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high a sense of propriety. The editor mends
his pen, and he flourishes and flourishes, at-
tempting to explain a fact by three suppo-
sitions, but no argument. What is this fact?
My being a member of a constituent part of
the Presbyterian Church? If the Freeman
had a quarrel with the Presbyterian Church
as a body, for her short comings, or with any
individual in its bosom, for words spoken,
and acts performed, and should have ex-
pressed it accordingly, I could still respect
the motive. But to single me out as an of-
fender, and purposely link my name with
that of an odious individual white man—
falsely, too—and then tell me virtually, that
in no constituent part of the Presbyterian
Church shall my fugitive heel find a resting
place, is equivalent to telling me that I shall
not be a Presbyterian! This, for one Freeman
against another, is going it with a ven-
genance for liberty of private judgment and
conscience. Has the Freeman read the his-
tory of the Pilgrims and others who have
suffered for their right of private judgment?
If my neighbor's private judgment leads him
to rest within the pale of some other com-
munion than that of the Presbyterian
Church, or without the pale of all churches
—well, but let him remember that I have a
private judgment as well as he has, and that
I recognize no Lord of my conscience but
God only. Slave born, though I be, I am ful-
ly awake to the value of the right of private
judgment. I never awoke to a real sense of
the curse of slavery, until I felt the iron in
my conscience—slavery invading my right
of conscience—then I resolved to do or die.
The right of conscience I hold to be the
foundation of all others. Any man, or body
of men, who attempts to invade that sacred
right, I must regard as the most dangerous
of all men to me. Any man, or body of
men, who will, by an act, word, insinuation,
or saying, bring into jeopardy, contempt,
disrepute, or ridicule this sacred right of
mine, on pretence of fidelity to our cause, I
look upon as being as hostile to the interest of
my race, as the man who binds chains upon our
limbs, on pretence that he can take better
care of us in a condition of slavery, than we
can take of ourselves in a state of freedom.
What is the difference?

Col. Frisby Tilghman, of Washington, Md.,
for twenty years, robbed me of the right to
use my limbs for myself; and more than
twenty years after, I overthrew, and de-
nounced with manly scorn, the proud, ras-
cally, and oppressive pretensions of the
Maryland Pharaoh, the Pennsylvania inquis-
itorial Freeman—the Amalekite of the Nor-
thern Desert, waylays me and demands me
passport—calls in question my right of pro-
gress to complete emancipation. But I have
yet to learn by what authority the Freeman
set up this censorship over my private
judgment—and also what reason it has to
suppose that I will stupidly and meanly sur-
render my inner manhood to its domineer-
ing dictation. If the Freeman suppose that
I have not common sense and self-respect, to
cling to my own rights as a man, I can assure
it that is has one black covered book to read.
My inner manhood recoils at the thought
of being made, by one white man, the occasion
of a fling at another. I despise, in my soul,
the thought of being a rest for the rifle of
sharp shooters. In an honest war, let every
man load, steady his own muzzle, and pull
his own trigger. If I wish to be loaded, and