Let no man tell me, that this law is a mere dead letter. The old Fugitive Law, had, indeed, become so; and so would any other be likely to become, which, while grasping after the slave, should pay a decent respect to the rights of the free. But slavery cannot subsist on any such condition; and this law was framed to supply the deficiencies of the old law, _and to accomplish the thing_. It is based on the assumption that the government of the United States is bound to effect the rendition of fugitives, if possible at all, _at whatever cost_. And, if this law is insufficient, the assumption is equally good for still more stringent measures. But I repeat it, let no man tell me it is _now_ a nullity. Have we not seen it executed in our streets, and at our very doors? I chanced to be in the city of New York at the time when, I think, its first victim, Henry Long, was torn from his family, and from a reputable and profitable business, and sent back,—limbs, and brain, and throbbing, loving heart—the husband, father, friend, the peaceful and industrious member of society, all, to be the _property_ of a fellow-mortal in a hostile land. Could I look upon this crimeless man, thus in the grasp of the officers of my country’s laws, my own representatives, and hurried unresisting to that dreadful doom; and ever be able to believe the law innocuous, and myself guiltless while I acquiesced in silence? The rabble followed him along the streets, shouting in exultation at the negro’s fate. _Them_ I must acknowledge as my fellows and brethren, but _him_—on him I must put my heel, with theirs, to crush him out of manhood! And the morrow’s papers, edited by professed Christians, heralded the occurrence, with not even a decent pretence of pity and regret, but as a triumph of LAW, (O sacred name profaned!) in which all good men should rejoice. That day I felt a stifling sensation settling down upon me, of which my previous experience had afforded no precedent, and with an oppressive weight which no language can describe. _I felt that I no longer breathed the air of liberty;_ that slavery was spreading her upas branches athwart _my_ sky also. The convenient apology that the sin was not mine, but another’s, no longer stood me in stead; and I have wondered ever since to hear any honest Northern man employ it. There are Northern men, from whom nothing could surprise me.