They are almost wholly selfish, as is evinced by the character of the men they set up for office. They care not whether 3,000,000 of Slaves clank their chains in their hearing or not, so long as the busy hum of their cotton-mills at Lowell and Manchester, and the noise of their trip-hammers in Pennsylvania, are heard to resound above these cries. The music of silver dollars rattling in their vaults, as drawer after drawer is deposited by their cashiers, is sufficiently beautiful to them, to operate as an offset against the shrieks and wailings of the Slaves. What though the Lord of Sabbaoth lends a listening ear to the sobs of the bondmen, it matters not to them, as long as the gold clinks in their chests. All heaven may cease its songs of joy, to listen to the shrieks of the Slave; but worlds of Slaves might shriek and groan, until the noise shook old earth from its foundations, and sounded in the ears of saints like the sound of "many waters" to the apostle John; and these men would not turn from the dull music of their water-wheels, or the clatter of their spinning-jennies. Indeed, it is a question, whether they would turn from their tables of discount, and their columns of bank stock, if God himself should speak from heaven, and request sympathy from them. Sympathy! they have none! Their hearts are made of silver and gold, polished to an icy coldness. If the blood of the slave-driver's lash should increase until it flowed over the entire South, and turned to red the color of the element upon which their ships sailed; it would not mar the harmony between them and the South, until it rusted the bottom of their vessels, and rendered them unfit for the carrying trade.