Mr. President, and Gentlemen of the Mercantile Library Association:—

I have been honored by an invitation to deliver an address, introductory to the annual course of lectures which your Association bountifully contributes to the pastime, instruction, and elevation of our community. You know, Sir, something of the reluctance with which, embarrassed by other cares, I undertook this service,—yielding to kindly and persistent pressure, which only a nature sterner than mine could resist. And now I am here to perform what I promised.

I am to address the Mercantile Library Association of Boston, numbering, according to your last Report, two thousand and seventy-eight members, and possessing a library of more than fifteen thousand volumes. With so many members and so many books, yours is an institution of positive power. Two distinct features appear in its name. It is, primarily, an association of persons in mercantile pursuits; and it is, next, an association for the improvement of its members, particularly through books. In either particular it is entitled to regard. But it possesses yet another feature, more interesting still, which does not appear in its name. It is an association of YOUNG MEN, with hearts yet hospitable to generous words, and with resolves not yet vanquished by the trials and temptations of life. Especially does this last consideration fill me with a deep sense of the privilege and responsibility to which you have summoned me. I am aware, that, according to usage, the whole circle of knowledge, thought, and aspiration is open to the speaker; but, as often as I have revolved the occasion in my mind, I have been brought back to the peculiar character of your Association, and have found myself unwilling to touch any theme not addressed to you especially as merchants.

I might fitly speak to you of books; and here, while considering principles to govern the student in his reading, it would be pleasant to dwell on the profitable delights, better than a "shower of cent per cent," on the society, better than fashion or dissipation, and on that completeness of satisfaction, outvying the possessions of wealth, and making the "library dukedom large enough,"—all of which are found in books. But I leave this theme. I might also fitly speak to you of young men, their claims and duties; and here again, while enforcing the precious advantages of Occupation, it would be pleasant to unfold and vindicate that reverence which Antiquity wisely accorded to youth, as the season of promise and hope, pregnant with an unknown future, and therefore to be watched with tenderness and care,—to show how in every young man the uncertain measure of capacities yet undeveloped gives scope to magnificence of anticipation beyond any reality,—and to inquire what must be done, that all this anticipation may not wholly die while the young man lives. But there are other things which beckon me away. Not on books, not on youth must I speak, but on yet another topic, suggested directly by the name of your Association.

With your kind permission, I shall speak to-night on what this age requires from the mercantile profession, or rather, since nothing is justly required which is not due, what the mercantile profession owes to this age. I would show the principle by which we are to be guided in making the account current between the mercantile profession and Humanity, and, might I so aspire, hold up the Looking-Glass of the Good Merchant. And since example is better than precept, and deeds are more than words, I shall exhibit the career of a remarkable man, whose simple life, beginning as apprentice to a linen-draper, and never getting beyond a clerkship, shows what may be accomplished by faithful, humble labor, and reveals precisely those qualities which in this age are needed to crown the character of the Good Merchant.

"I hold every man a debtor to his profession," was a saying of Lord Bacon, repeated by his contemporary and rival, Lord Coke. But this does not tell the whole truth. It restricts within the narrow circle of a profession obligations which are broad and universal as humanity. Rather should it be said that every man owes a debt to mankind. In determining the debt of the merchant, we must first appreciate his actual position in the social system.

At the dawn of modern times trade was unknown. There was nothing then like a policy of insurance, a bank, a bill of exchange, or even a promissory note. The very term "chattels," so comprehensive in its present application, yet, when considered in its derivation from the mediÆval Latin catalla, cattle, reveals the narrow inventory of personal property in those days, when "two hundred sheep" were paid by a pious Countess of Anjou for a coveted volume of Homilies. The places of honor and power were then occupied by men who had distinguished themselves by the sword, and were known under the various names of Knight, Baron, Count, or—highest of all—Duke, Dux, leader in war.

Under these influences the feudal system was organized, with its hierarchy of ranks, in mutual relations of dependence and protection; and society for a while rested in its shadow. The steel-clad chiefs who enjoyed power had a corresponding responsibility, while the mingled gallantry and gentleness of chivalry often controlled the iron hand. It was the dukes who led the forces; it was the counts or earls who placed themselves at the head of their respective counties; it was the knights who went forth to do battle with danger, in whatever form, whether from robbers or wild beasts. It was the barons of Runnymede—there was no merchant there—who extorted from King John that Magna Charta which laid the corner-stone of English and American liberty.

Meanwhile trade made its humble beginnings. But for a long time the merchant was of a despised caste, only next above the slave who was sold as a chattel. If a Jew, he was often compelled, under direful torture, to surrender his gains; if a foreigner, he earned toleration by inordinate contribution to the public revenue; if a native, he was treated as caitiff too mean for society, and only good enough to be taxed. In the time of Chaucer he had so far come up, that he was admitted to the promiscuous company, ranging from knight to miller, who undertook the merry pilgrimage from the Tabard Inn to Canterbury; but the gentle poet satirically exposes his selfish talk:—

The man of trade was so low, that it took him long to rise. A London merchant, the famous Gresham, in the time of Elizabeth, founded the Royal Exchange, and a college also; but trade continued still a butt for jest and gibe. At a later day an English statute gave new security to the merchant's accounts; but the contemporaneous dramatists exhibited him to the derision of the theatre, and even the almanacs exposed his ignorant superstitions by chronicling the days supposed to be favorable or unfavorable to trade. But in the grand mutations of society the merchant throve. His wealth increased, his influence extended, and he gradually drew into his company decayed or poverty-stricken members of feudal families, till at last in France (I do not forget the exceptional condition of Italy), at the close of the seventeenth century, an edict was put forth, which John Locke has preserved in the journal of his travels, "that those who merchandise, but do not use the yard, shall not lose their gentility"[141] (admirable discrimination!); and in England, at the close of the eighteenth century, his former degradation and growing importance were attested in the saying of Dr. Johnson, that "an English merchant is a new species of gentleman."[142] But this high arbiter, bending under feudal traditions, would not even then concede to him any merit,—proclaiming that there were "no qualities in trade that should entitle a man to superiority,"—that "we cannot think that a fellow, by sitting all day at a desk, is entitled to get above us,"—and to the supposition by his faithful Boswell, that a merchant might be a man of enlarged mind, the determined moralist replied: "Why, Sir, we may suppose any fictitious character; but there is nothing in trade connected with an enlarged mind."[143]

