by G. Thompson [on American Negro Slavery] During His Mission in the United States, From Oct. 1st, 1834, to Nov. 27, 1835, p. 21-6

Friday, October 26, 2018

Nathaniel P. Rogers: The Presence of God, August 11, 1838

[From the Herald of Freedom of August 11,1838.]

We wander a moment from our technical anti-slavery “sphere,” to say, with permission of our readers, a word or two on a beautiful article under this head, in the Christian Examiner. It is from the pen of one of our highly gifted fellow-citizens, to whom the unhappy subjects of insanity, in this state, owe so much for the public charity now contemplated in their behalf. It is written with great elegance, perspicuity and force of style — and what is more, it seems scarcely to want that spirit of heart-broken Christianity, so apt to be missing in the graceful speculations of reviewers, and may we not say, in the speculations of the elegant corps among whom the writer of the article is here found.

We will find, briefly, what fault we can with the article. Its beauties need not be pointed out — they lie profusely scattered over its face. It is an article on the presence of God, and treats of our relations to Him. But does it set forth that relation, as involving our need of the Lord Jesus Christ, in order that we may be able to stand in it? For ourselves, we cannot contemplate God — and dare not look towards Him, unconnected with Christ. Our writer seems boldly to look upon Him, as the strong-eyed eagle gazes into the sun. God is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity. He cannot look upon sin, but with abhorrence. We have sinned; therefore we fear to behold Him. In Christ, alone, is he our Father in heaven, and we his reconciled children. In Christ, we dare take hold of his hand and of the skirts of his almighty garments. The Lord Jesus Christ and “him crucified,” is the medium, through whom, alone, we dare look upon God, in his works, his providences or his grace. Sinless man might, without this medium. Fallen man may not. Like the Israelites at the mount of Sinai, he may “not break through unto the Lord to gaze,” lest “he perish.”

The writer contemplates God in his works — but he seems, though awed, elevated and delighted at their grandeur, beauty and wisdom, to feel still baffled of the great end in their contemplation. Does he not, we would ask him, feel the absence of some link in the chain of communication with this ineffable being—which might, if interrupted, anchor his soul securely within the veil, which, after all, continues to shroud him from communion and sight? Can he, in sight of the works of God, speak out and sing in the strains of the singer of Israel? Does he not experience, in view of them, an admiring enthusiasm and certain swellings of genius, rather than those spiritual heart-burnings felt by the two on the way to Emmaus, as they talked with the “stranger in Jerusalem?”

Here is the grand mistake of gifted humanity. Tired of the world — sick of its emptiness — shocked at its heartlessness —  withdrawn from its unprincipled highway into the lonely by-path of a supererogatory morality, — moved by those “longings after immortality,” which haunt forever the unbesotted spirit — it tries to find God in his works, and peradventure in the majesty of his word — not looking for him, however, in “The Way” — seeking him along the high and ridgy road of a sort of spirito-intellectual philosophy, instead of down in the valley of humiliation.

The writer speaks of the communion of God with our minds. This he seems to regard with chief interest. He mentions “the need of having attention— meaning intellectual attention — “waked up to those old truths.” “Listlessness of mind,” he continues, “an inveterate habit of inattention to the existence of the Eternal Spirit, needs to be broken in upon. We need to help each other to escape a fatuity of mind on this subject, that we may feel that God's ark still rides o'er the world's waves, and that the burning bush has not gone out.” There is an “inattention, it is true; but it is of the heart, and not merely of the mind — of the nature, and not of “habit merely — a spiritual inattention or rather alienation from God, which must be broken in upon. It is not the creature of habit. Adam felt it in all its force, the very day of his first transgression. He heard the voice of God, which in his innocency he had hailed with joy, beyond all he felt at the beauties of Paradise, — heard it, walking in the garden, in the cool of the day, and he hid himself from the presence of the Lord God, among the trees of the garden. His wife also hid herself, for she too had transgressed — and we, their moral heirs, hide ourselves so to this day. They could walk in the garden in sight of the beautiful works of God, and perhaps admire the splendors of Eden; but when they heard his voice, they hid themselves. Not from habit surely, that not being the creature of a day. There was “inveteracy,” not of habit, but of fallen nature. It is that which must be “broken in upon,” before we shall incline to come out from among the trees, to welcome the presence of God. It may be there is a figurative meaning also in this hiding among the trees from the presence of him who made those trees — and may we not deceive ourselves in supposing we contemplate God in his works, when in truth we are seeking to hide ourselves from his presence, among the glorious trees of this earth's garden?

