But this is the benevolence that the spirit of despotism abroad, has assumed, in its present crusade against Republicanism, and is embraced, too, by many at home—a benevolence that cares as little for the real welfare of the slave as for his master.
Benevolence has become one of the trades of life, and men and women find it profitable. It requires no capital but impudence, and a pliant, easy, sliding conscience. It costs nothing—it spends nothing—it gives nothing, and sacrifices nothing but truth and honesty; and it pays well, while fools are plenty.
Negromancy, the dark embodiment of this philanthropy, is a more profitable business than the Nicromancy of Seignor Blitz, or Herr Alexander.
This affectation, or affection, for Negro-ology, pervades every thing at this time—our very literature is becoming redolent of it; and the Muses deserting the pure and lofty heights of Parnassus, descend to revel in the odorous breezes of Congo.
There was a time, when philanthrophy, like charity began at home, and like charity, it labored and suffered in silence; shunning notoriety, and repudiating ostentation and gain. But now, notoriety and gain are its objects; and ostentation the manner of its procedure. Spurning the obscurity of home, where but little fame—and less gain—reward its labors, it seeks the most distant places for the fields of its operations, and its activity and zeal are in an inverse ratio to the wants and sufferings of the objects it would relieve.
There is much of this kind of philanthopy in the world at this time: and this is the kind exhibited in the drawing rooms of the Stafford House. But in all that proud and glittering throng, that concentration of mercy and compassion, not a voice is heard to plead for the many thousands of England’s sons and daughters, sires and matrons, suffering, starving and dying around them, whom the aforesaid mercy and compassion, if truly and properly directed, would relieve and save to an extent, known only to Him, who has commanded us to love our neighbors as ourselves.
But John Bull’s neighbors are those who are most remote from him, and John’s love is more for country and property than for persons.
The celebrated traveler, Dr. Clark, informs us that being once in a Greek Church in Russia, he saw a pious rascal who while devoutly telling his beads with one hand, was with the