In America feudalism never prevailed, and our Revolution severed the only cord by which we were connected with this ancient system. It was fit that the Congress which performed this memorable act should have for its President a merchant. It was fit, that, in promulgating the Declaration of Independence, by which, in the face of kings, princes, and nobles, the New Era was inaugurated, the education of the counting-house should flaunt conspicuously in the broad and clerkly signature of John Hancock. Our fathers "builded better than they knew"; and these things are typical of the social change then taking place. By yet another act, fresh in your recollection, and of peculiar interest to this assembly, has our country borne the same testimony. A distinguished merchant of Boston, who has ascended through all the gradations of trade, honored always for private virtues as well as public abilities,—need I mention the name of Abbott Lawrence?—has been sent to the Court of St. James as ambassador of our Republic, and with that proud commission, higher than any patent of nobility, taken precedence of nobles in that ancient realm. Here I see the triumph of personal merit, but still more the consummation of a new epoch.

Yes, Sir! say what you will, this is the day of the merchant. As in the early ages war was the great concern of society, and the very pivot of power, so is trade now; and as feudal chiefs were the "notables," placed at the very top of their time, so are merchants now. All things attest the change. War, which was once the universal business, is now confined to a few; once a daily terror, it is now the accident of an age. Not for adventures of the sword, but for trade, do men descend upon the sea in ships, and traverse broad continents on iron pathways. Not for protection against violence, but for trade, do men come together in cities, and rear the marvellous superstructure of social order. If they go abroad, or if they stay at home, it is trade that controls them, without distinction of persons. In our country every man is trader: the physician trades his benevolent care; the lawyer trades his ingenious tongue; the clergyman trades his prayers. And trade summons from the quarry choicest marble and granite to build its capacious homes, and now, in our own city, displays warehouses which outdo the baronial castle, and sales-rooms which outdo the ducal palace. With these magnificent appliances, the relations of dependence and protection, marking the early feudalism, are reproduced in the more comprehensive feudalism of trade. There are European bankers who vie in power with the dukes and princes of other days, and there are traffickers everywhere whose title comes from the ledger and not the sword, fit successors to counts, barons, and knights. As the feudal chief allocated to himself and his followers that soil which was the prize of his strong arm, so now the merchant, with grasp more subtle and reaching, allocates to himself and his followers, ranging through multitudinous degrees of dependence, all the spoils of every land, triumphantly won by trade. I would not press this parallel too far; but at this moment, especially in our country, the merchant, more than any other character, stands in the very boots of the feudal chief. Of all pursuits or relations, his is now the most extensive and formidable, making all others its tributaries, and bending at times even the lawyer and the clergyman to be its dependent stipendiaries.

Such, in our social system, is the merchant; and on this precise and incontrovertible statement I found his duties. Wealth, power, and influence are not for self-indulgence merely, and just according to their extent are the obligations to others which they impose. If, by the rule of increase, to him that hath is given, so in the same degree new duties are superadded: nor can any man escape from their behests. If the merchant be in reality our feudal lord, he must render feudal service; if he be our modern knight, he must do knightly deeds; if he be the baron of our day, let him maintain baronial charity to the humble,—ay, Sir, and baronial courage against tyrannical wrong, whatsoever form it may assume. Even if I err in attributing to him this peculiar position, I do not err in attributing to him these duties; for his influence is surely great, and he is at least a man, bound by simple manhood to regard nothing human as foreign to his heart.

The special perils which aroused the age of chivalry have passed away. Monsters, in the form of dragons, griffins, or unicorns, no longer ravage the land. Giants have disappeared from the scene. Robbers have been dislodged from castle and forest. Godeschal the Iron-hearted, and Robin Hood, are each without descendants. In the new forms which society assumes, touched by the potent wand of trade, there is no place for any of these. But wrong and outrage are not yet extinct. Cast out of one body, they enter straightway another, whence, too, they must be cast out. Alas! in our day, amidst all this teeming civilization, with the horn of Abundance at our gates, with the purse of Fortunatus in our hands, with professions of Christianity on our lips, and with the merchant installed in the high places of Chivalry, there are sorrows not less poignant than those which once enkindled knightly sympathy, and there is wrong which vies in loathsomeness with early monsters, in power with early giants, and in existing immunity with robbers once sheltered by castle and forest,—stalking through your streets in the abused garb of Law itself, and by its hateful presence dwarfing all the atrocities of another age. A wicked man is a deplorable sight; but a wicked law is worse than any wicked man, even than the wretch who steals human beings from their home in Africa; nor can its outrage be redressed by any incidental charities, perishing at night as manna in the wilderness. Like the monster, it must be overpowered; like the robber, it must be chained; like the wild beast, it must be exterminated.

To the merchant, then, especially to the young merchant, I appeal, by the position you have won and by the power which is yours,—go forth to redress these grievances, whatever they may be, whether in the sufferings of the solitary soul or audaciously organized in the likeness of law. That I may not seem to hold up any impracticable standard, that the path of duty may not appear difficult, and that no young man need hesitate, even though he find himself alone and opposed by numbers, let me present briefly, as becomes the hour, the example and special achievement of Granville Sharp, the humble Englishman, who, without wealth, fame, or power, did not hesitate to set himself against the merchants of the time, against the traditions of the English bar, against the authority of learned lawyers, and against the power of magistrates, until, by persevering effort, he compelled the highest tribunal of the land to declare the grand constitutional truth, that the slave who sets his foot on British ground becomes that instant free. His character of pure and courageous principle may be little regarded yet; but as time advances, it will become a guiding luminary. There are stars aloft, centres of other systems, in such depths of firmament that only after the lapse of ages does their light reach this small ball which we call earth.