The elegant writer will bear with us in our coarse commentary. We would not expend critical attention on the literary merits or marks of genius, in a production treating of our relations to God. It is too awful and interesting a subject. We want reconciliation with God. That is the one thing needful. The crew of the ill-fated Pulaski wanted only one thing, when they were cast afloat upon the waves. When they retired to rest that night, each heart was tantalized with a thousand objects of desire. But when that explosion awoke them, they had all but one, — life —  the shore — something on which to float. That, all needed, and all felt the need  Such is our need of reconciliation with God, to save us from greater depths than the sea. We have revolted from God. We are born universally in a state of alienation from him. The Scriptures and all experience teach this. We do not more certainly inherit the transmitted form of our fallen first-parents, than their descended nature. We are born with the need of being “born again.” Of this we are sure. The truth of it and the effects of it press continually upon us, with the universality of the air upon our bodily systems. We cannot evade it. It is our fate, in the wisdom of God. We cannot escape it, any more than the Old world could the deluge. They saw an ark of Gopher wood, building by an enthusiastic old man. It eventually saved none of them, who refused to enter its pitchy sides. The old man forewarned them. He was a preacher of righteousness. But they were philosophers, and he a fanatic. He talked of rain and flood, — the breaking up of the fountains of the deep, and the opening of the windows of heaven. The sky looked blue — the sun rose and set gloriously, and broke out, as wont, after the showers. And though there were tokens about that despised old man, which at times made them turn up an apprehensive eye into the cloudless firmament —  philosophy chose to risk it. The prediction was unnatural— irrational—it could not be so. They perished.

We have an ark of safety, capacious enough, to be sure, to save the entire race of man. It will save only those who will enter it, — and the time of entering, as it was at the flood, is before the sky of probation is overcast. The door is shut now, as then, before the falling of the first great drops of the eternal thunder shower.

The ark of safety, we need not say, is Christ. He is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. No man can come to the Father but by him. Whoever hath seen him, hath seen the Father, and by him is the only manifestation of God's presence. The presence of his power may be seen in all objects around us, but his strange love to the children of men cannot be seen, but through Christ. As the mortally bitten Israelite could be healed only by looking at the brazen serpent, so the mortally sin-infected descendant of fallen man can live only by looking at the Son of Man in the midst of his ignominious crucifixion—even where he was “lifted up.”

God may be seen in his works, by him whose sins are forgiven. He may be seen, then, in his word—and the Bible is then as self-evidently the word of God, as the sun, the mountain and the ocean are his works. His providential care and government are then palpably felt. The soul can then take him by the paternal hand, and feel that infinite safety which puts all human apprehension at rest.

But we are forgetting that our Herald is a small sheet. We have not space to notice the exquisite beauties of our writer's production as a composition merely, or the argument it draws of God's presence from his works, and as it purports merely to notice this evidence of his presence, we will not here express our regret that the name of Christ is not mentioned in the article.

May the gifted writer, if he be out of the ark of safety, not delay to enter in. Let him not tarry without, to gaze with the eye of elegant curiosity, on the scenery of this Sodom world, — but bow his neck, and “enter while there's room.” And as we bespeak his immediate heed to the “one thing needful,” — so we demand his pen, voice, influence, prayers, and active and open co-operation, in the deliverance of his fellow-countrymen from the CHAINS OF SLAVERY

SOURCE: Nathaniel Peabody Rogers, A Collection from the Miscellaneous Writings of Nathaniel Peabody Rogers, Second Edition (1849), p. 1-5