The
parliamentary debates are merely alluded to as with permission, and
the simple propositions said to be advanced and seconded, disputed and
amended. How strange is the comparison suggested with the present
aspect of the _Times_, or indeed any of the London daylies! We live in
an age of wonders, and not the least of these is the well-written,
well-filled, and capacious-minded newspapers.
A SCENE IN BOSTON.
A coloured girl, eighteen years of age, a few years ago escaped from
slavery in the South. Through scenes of adventure and peril, almost
more strange than fiction can create, she found her way to Boston. She
obtained employment, secured friends, and became a consistent member
of the Methodist church. She became interested in a very worthy young
man of her own complexion, who was a member of the same church. They
were soon married. Their home, though humble, was the abode of piety
and contentment. Industrious, temperate, and frugal, all their wants
were supplied. Seven years passed away. They had two little boys, one
six, and the other four years of age. These children, the sons of a
free father, but of a mother who had been a slave, by the laws of the
Southern States were doomed to their mother's fate. These Boston boys,
born beneath the shadow of Faneuil Hall, the sons of a free citizen of
Boston, and educated in the Boston Free Schools, were, by the
compromises of the constitution, admitted to be slaves, the property
of a South Carolinian planter.
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