SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS FROM A QUAKER GIRL.
Ninth Mo., 27th.
MotherDear: When first thy loved face faded from view as our carriage left the crooked lane, my tears were inclined to flow, but Uncle Joseph has much of dear father’s gentle manner, and he sought to turn my attention to the objects around us.
I will not pause now, to tell thee about the pleasures and pains of the journey, for my poor head ached sadly ere we reached Boston, but with all the interests thatsurrounded my first long ride in the railroad cars, I could not forget that I was going among comparative strangers, and leaving the dearest spot on earth. I want now to give thee a glimpse, if I can, of the life here, and ask whether or not thee approves of the course I am pursuing.
It was quite dark when we got to Uncle Joseph’s house, and I think I had a little fear of meeting his wife, whom I can scarcely call “Aunt” without an effort, so different is she from the simple women that I love. Her very first greeting disturbed me, it was so extravagant, and as full of embraces as if she had always known me; but she was very kind when she learned that my head ached, and supported me tenderly to my chamber, where she helped me undress, and then with her ownhands, although they have several domestics, brought me a bit of toast and tea. I was sorry to disappoint her but I could not taste it, and she exclaimed petulantly, yet I may have mistaken the tone:
“Bless me, child, you are too young to have whims—and it is my duty to see that you keep the roses in your cheeks, or where will the lovers be? Sit up now, and eat your supper.”
I am afraid I betrayed the astonishment I felt, but, dear mother,theecould never speak thus, and—I didnoteat the toast!
Next morning I was out in the garden marveling over the wondrous beauty of their surroundings, when Uncle Joseph came to look for me. His is a very sweet spirit, and I may be wrong, but there is pity in my heart for him.Not that Aunt Élise (as she calls it, although I should pronounce it Eliza) does not try to do her duty by him, but that her education has given her false standards.
She was surprised to see me at breakfast, and asked why I had not called “the maid” to help me dress. I replied that I needed no one, and that thee and father believed that it was best to wait upon ourselves; then she held up her finger glistening with jewels, and said:
“Tut, tut! I fear we have a rebel to deal with, and rebels are never attractive. No, no,ma petite(which means little one), the maidmustassist you. She is from Paris, and knows theartof dressing, which country girls know nothing about, and I want to send you home with a lover and a trousseau, and that couldneverbe ifyou comb your curls out, and wear a gray frock.”
I believe she means to be kind to me, and is not at all disagreeable, even though I cannot seem pleased.
Well the day passed quickly by, for I was charmed with their green lawn running down to the river-side, and a little hedge of white hawthorn, that I am sure would delight thee. Toward evening aunt invited me to drive into the city with her and bring Uncle Joseph home. They do not have dinner until seven o’clock, which seems very late to me; but about one, or a little before, we have a nice meal which I thought was dinner, until I was told to call it lunch. Aunt herself says it is breakfast.
The roads are so pretty, fine houses on every hand. It onlyseems to me that there is an air of extravagance, which I deprecate, for there seem to be no small and unpretentious homes, until the city is reached, and there everything is so dreary! I am sure I should get lost very easily, for Boston’s streets are as crooked as Philadelphia’s are straight. I said to aunt that I should hardly dare for some time to come to town alone, and she answered:
“Never, I trust. It is highly improper for a pretty young girl to go out without an attendant.”
I am suretheenever thought thus. Perhaps she was but trying to play upon my vanity.
I think the neighborhood must be a pleasant one just about Uncle Joseph, for yesterday a number of persons called, and spoke kindly to me. Toward four o’clock one of the young womenasked aunt’s permission for me to accompany her in a walk by the river. Soon after we left the house we came upon a group of young men, and my companion explained to them that she had succeeded in getting me away from my guardian, and then she gave me the names of the party, and I was surprised to know that two of them belonged to the old and respected families of A. and H. It seemed strange to mingle with the descendants of revolutionary times, and perhaps I expressed a little of the awe I felt, when I acknowledged their presence.