Be assured, Mr. President, I shall not tread on forbidden ground. To the occasion and to your Association I shall be loyal; but let me be loyal also to myself. Thank God, the great volume of the Past is always open, with its lessons of warning and example. Nor will the assembly which now does me the honor to listen to me be disposed to imitate the pious pirates of the Caribbean Sea, who daily recited the Ten Commandments, always omitting the injunction, "Thou shalt not steal." I know well the sensitiveness of certain consciences. This is natural. It is according to the decrees of Providence, that whosoever has been engaged in meanness or wickedness should be pursued, wherever he moves, by reproving voices, speaking to him from the solitudes of Nature, from the darkness of night, from the hum of the street, and from every book that he reads, like fiery tongues at Pentecost, until at last the confession of Satan himself can alone express his wretchedness:—

Granville Sharp was born at Durham, in 1735. His family was of great respectability and of ancient lineage. His grandfather was Archbishop of York, confidential chaplain and counsellor of the renowned Chancellor, Heneage Finch, Lord Nottingham. His less conspicuous father was archdeacon and prebendary of the Church, who, out of his ecclesiastical emoluments, knew how to dispense charity, while rearing his numerous children to different pursuits. Of these, Granville was the youngest son, and, though elder brothers were educated for professional life, he was destined to trade, a portion being set apart by his father to serve as his apprentice-fee in London. With this view his back was turned upon the learned languages, and his instruction was confined chiefly to writing and arithmetic; but at this time he read and enjoyed all the plays of Shakespeare, perched in an apple-tree of his father's orchard. When fifteen years old, he was bound as apprentice to a Quaker linen-draper in London, and at this tender age left his father's house. Of his apprenticeship he has given an interesting glimpse.

Although always a devoted member of the Church of England, these extraordinary experiences in early life placed him above the prejudice of sect, and inspired a rule of conduct worthy of perpetual memory, which he presents as follows.

Only two years before the enrolment of Granville Sharp among London apprentices,—that class so famous in local history,—another person, kindred in benevolence, and now in fame, Howard, the philanthropist, on whose career Burke has cast the illumination of his genius, finished service in the same place, as apprentice to a wholesale grocer. I do not know that these two congenial natures—or yet another contemporary of lowly fortunes, Robert Raikes, the inventor of Sunday schools—ever encountered in the world. But they are joined in example,—and the life of an apprentice, in all its humilities, seems radiant with their presence, as with heavenly light. Perhaps among the apprentices of Boston there may be yet a Granville Sharp or John Howard. And just in proportion as the moral nature asserts its rightful supremacy here will such a character be hailed of higher worth than the products of all the mills of Lowell, backed by all the dividends and discounts of State Street.

Shortly after the completion of his apprenticeship and entrance upon business, Sharp lost both his parents, and very soon thereafter, abandoning trade, obtained a subordinate appointment as supernumerary clerk in the Ordnance Office, where, after six years' service, he became simply "clerk in ordinary." Meanwhile, conscientiously fulfilling this life of routine and labor, not unlike the toils of Charles Lamb at the India House, he pursued, in moments saved from business and snatched from sleep, a series of studies, which, though undervalued by his modesty, the scholar may envy. That he might better enjoy and vindicate that Book which he reverently accepted as the rule of life, he first studied Greek and then Hebrew, obtaining such command of both languages as to employ them skilfully in the field of theological controversy. Music and French he studied also, and our own English tongue too, on the pronunciation of which he wrote an excellent essay.

These quiet pursuits were interrupted by an incident which belongs to the romance of truth. An unhappy African, by the name of Jonathan Strong, was brought as a slave from Barbadoes to London, where, after brutal outrage, at which the soul shudders, inflicted by the person who called himself master,—I regret to add lawyer also,—he was turned adrift on the unpitying stones of the great metropolis, lame, blind, and faint, with ague and fever, and without a home. In this plight, while staggering along in quest of medical care, he was met by the Good Samaritan, Granville Sharp, who, touched by his misfortunes, bound up his wounds, gave him charitable assistance, placed him in a hospital, and watched him through a protracted illness, until at last health and strength returned, and he was able to commence service as freeman in a respectable home. In this condition, after the lapse of two years, he was recognized in the street by his old master, who at once determined to entrap him, and to hold him as slave. By deceitful message the victim was tempted to a public house, where he was shocked to encounter his cruel claimant, who, without delay, seized and committed him to prison. Here again was the Good Samaritan, Granville Sharp, who lost no time in enjoining upon the keeper of the prison, at his peril, not to deliver the African to any person whatever, and then promptly invoked the intervention of the Mayor of London. At the hearing before this magistrate, it appeared that the claimant had already undertaken, by formal bill of sale, to convey the alleged slave to another person, who, by an agent, was in attendance to take him on board a ship bound for Jamaica. As soon as the case was stated, the Mayor gave judgment in words worthy of imitation. "The lad," said this righteous judge, "has not stolen anything, and is not guilty of any offence, and is therefore at liberty to go away." The agent of the claimant, not disheartened, seized him by the arm, and still claimed him as "property,"—yes, even as property! Sharp, in ignorance of legal proceedings, was for a moment perplexed, when the friendly voice of the coroner, who chanced to be near, whispered, "Charge him"; on which hint, our philanthropist, turning at once to the brazen-faced claimant, said, with justifiable anger of manner, "Sir, I charge you, in the name of the King, with an assault upon the person of Jonathan Strong, and all these are my witnesses,"—when, to avoid immediate commitment, and the yawning cell of the jail, he let go his piratical, slave-hunting grasp, "and all bowed to the Lord Mayor and came away, Jonathan following Granville Sharp, and no one daring to touch him."[146]

But the end was not yet. By this accidental and disinterested act of humanity Sharp was exposed at the same time to personal insult and to a suit at law. The discomfited claimant—the same lawyer who had originally abandoned the slave in the streets of London—called on him "to demand gentlemanlike satisfaction"; to which the philanthropist replied, that, as "he had studied the law so many years, he should want no satisfaction that the law could give him." And he nobly redeemed his word; for he applied himself at once to his defence against the legal process instituted by the claimant for an alleged abstraction of property. Here begins his greatness.

