uphold Slavery, what good has he accomplished? He has indeed fought the letter, and perhaps come off victorious; but does he invalidate its _spirit_? He rests like the knight of olden time, upon the field of chivalric combat, with a deep sense of having been engaged in mortal warfare; he has fought hard and valiantly; but alas, his foe still stands as powerful as ever, and not at all disposed to yield the field. If the Constitution, as we sail across the waters of political life, affords us no sure and certain guide, but is like a chart, which has always misled the mariner, and instead of pointing the way to a city of civilization and virtue, has directed him to the rocky shores of some cannibal island, of what earthly use is it to us? We are sailing over a troublesome ocean. Dark and ominous clouds hang over our vessel. The sky begins to gather blackness. The red lightning shoots its lurid flashes before our eyes. The thunder utters its dismal groan in our ears. The waves begin to lash and foam against each other. Our course is uncertain; but amid the gathering darkness, we discern a light-house, dimly visible in the distance. We look upon our chart, not knowing where we are. That describes our past route, and asserts that a light-house is erected at the entrance of the harbor we wish to enter. We consult our compass. It indeed agrees not with the delineations of the chart; but a lawyer stands at our side and proves the correctness of the chart. We accordingly steer our vessel towards the light, but to our dismay find that it is but a false one, held out by miserable wreckers. Our chart was wrong. It had misled us. We tacked about and escaped the snare. We were not quite wrecked. Other seamen have experienced the same danger, but we still cling to the chart. We refuse to cast it from us, and even hearken to the suggestions of one who would tell us, that the _chart_ is right enough. It is only our wrong way of reading it that has led us into danger. We resume our voyage, confident that we shall this time avoid all harm, for we now know what our chart means. Accordingly we hoist all our sails, and proceed in confidence to our destined haven. But a blacker cloud than before casts its dismal shadow over our vessel. We can hardly discern the words of our chart. The efforts to correct its false interpretations, have so marred its surface, that we can get no light from it. At one moment it seems to direct us as we are now sailing, then immediately in an almost totally opposite course, so that bewildered and confused, we drop it entirely. We then look to the unerring needle of our compass, and by its undeviating direction to the star of hope to the mariner, as well as to the fugitive Slave, we are able to keep from destruction, until a correct chart is procured--one which admits of no evasion, nor contradiction, and by which we are able to steer our course, until we reach the haven desired.