action of the whole in regard to slaves, or
free blacks whom any fellow may choose to call
slaves. For many years, the slaves have run
away, by hundreds and thousands, to Canada;
and the slave-catchers, who are paid according
to the number they capture, have for
some time been kidnapping more and more
free persons of colour, and running them
down to places whence it is difficult to recover
them, and where many have been hidden for
a long course of miserable years. This is an
evil and crime which the Boston people could
withstand without much difficulty before the
passing of the Fugitive Slave Bill, but that
measure is now driving the matter fast to an
issue. It is enough to say in this place (where
our business is with the social aspects
of politics), that the Fugitive Slave Law is
considered by the vast majority of the
inhabitants of Massachusetts an unconstitutional
act. It overbears the constitution of the
state, and requires of the citizens—or may
require of them at any moment—acts which
are illegal according to the constitution under
which they live. By that constitution, there
can be no slave within their bounds; whereas,
by the new law, they are punishable for treating
a negro fugitive otherwise than as a slave,
and for not delivering him up to his owner.
Such a contrariety cannot go on; and the
hour for decision—the hour for a choice
between the two contradictory constitutions—
is obviously approaching. How it has been
hastened within a few weeks we will now see.

Ever since the bill passed which compels
the giving up of every fugitive who is claimed
unless he can prove his freedom on the spot,
it has been known that the kidnappers sent
by the owners, use very little scruple about
identifying the persons sought. A letter,
addressed to a kidnapper under arrest, and
intercepted by that accident, explains the
matter very fully. It avows that the loss
occasioned by the running away of slaves is
so serious that the owners must make up for
it by catching any negroes they can get hold
of; and this is done so often that no man,
woman, or child with a dark skin feels safe,
although legally as free as our readers and
ourselves. The kidnappers get into the
confidence of the negro shopman, waiter, or
mechanic, who has no suspicion of their
quality. They learn their personal marks, and
the leading points of their history; they draw
out their affidavits and descriptions; they arrest
the man or woman at some helpless moment,
and too often carry him or her away before the
abolitionists and lawyers of the place know
of the circumstances. One result of this
outrageous abuse is, that the populations of the
towns and villages are become more awake
and ready, and more excitable when an arrest
takes place. Every newspaper from the
northern states now contains paragraphs,
pointing out districts where kidnappers are
supposed to be prowling; and the capture
is becoming more difficult every season.
This state of things can no more be borne
for a continuance than the neighbourhood
of hostile Indians. Another result of the
abuse is, that the negroes are becoming
cautious; and more than cautious—
cunning. There is a man named Jones, a
market-gardener, at Pittsburg, in Pennsylvania,
whose cunning wits have been much
sharpened by the persecution of his race.
Not long ago, two gentlemen (for these infamous
dogs hunt in couples) made acquaintance
with Jones, and were so very polite and kind
as to lead him to suspect what sort of gentry
they were. Following their lead, he let them
know of some scar or mole or something
under his clothes—your real fugitive is
known by the weals of the whip—and looked
mysteriously and talked evasively when they
wanted to hear his story. Without having
said so, he left them in the belief that he had
come from Old Virginny within a year. As
he expected, he was arrested that night by his
new friends; and a very strong case they
made of it next morning. Nothing could be
more complete than their story and their
proofs; and there were many in that crowded
court—for in this case secrecy was out of the
question—who believed that the poor fellow
before them would never be his own man
again.

"Well, Jones," said the commisioner, when
the claim was complete, " this seems a very
clear case. Have you anything to say against
your being delivered to your old master?"

"Why yes, sir," said Jones, " I should like
to call somebody to speak for me."

"Call away, then. Whom will you call?"

"I thought I saw Mr. A. in court."

Mr. A. instantly stepped forward.

"You know me, sir, I think?"

"Yes, Jones, I do."

"Swear him, then," said Jones; and Mr.
A. was sworn.

"How long have you known me, Mr. A.?"

"About thirty years,—as long as I have
lived in Pittsburg." And then Mr. A. told
what he knew of Jones. He was followed by
Mr. B., an eminent citizen who had known
Jones for thirty-one years. Everybody except
the claimants began to cheer up now, and
some suspected a joke.

"Anybody else, Jones?" asked the
Commissioner.

"Why, sir, there's one I should like to
ask a question or two of,—the Mayor of
Pittsburg. The mayor was sent for, and
presently appeared, and took the oath.

"You know me, Mr. Mayor?"

"Yes, Jones, I should think so. Why, my
wife and I have bought our vegetables of you
every week for thirty years."

A loud laugh rang through the court,
and presently through the city. The
kidnappers slunk away; but they were
arrested at the door for an attempt at
abduction, and carried to jail.

Escaped slaves, however, have not often the