It is in collision with difficulty that the sparks of genuine character appear. This simple-hearted man, now vindictively pursued, laid his case before an eminent solicitor, who, after ample consideration with learned counsel, among whom was the celebrated Sir James Eyre, did not hesitate to assure him, that, under the British Constitution, he could not be defended against the action. An opinion given in 1729, by the Attorney-General and Solicitor-General of the time, Yorke and Talbot,—two great names in the English law, and each afterwards Lord Chancellor,—was adduced, declaring, under their respective signatures, "that a slave, by coming from the West Indies to Great Britain or Ireland, either with or without his master, doth not become free," and "that the master may legally compel him to return to the plantations"; and Lord Mansfield, the Chief Justice, was reported as strenuously concurring in this opinion, to the odious extent of delivering up fugitive slaves to their claimants. With these authorities against him, and forsaken by professional defenders, Sharp was not disheartened; but, though, according to his own striking language, "totally unacquainted either with the practice of the law or the foundations of it, having never in his life opened a law-book except the Bible," he was inspired to depend on himself. An unconquerable will, and instincts often profounder in their teaching than any learning, were now his counsellors. For nearly two years, during which the suit was still pending, he gave himself to intense study of the British Constitution in all its bearings upon human liberty. During these researches he was confirmed in his original prepossessions, and aroused to undying hostility against Slavery, which he plainly saw to be without any sanction in the Constitution. "The word SLAVES," he wrote, "or anything that can justify the enslaving of others, is not to be found there, God be thanked!"[147] And I, too, say, God be thanked!

The result of these studies was embodied in a tract, entitled "A Representation of the Injustice and Dangerous Tendency of tolerating Slavery, or of admitting the least Claim of Private Property in the Persons of Men in England." This was submitted to his counsel, one of whom was the famous commentator, Sir William Blackstone, and, by means of copies in manuscript, circulated among gentlemen of the bar, until the lawyers on the other side were actually intimidated, and the Slave-Hunter, failing to bring forward his action, was mulcted in treble costs; and thus ended that persecution of our philanthropist. In 1769 this important tract was printed.

Thus far it was an individual case only which engaged his care. Another soon followed, where, through his chivalrous humanity, the intolerable wrongs of a woman kidnapped in London and transported as slave to Barbadoes, were redressed,—so far as earthly decree could go. Learning the infinite woe of Slavery, he was now aroused to broader effort. Shocked by an advertisement in a London newspaper,—such as often appeared in those days,—of "a black girl to be sold, of an excellent temper and willing disposition,"—he at once protested to the Chancellor, Lord Camden, against such things as a "notorious breach of the laws of Nature, humanity, and equity, and also of the established law, custom, and Constitution of England";[148] and in the same year, May 15, 1769, by letter to the Archbishop of Canterbury, he solemnly appealed against the Slave-Trade, and thus by many years heralded the labors of Clarkson and Wilberforce. "I am myself convinced," he said, "that nothing can thrive which is in any way concerned in that unjust trade. I have known several instances which are strong proofs to me of the judgments of God, even in this world, against such a destructive and iniquitous traffic."[149] In these things he showed not only his love of justice, but his personal independence. "Although I am a placeman," he wrote on another occasion, "and indeed of a very inferior rank, yet I look on myself to be perfectly independent, because I have never yet been afraid to do and avow whatever I thought just and right, without the consideration of consequences to myself: for, indeed, I think it unworthy of a man to be afraid of the world; and it is a point with me never to conceal my sentiments on any subject whatever, not even from my superiors in office, when there is a probability of answering any good purpose by it."[150]

Still again was his protecting presence enlisted to save a fellow-man from bondage; and here it is necessary to note the new form of outrage. A poor African, Thomas Lewis, once a slave, was residing quietly at Chelsea, in the neighborhood of London, when he was suddenly seized by his former master, who, with the aid of two ruffians, bought for the fiendish purpose, dragged him on his back into the water, and thence into a boat lying in the Thames, when, with legs tied, and mouth gagged by a stick, he was rowed down to a ship bound for Jamaica, under a commander previously enlisted in the conspiracy, to be sold for a slave on arrival in that island. But this diabolical act, though warily contrived, did not escape notice. The cries of the victim, on his way to the boat, reached the servants of a neighboring mansion, who witnessed the deadly struggle, but did not venture a rescue. Their mistress, a retired widow, mother of the eminent naturalist and traveller, Sir Joseph Banks, on learning what had passed, instantly put forth her womanly exertion. Without the hesitation of her sex, she hurried to Granville Sharp, now known for knightly zeal to succor the distressed, laid before him the terrible story, and insisted upon vindicating the freedom of the stranger at her own expense. All honor to this woman! A simple warrant, first obtained by Sharp, was scouted by the captain, whose victim, bathed in tears, was already chained to the mast. The great writ of Habeas Corpus was next invoked; and the ship, which had contumaciously proceeded on its way, was boarded in the Downs, happily within British jurisdiction, by a faithful officer, who, in the name of the King of England, unbound the African, and took him back to freedom.

