DANIEL NEALL.
[_]
Dr. Neall, a worthy disciple of that venerated philanthropist,
Warner Mifflin, whom the Girondist statesman, Jean Pierre
Brissot, pronounced “an angel of mercy, the best man he ever
knew,” was one of the noble band of Pennsylvania abolitionists,
whose bravery was equalled only by their gentleness and tenderness.
He presided at the great anti-slavery meeting in Pennsylvania
Hall, May 17, 1838, when the Hall was surrounded by a
furious mob. I was standing near him while the glass of the
windows broken by missiles showered over him, and a deputation
from the rioters forced its way to the platform, and demanded
that the meeting should be closed at once. Dr. Neall drew up
his tall form to its utmost height.
“I am here,” he said, “the president of this meeting, and I will
be torn in pieces before I leave my place at your dictation. Go
back to those who sent you. I shall do my duty.” Some years
after, while visiting his relatives in his native State of Delaware,
he was dragged from the house of his friends by a mob of slave-holders
and brutally maltreated. He bore it like a martyr of the
old times; and when released, told his persecutors that he forgave
them, for it was not they but Slavery which had done the
wrong. If they should ever be in Philadelphia and needed hospitality
or aid, let them call on him.
I.
Friend of the Slave, and yet the friend of all;
Lover of peace, yet ever foremost when
The need of battling Freedom called for men
To plant the banner on the outer wall;
Gentle and kindly, ever at distress
Melted to more than woman's tenderness,
Yet firm and steadfast, at his duty's post
Fronting the violence of a maddened host,
Like some gray rock from which the waves are tossed!
Knowing his deeds of love, men questioned not
The faith of one whose walk and word were right;
Who tranquilly in Life's great task-field wrought,
And, side by side with evil, scarcely caught
A stain upon his pilgrim garb of white:
Prompt to redress another's wrong, his own
Leaving to Time and Truth and Penitence alone.
II.
Such was our friend. Formed on the good old plan,
A true and brave and downright honest man!
He blew no trumpet in the market-place,
Nor in the church with hypocritic face
Supplied with cant the lack of Christian grace;
Loathing pretence, he did with cheerful will
What others talked of while their hands were still;
And, while “Lord, Lord!” the pious tyrants cried,
Who, in the poor, their Master crucified,
His daily prayer, far better understood
In acts than words, was simply doing good.
So calm, so constant was his rectitude,
That by his loss alone we know its worth,
And feel how true a man has walked with us on earth.
6th, 6th month, 1846.
