f this kind, are we not usually influenced by circumstances? Are not
our feelings usually affected according to the situation, or the
magnitude, or the importance of these? Are they not more or less
elevated, as the evil under our contemplation has been more or less
productive of misery, or more or less productive of guilt? Are they not
more or less elevated again, as we have found it more or less
considerable in extent? Our sensations will undoubtedly be in proportion
to such circumstances, or our joy to the appreciation or mensuration of
the evil which has been removed.

[Footnote A: Slavery had been before annihilated by Christianity; I mean
in the West of Europe, at the close of the twelfth century]

To value the blessing of the abolition as we ought, or to appreciate the
joy and gratitude which we ought to feel concerning it, we must enter a
little into the circumstances of the trade. Our statement, however, of
these needs not be long: a few pages will do all that is necessary! A
glance only into such a subject as this will be sufficient to affect the
heart,--to arouse our indignation and our pity,--and to teach us the
importance of the victory obtained.

The first subject for consideration, towards enabling us to make the
estimate in question, will be that of the nature of the evil belonging
to the Slave Trade. This may be seen by examining it in three points of
view. First, as it has been proved to arise on the Continent of Africa,
in the course of reducing the inhabitants of it to slavery. Secondly, in
the course of conveying them from thence to the lands or colonies of
other nations. And, thirdly, in continuing them there as slaves.

To see it, as it has been shown, to arise in the first case, let us
suppose ourselves on the Continent just mentioned. Well then, We are
landed,--We are already upon our travels,--We have just passed through
one forest,--We are now come to a more open place, which indicates an
approach to habitation. And what object is that which first obtrudes
itself upon our sight? Who is that wretched woman whom we discover under
that noble tree, wringing her hands, and beating her breast, as if in
the agonies of despair? Three days has she been there, at intervals, to
look and to watch; and this is the fourth morning, and no tidings of her
children yet. Beneath its spreading boughs they were accustomed to play:
but, alas! the savage man-stealer interrupted their playful mirth, and
has taken