A complaint was now presented against the kidnappers, who were at once indicted by the grand jury. The cause was removed to the King's Bench, and on the 20th of February, 1771, brought into court before Lord Mansfield. The defence set up, that the victim was their slave, and therefore property to be rightfully seized. Here the question was distinctly presented, whether any such property was recognized by the British Constitution? The transcendent magistrate who presided on the occasion saw the magnitude of the issue, and sought to avoid its formal determination by presenting the subordinate point, whether the claimant, supposing such property recognized, was able to prove the man to be his? The kidnappers were found guilty; but judgment against them was waived, on the recommendation of Lord Mansfield, who, be it observed, at every stage, shrank from any act by which Slavery in England should be annulled, and on this occasion avowed his "hope that the question never would be finally discussed." Sharp was justly indignant at this craven conduct, which, with all gentleness of manner, but with perfect firmness, he did not hesitate to arraign as open contempt of the true principles of the Constitution.[151]

Alas! it is the natural influence of Slavery to make men hard. Gorgon-like, it turns to stone. Among the judicial magistrates of the time, Lord Mansfield was not alone. His companion in contemporary fame, Blackstone, shared the petrifaction. The first edition of his incomparable Commentaries openly declared, that a slave, on coming to England, became at once a freeman; but, in a subsequent edition, after the question had been practically presented by Granville Sharp, the text was pusillanimously altered to an abandonment of this great constitutional principle; and our intrepid philanthropist hung his head with shame and anxiety, while the counsel for the Slave-Hunters triumphantly invoked this tergiversation as new authority against Freedom.[152]

The day was at hand when the great philanthropist was to be vindicated, even by the lips of the great magistrate. The Slavery question could not be suppressed: the Chief Justice of England could not suppress it. Drive out Nature with a pitchfork, and still she will return. Only a few months elapsed, when a memorable case arose, which presented the question distinctly for judgment. A negro, James Somerset, whose name, in the establishment of an immortal principle, will help to keep alive the appellation of the ducal house to which it originally belonged,—was detained in irons on board a ship lying in the Thames, and bound for Jamaica. On application to Lord Mansfield in his behalf, supported by affidavits, December 3, 1771, a writ of Habeas Corpus was directed to the captain of the ship, commanding him to return the body of Somerset into court, with the cause of his detention. In course of time, though somewhat tardily, the body was produced, and for cause of detention it was assigned, that he was the property of Charles Stewart, Esq., of Virginia, who had held him in Virginia as a slave,—that, when brought as such to London, he ran away from the service of his master, but was recovered, and finally delivered on board the ship to be carried to Jamaica, there to be sold as the slave and property of the Virginia gentleman.[153] As no facts were in issue here, the whole cause hinged on the Constitutionality of Slavery in England; and the great question which the Chief Justice had sought to avoid, and on which the Commentator had changed sides, was once again to be heard.

That the proceedings might have a solemnity in some degree corresponding to their importance, the cause was brought by Lord Mansfield before the King's Bench, where it was continued from time to time, according to the convenience of counsel and the court, running through months, and occupying different days in January, February, and May, down to the 22d June, 1772, when judgment was finally delivered. During all this period, Somerset, having recognized with sureties for his appearance in court, was left at large. To Granville Sharp he had repaired at once, and by him was kindly welcomed and effectually aided. Under the advice of this humble clerk, counsel learned in the law were retained, who were instructed by him in the grounds of defence. At his expense, too, out of his small means, the proceedings were maintained. "Money," he nobly said, "has no value but when it is well spent; and I am thoroughly convinced that no part of my little pittance of ready money can ever be better bestowed than in an honest endeavor to crush a growing oppression, which is not only shocking to humanity, but in time must prove even dangerous to the community."[154] On the other side the costs were defrayed by a subscription among the merchants. Hear this, merchants of Boston, justly jealous of the good name of your calling, and hang your heads with shame!

To the glory of the English bar, the eminent counsel for the slave declined all fee for their valuable and protracted services; and here let me pause for one moment to pay them an unaffected tribute. They were five in number: Mr. Serjeant Davy, who opened the cause with the proposition, "that no man at this day is or can be a slave in England,"—Mr. Serjeant Glynn,—Mr. Mansfield, afterward Chief Justice of the Common Pleas,—Mr. Hargrave, and Mr. Alleyne,—each of whom was patiently heard by the Court at length. The argument of Mr. Hargrave, who early volunteered his great learning in the case, is one of the masterpieces of the bar. This was his first appearance in court; but it is well that Liberty on that day had such support. For all these gallant lawyers, champions of the Right, there is honor ever increasing, which the soul spontaneously offers, while it turns in sorrow from the counsel, only two in number, who allowed themselves to be enlisted on the side of Slavery. I know well that in Westminster Hall there are professional usages—which happily do not prevail in our country, where every such service depends purely on contract—by which a barrister thinks himself constrained to assume any cause properly presented to him. If this service depended on contract there, as with us, the sarcasm of Ben Jonson would be strictly applicable:—

But I undertake to affirm that no usage, professional or social, can give any apology for joining the pack of the Slave-Hunter. Mr. Dunning, one of the persons in this predicament, showed that he acted against his better nature.[156] The first words in his argument were: "It is incumbent on me to justify the detainer of the negro." Pray, why incumbent on him? He was then careful to show that he did not maintain any absolute property in him; and he proceeded to say, among other things, that it was his misfortune to address an audience, the greater part of which, he feared, was prejudiced the other way,—that, for himself, he would not be understood to intimate a wish in favor of Slavery, but that he was bound in duty to maintain those arguments most useful to the claimant, so far as consistent with the truth; and he concluded with this conscience-stricken appeal: "I hope, therefore, I shall not suffer in the opinion of those whose honest passions are fired at the name of Slavery; I hope I have not transgressed my duty to Humanity."[157] Clearly the lawyer had transgressed his duty to Humanity. No man can rightfully enforce a principle which violates human nature; nor can any subtilty of dialectics, any extent of erudition, or any grandeur of intellect sustain him. Notwithstanding the character for liberal principles which John Dunning acquired, and which breathes in his sensitive excuses,—notwithstanding his double fame at once in Westminster Hall and Saint Stephen's Chapel,—notwithstanding the peerage which he won,—this odious service rendered to a Slave-Hunter, calling himself a Virginia gentleman, cries in judgment against him, and will continue to cry, as time advances. (Do not start, Mr. President,—I am narrating occurrences in another hemisphere and another century.) As well undertake a Slave-Hunt in the deserts of Africa as in the streets of London. As well pursue the fugitive with the hired whip of the overseer as with the hired argument of the lawyer. As well chase him with the baying of the blood-hound as with the tongue of the advocate. It is the lawyer's clear duty to uphold human rights, whether in the loftiest or the lowliest; and when he undertakes to uphold a wrong outrageous as Slavery, his proper function is so far reversed that he can be aptly described only in the phrase of the Roman Church, Advocatus Diaboli, the Devil's Advocate.

