A Yankee in Canada, with Anti-slavery and reform papers.Thoreau, Henry David
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A Yankee in Canada, with Anti-slavery and reform papers.
Thoreau, Henry David
Brown, John, 1800-1859; Québec (Province) -- Description and travel; Slavery -- United States
The effect of a good government is to make life more valuable,—of a bad
one, to make it less valuable. We can afford that railroad, and all
merely material stock, should lose some of its value, for that only
compels us to live more simply and economically; but suppose that the
value of life itself should be diminished! How can we make a less demand
on man and nature, how live more economically in respect to virtue and
all noble qualities, than we do? I have lived for the last month,—and I
think that every man in Massachusetts capable of the sentiment of
patriotism must have had a similar experience,—with the sense of having
suffered a vast and indefinite loss. I did not know at first what ailed
me. At last it occurred to me that what I had lost was a country. I had
never respected the government near to which I lived, but I had
foolishly thought that I might manage to live here, minding my private
affairs, and forget it. For my part, my old and worthiest pursuits have
lost I cannot say how much of their attraction, and I feel that my
investment in life here is worth many per cent less since Massachusetts
last deliberately sent back an innocent man, Anthony Burns, to slavery.
I dwelt before, perhaps, in the illusion that my life passed somewhere
only _between_ heaven and hell, but now I cannot persuade myself that I
do not dwell _wholly within_ hell. The site of that political
organization called Massachusetts is to me morally covered with volcanic
scoriæ and cinders, such as Milton describes in the infernal regions. If
there is any hell more unprincipled than our rulers, and we, the ruled,
I feel curious to see it. Life itself being worth less, all things with
it, which minister to it, are worth less. Suppose you have a small
library, with pictures to adorn the walls,—a garden laid out around,—and
contemplate scientific and literary pursuits, and discover all at once
that your villa, with all its contents, is located in hell, and that the
justice of the peace has a cloven foot and a forked tail,—do not these
things suddenly lose their value in your eyes?
I feel that, to some extent, the State has fatally interfered with my
lawful business. It has not only interrupted me in my passage through
Court Street on errands of trade, but it has interrupted me and every
man on his onward and upward path, on which he had trusted soon to leave
Court Street far behind. What right had it to remind me of Court Street?
I have found that hollow which even I had relied on for solid.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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