The English Tenant and the American Slave.

All communications from lord to tenant are received with the most degrading servility. The poor man is half annihilated; with cap in hand, body bent, and down-cast eyes, he articulates unceasingly, my lord; no my lord, your lordship – with an awe due to divinity rather than man.

The slave in the Carolinas is not so humble in the presence of his master. He simply replies; yes, sir; no, sir, and often indulges in the free expression of opinion; and in many families, his communications are on terms of equality. He is, indeed, the property of a master, but is well fed even his dogs, Jowler and Towser often devour more flesh in a day than an English laborer eats in a week.

He cultivates a patch of sweet potatoes, and other esculent plants for himself; keeps fowls in his yard, sells at market, and in the smoke of his chimney hangs the joint of a hog from which he cuts a slice at the calls of appetite. He wears a smile on his countenance, is fat and saucy, among his fellows laughs with a vacant heart, can dance to a banjo, and freely indulges in his talents for music.

Slavery is a national evil which Americans deeply deplore. It is against the spirit of their institutions and must have an end. But there is no redemption for the English peasantry. They lie at the bottom of the fabric of society, whose pressure, like that of a pyramid is it in proportion to it heighth (sic). They have not the strength to throw off the incumbent mass, which, like the structure to which I have compared it, seems destined to outlive many generations of men.

The nobility are intrenched (sic) behind hereditary wealth and privilege and are moreover the best educated class of men in Europe. More like potentates than subjects, they have much to lose the nothing to gain by change. They are affable and condescending without loss of dignity; study to conciliate, and at the same time to inspire respect for themselves, which formed the secret guarantee of their power. There are always orators and statesmen among them, well read, and practiced in the mysteries of legislation. Wisdom is power, and it is the power of parliament that has raised England to such a pitch of greatness and upheld a constitution, which, in any other country would have long fallen into ruins.

Learning in England is confined to a few; knowledge is taxed, and cannot be bought by the poor. A single newspaper costs six pence which would give bread to the hungry. The light of the press, unlike the rays of the sun, shines not upon the cottage thatched with straw.

There are millions of poor laborers, operatives and mechanics who feel the weight of government without comprehending its policy. Their rulers practise upon the system of Mandeville, and think it would be unsafe to instruct such formidable numbers who might become inquisitive and ask why they were fed on potatoes and salt in sight of a park containing three thousand deer to glut the appetite of a single man.
Hence there are no public schools for the instruction of the poor. This is the work of charity and the church and not the law. It was not until six years ago that Parliament appropriated thirty thousand pounds for this purpose – but little more than is given by the state of Connecticut with less than 300,000 inhabitants.

During the year 1841-2-3, I entered 122 cottages in Somersetshire, Devonshire, Lancashire, Warwickshire, Surrey, Middlesex and Kent always with a view to understand a subject in which I felt a deep and abiding interest. My first visit to Somersetshire disclosed the whole truth; I had nothing further to learn, then the same wretchedness, the same round of potatoes and salt, the same appalling picture of destitution and rags prevailed throughout the kingdom –

From A recent Ramble among the Peasantry of England