Passing from counsel to court, we find occasion for gratitude and sorrow. The three judges, Aston, Willes, and Ashhurst, who sat at the side of Lord Mansfield, were silent through the whole proceedings, overawed, perhaps, by his commanding authority, so that he alone seems to be present. Of large intellect, and extensive studies, running into all regions of learning,—with a silver-tongued voice, and an amenity of manner which gave constant charm to his presence,—with unsurpassed professional and political experience combined,—early companion of Pope, and early competitor of Pitt,—having already once refused the post of Prime Minister, and three times refused the post of Chancellor,—he stood forth, at the period when the poor slave was brought before him, an acknowledged master of jurisprudence, and, take him for all in all, the most finished magistrate England had then produced. But his character had one fatal defect, too common on the bench. He lacked moral firmness,—happily not lacking in Granville Sharp. Still more, he was not naturally on the side of Liberty, as becomes a great judge, but always, by blood and instinct, on the side of prerogative and power,—an offence for which he was arraigned by his contemporary, Junius, and for which posterity will hold him to strict account. But his luminous mind, prompt to perceive the force of principles, could not resist the array of argument now marshalled for Freedom. He saw clearly that a system like Slavery could not find home under the British Constitution, which nowhere mentions the name Slave; and yet he shrank from the sublime conclusion. More than once he coquetted with the merchants, who had the case so much at heart, and twice ignobly suggested that the claimant might avoid the decision of the great question, fraught with Freedom or Slavery to multitudes, simply by manumitting the individual. And when at last the case could not be arrested by any device, or be longer postponed,—when judgment was inevitable,—he came to the work, not warmly or generously, but in trembling obedience to the Truth, which waited to be declared.

On other occasions, of purely commercial character, his judgments are more learned and elaborate, besides being reported with more completeness and care; but no judgment of equal significance ever fell from the great Oracle. From various sources I have sought its precise import.[158] It is remarkable for several rules, which it clearly enunciates, and which, though often assaulted, still stand as reason and as law. Of these, the first is expressed in these simple words: "If the parties will have judgment, fiat justitia, ruat coelum: let justice be done, whatever be the consequence." The Latin phrase which here plays such a prominent part, though of classical stamp, cannot be traced to any classical origin, and it has even been asserted that it was freshly coined by Lord Mansfield on this occasion, worthy of such commanding truth in such commanding phrase. But it is of older date, and from another mint,—though it is not too much to say, that it took its currency and authority from him. Coming from such a conservative magistrate, it is of peculiar importance. With little expansion, it says openly: To every man his natural rights; justice to all, without distinction of person, without abridgment, and without compromise. Let justice be done, though it drags down the pillars of the sky. Thus spoke the Chief Justice of England.[159]And still another rule, hardly less important or less commanding, was clearly proclaimed in these penetrating words: "I care not for the supposed dicta of judges, however eminent, if they be contrary to all principle"; or, in other language, In vain do you invoke great names in the law, even the names of Hardwicke and Talbot, and my own learned associate, Blackstone, in behalf of an institution which defies reason and outrages justice. Human precedent is powerless against immutable principle. Thus again spoke the Chief Justice of England.

Braced by these rules, the next stages were logically easy. And here he uttered words which are like a buttress to Freedom. He declared, that, tracing Slavery to natural principles, it can never be supported: that is to say, Slavery is a violation of the great law of Nature, established by God himself, coextensive in space and time with the Universe. Again he proclaimed, Slavery cannot stand on any reason, moral or political, but only by virtue of positive law; and he clinched his conclusion by the unquestionable truth, that, in a matter so odious, the evidence and authority of this law must be taken strictly: in other words, a wrong like Slavery, which finds no support in natural law or in reason, can be maintained, if at all, only by some dread mandate, from some sovereign authority, irresistibly clear and incapable of a double sense, which declares in precise and unequivocal terms, that men guilty of no crime may be held as slaves, and be submitted to the bargains of the market-place, the hammer of the auctioneer, and the hunt of the blood-hound. Clearly no such mandate could be shown in England. After asserting the obvious truth, that rights cannot depend on any discrimination of color, and thus discarding the profane assumptions of race, while he quoted apt Roman authority,—

"Quamvis ille niger, quamvis tu candidus esses,"

the Chief Justice concluded, "And therefore let the negro be discharged." Such was this immortal judgment. I catch its last words, already resounding through the ages, with the voice of deliverance to an enslaved people.

From Westminster Hall, where he had been held so long in painful suspense, the happy freedman, with glad tidings of deliverance, hurried to his angel protector, Granville Sharp, who, though organizing and sustaining these proceedings, was restrained by unobtrusive modesty from all attendance in court, that he might in no wise irritate the Chief Justice, unfortunately prepossessed against his endeavor. And thus closed the most remarkable constitutional battle in English history, fought by a simple clerk, once apprentice to a linen-draper, against the merchants of London, backed by great names in law, and by the most exalted magistrate of the age. Like the stripling David, he went forth to the contest with only a sling and a few smooth stones from the brook; and Goliath fell prostrate. Not merely the individual slave, but upwards of fourteen thousand human beings,—four times as many slaves as could be counted throughout New England at the adoption of the National Constitution,—rejoiced in emancipation; a slave-hunt was made impossible in the streets of London; and a great principle was set up which will stand forever as a Landmark of Freedom.

This triumph, hailed at the time by the friends of human happiness with exultation and delight, was commemorated by poetry and eloquence. It prompted Cowper, in his "Task," to these touching verses:—

It inspired Curran to a burst of eloquence, grand, and familiar to all who hear me.

"I speak in the spirit of the British law, which makes Liberty commensurate with and inseparable from British soil,—which proclaims even to the stranger and sojourner, the moment he sets his foot upon British earth, that the ground on which he treads is holy and consecrated by the genius of Universal Emancipation. No matter in what language his doom may have been pronounced,—no matter what complexion, incompatible with Freedom, an Indian or an African sun may have burnt upon him,—no matter in what disastrous battle his liberty may have been cloven down,—no matter with what solemnities he may have been devoted upon the altar of Slavery: the first moment he touches the sacred soil of Britain, the altar and the god sink together in the dust, his soul walks abroad in her own majesty, his body swells beyond the measure of his chains that burst from around him, and he stands redeemed, regenerated, and disenthralled by the irresistible genius of Universal Emancipation."[160]

"Tell me not of rights,—talk not of the property of the planter in his slaves. I deny the right,—I acknowledge not the property. The principles, the feelings of our common nature rise in rebellion against it. Be the appeal made to the understanding or to the heart, the sentence is the same that rejects it. In vain you tell me of laws that sanction such a claim. There is a law above all the enactments of human codes,—the same throughout the world, the same in all times: ... it is the law written on the heart of man by the finger of his Maker; and by that law, unchangeable and eternal, while men despise fraud and loathe rapine and abhor blood, they will reject with indignation the wild and guilty fantasy that man can hold property in man."[161]

Granville Sharp did not rest from labor. The Humanities are not solitary. Where one is found, there will others be also. The advocate of the slave in London was naturally the advocate of liberty for all everywhere. In this spirit he signalized himself against that scandal of the English law, the hateful system of Impressment, while he encountered no less a person than Dr. Johnson, whom he did not hesitate to charge with "plausible sophistry and important self-sufficiency, as if he supposed that the mere sound of words was capable of altering the nature of things";[162] also, against the claims of England in the controversy with her American colonies, zealously maintaining our cause in a publication, of which it is said seven thousand copies were printed in Boston[163]; also, in establishing a colony of liberated slaves at Sierra Leone, on the coast of Africa, predecessor of our more successful Liberia; and, finally, as leader, not only against the Slave-Trade, but also against Slavery itself, so that he was hailed "Father of the cause in England," and was placed at the head of the illustrious committee by which it was conducted, though his rare modesty prevented him from taking the chair to which he was unanimously elected. But no modesty could check his valiant soul in conflict with wrong. Not content with his warfare in court, he addressed Lord North, the Prime Minister, warning him in the most earnest manner to take measures for the immediate abolition of Slavery in all the British dominions, as utterly irreconcilable with the principles of the British Constitution and the established religion of the land, and solemnly declaring that "it were better for the nation that their American dominions had never existed, or even that they had sunk in the sea, than that the kingdom of Great Britain should be loaded with the horrid guilt of tolerating such abominable wickedness."[164] With similar boldness, in an elaborate work, he arraigned the doctrine of Passive Obedience, advanced now in favor of judicial tribunals, as once in favor of kings, and he openly affirmed, as unquestionable truth, that every public ordinance contrary to reason, justice, natural equity, or the written word of God, must be promptly rejected.[165] Other things, too, I might mention; but I am admonished that I must draw to a close. Pardon me, if I touch yet one other shining point in his career.

The news of the Battle of Bunker Hill, which reached London at the end of July, 1775, found him at his desk, still a clerk in the Ordnance Office, and by position obliged to participate in the military preparations now required. He was unwilling to be concerned, even thus distantly, in what he regarded as "that unnatural business"; and though a close attendance on his office for seventeen years, to the neglect of all other worldly opportunities, made it important to him as a livelihood, yet he resolved to sacrifice it. Out of regard to his great worth and the respect he had won, he was indulged at first with leave of absence; but when hostilities in the Colonies advanced beyond any prospect of speedy accommodation, then he vacated his office. This man of charity, who lived for others, was now left without support. But he was happy in the testimony he had borne to his principles: nor was he alone. Lord Effingham, and also the eldest son of Lord Chatham, threw up commissions in the army rather than serve on the side of injustice. They were all clearly right. It is vain to suppose that any human ordinance, whether from King, Parliament, or Judicial Tribunal, can vary our moral responsibilities, or release us from obedience to God. And since no man can stand between us and God, it belongs to each conscience for itself to determine its final obligations, and where pressed to an unrighteous act,—as if to slay, or, what is equally bad, to enslave, a fellow-man charged with no crime,—then at every peril to disobey the mandate. The example of Granville Sharp on this occasion is not the least among the large legacies of wisdom and fidelity which he has left to mankind.

All these are especially commended to us, as citizens of the United States, by the early and constant interest which he manifested in our country. By pen and personal intercession he vindicated our political rights,—and when independence was secured, his sympathies did not abate, as witness his correspondence with Adams, Jay, Franklin, and America's earliest Abolitionist, Anthony Benezet. His name became an authority here,—at the South as well as the North,—and the colleges, including Brown University, Harvard University, and William and Mary, of slaveholding Virginia, vied with each other in conferring upon him their highest academic honors. But the growing numbers of the Episcopal Church had occasion for special gratitude, only to be repaid by loyal regard for his character and life. On separation from the mother country, they were left without Episcopal head. To repair this deprivation, Granville Sharp, in published writings extensively circulated, proposed the election of bishops by the churches, and their subsequent consecration in England, as congenial to the usage of early Christians, and, after much correspondence and many impediments, enjoyed the satisfaction of presenting two bishops elect from America—one of whom was the exemplary Bishop White, of Philadelphia—to the Archbishop of Canterbury, by whom the Christian rite of laying on of hands was performed; and thus was the English Episcopacy communicated to this continent. I know not that the powerful religious denomination befriended by him in its infancy has ever sympathized with the great effort by which his name is exalted; but they should at least repel the weak imputation, so often levelled against all who are steadfast against Slavery, that their benefactor was "a man of one idea."

Mr. President, I have striven to keep within the open field of history and philanthropy, on neutral ground; but you would not forgive me, if, on this occasion, I forbore to adduce the most interesting testimony of Granville Sharp touching that much debated clause in our National Constitution which has been stretched to the surrender of fugitive slaves. Anterior to the Constitution, even during colonial days, he wrote, that any law which orders the arrest or rendition of fugitive slaves, or in any way tends to deprive them of legal protection, is to be deemed "a corruption, null and void in itself"; and at a later period, in an elaborate communication to the Abolition Society of Maryland,—mark, if you please, of slaveholding Maryland,—which was printed and circulated by this society, as "the production of a great and respectable name," calculated to relieve persons "embarrassed by a conflict between their principles and the obligations imposed by unwise and perhaps unconstitutional laws," he exposed the utter "illegality" of Slavery, and especially of "taking up slaves that had escaped from their masters."[166] But, in a remarkable letter to Franklin, dated January 10, 1788,—a short time after the Constitution had left the hands of the Convention, and some months before its final adoption by the people,—and which has never before been adduced, even in the thorough discussion of this question, the undaunted champion, who had not shrunk from conflict with the Chief Justice of England, openly arraigned the National Constitution. Here are his words.

It does not appear that Franklin ever answered this letter, in the short term of life which remained to him. But, in justice to his great name, I desire to express my conviction here, of course without argument, that this patriot philosopher never attributed to the clause, which simply provides for the surrender of fugitives from "service or labor," without the mention of slaves, any such meaning as it has since been made to assume. And Granville Sharp himself, in putting upon it the interpretation he did, forgot the judgment he had extorted from Lord Mansfield, affirming that any law out of which Slavery is derived must be construed strictly; and, stranger still, he forgot his own unanswerable argument, that the word SLAVES is nowhere to be found in the British Constitution. The question under the fugitive clause of our Constitution is identical with that happily settled in England.

In works and contemplations like these was the life of our philanthropist prolonged to a generous old age, cheered by the esteem of the good, informed by study, and elevated by an enthusiastic faith, which always saw the world as the footstool of God; and when, at last, in 1813, bending under the burden of seventy-seven winters, he gently sank away, it was felt that a man had died in whom was the greatness of goodness. Among the mourners at his grave stood William Wilberforce; and over the earthly remains of this child of lowly beginnings were now dropped the tears of a royal duke. The portals of that great Temple of Honor, where are treasured England's glories, swung open at the name of England's earliest Abolitionist. A simple tablet, from the chisel of Chantrey, representing an African slave on his knees in supplication, and also the lion and the lamb lying down together, with a suitable inscription, was placed in the Poet's Corner of Westminster Abbey, in close companionship with those stones which bear the names of Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare, Milton, Dryden, Goldsmith, Gray. As the Muses themselves did not disdain to watch over the grave of one who had done well on earth, so do the poets of England keep watch over the monument of Granville Sharp. Nor is his place in that goodly company without poetical title. The poet is simply creator; and he who was inspired to create freemen out of slaves was poet of the loftiest style. Not in the sacred Abbey only was our philanthropist commemorated. The city of London, centre of those Slave-Hunting merchants over whom his great triumph was won, now gratefully claimed part of his renown. The marble bust of England's earliest Abolitionist was installed at Guildhall, home of metropolitan justice, pomp, and hospitality, in the precise spot where once had stood the bust of Nelson, England's greatest Admiral, and beneath it was carved a simple tribute, of more perennial worth than all the trophies of Trafalgar:—

GRANVILLE SHARP,
TO WHOM ENGLAND OWES THE GLORIOUS VERDICT
OF HER HIGHEST COURT OF LAW,
THAT THE SLAVE WHO SETS HIS FOOT ON
BRITISH GROUND
BECOMES THAT INSTANT
FREE.

Gentlemen of the Mercantile Library Association,—such was Granville Sharp, and such honors England to her hero paid. And now, if it be asked, why, in enforcing the duties of the Good Merchant, I select his name, the answer is prompt. It is in him that the merchant, successor to the chivalrous knight, aiming to fulfil his whole duty, may find a truer prototype than in any stunted, though successful votary of trade, while the humble circumstances of his life seem to make him an easy example. Imitating him, commerce would thrive none the less, but goodness more. Business would not be checked, but it would cease to be pursued as the "one idea" of life. Wealth would still abound; but there would be also that solid virtue, never to be moved from truth, which, you will admit, even without the admonition of Plato, is better than all the cunning of DÆdalus or all the treasures of Tantalus.[168] The hardness of heart engendered by the accursed greed of gain, and by the madness of worldly ambition, would be overcome: the perverted practice, that Policy is the best Honesty, would be reversed; and Merchants would be recalled, gently, but irresistibly, to the great PRACTICAL DUTIES of this age, and thus win the palm of true honesty, which trade alone can never bestow.

Young Merchants of Boston! I have spoken to you frankly and faithfully, trusting that you would frankly and faithfully hearken to me. And now, in the benison once bestowed upon the youthful Knight, I take my leave: "Go forth! be brave, loyal, and successful!"