Thee has often told me that the Lord is no respecter of persons, and warned me against doing honor to anything mortal. Perhaps I have received a severe lesson, for I soon found that thiswas a premeditated excursion on the water, and there was a deal of laughter over the ease with which Anna W. had outwitted my aunt. Thee can imagine my discomfiture, both at finding myself in a false position and also at the discovery of their willingness to engage in deceit. Oh, mother, how have the mighty fallen! When I became conscious of the whole situation I said, just as I would have said to thee:
“If there is any doubt about my aunt’s willingness to have me go with you, I must go back at once.” And can thee believe it?they laughed, and off the boat started.
Of course there was nothing to do but make the best of it. I tried to talk to young A. about his famous great-grandfather—but he seemed not to know muchabout him, and when I spoke of his nobility of character, the young man looked bewildered, and said if there had ever been anything of that kind in the family, it had died out.
I began to think so, too, as the afternoon went on—for he puzzled me greatly. All of these young men are being educated at Harvard College, yet they did not appear to regard their opportunities as unusual, and their references to the professors were not respectful. Edward H. inquired whether I read French and on my saying yes, he at once asked me if I had a good pony—and I told him I did not ride on horseback at all, which seemed to amuse them greatly, and Anna afterward explained that aponywas a translation—a key of the whole lesson which the teachers do not expectthem to use, but which nearly the entire class possess.
We talked about the matter a little, and I said I should not think one could learn anything thus, and Edward H. replied “Thatis not what we go to Harvard for!”
How strange it sounded! And yet it was not so distressing to me as the discovery that these young men have absolutely no interest in anti-slavery movements. They talked about Garrison and Phillips as fanatics, and said “This meddling with other people’s concerns is a very dangerous business.”
I ventured to ask “And was it not ‘meddling’ to throw the tea overboard.”
But they said I was getting too deep for them. And then F. A. told me that only a very insignificant part of Boston people respectedthe Abolitionists. This new party they admitted has an anti-slavery wing, but that it must be clipped or we shall have trouble. “Trouble” I cried—and I admit, mother dear, that I talked perhaps, more than I ought—“how can a man rest easy without troubling the public conscience about the poor slaves.” A. tried to show me that the best way to eradicate slavery is to be on good terms with the slaveholders, and have no concern for the black man, who is only an animal—I think he said—after all, and when it proves itself a failure in a business sense, as he admitted it must be, then slavery will die out!
Not a spark of humanity about him, not a thought of God’s suffering children, only a fear of disturbing business relations with a rich section! My heart stoodalmost still with astonishment. Here in Boston, where I had looked for the broadest humanity and the clearest intelligence, here on the lips of the descendant of a great patriot were words of cowardice and self-seeking!
When at last the boat turned about, and the young men gave Anna W. and myself lessons in rowing, we came again to the little landing, and there on the bank stood aunt in search of us.
I felt mortified, and would have explained only that I could not reproach others, and I expected her to reprimand me, but lo! she only shook her finger and said:
“Well, girls will be girls, and even a pretty Quakeress is not proof against temptation.” How I wanted to tell the whole story! But, mother dear, I did not. Was I wrong? And the young menwent away and my cheeks burned as aunt called after them, “I know you will want to see those roses again.”
Good-night dear, dear mother.
Tenth Mo., 30th.
My Dear Mother: I know thee will not feel it to be wrong for me to tell thee of my trials as well as my pleasures, for thee has taught me that nothing is too small a matter to lay before our Heavenly Father, and in many respects I am puzzled by the new life I am leading here. Particularly do I regret having to think, and even to dwell upon, questions concerning money. That is, as thee has said, a necessity of our physical being, but must ever be relegated to the background in our thoughts. Uncle Joseph has asked me several times alreadywhether my purse was not empty, but although I have answered with a laugh that I did not see the bottom yet, I feel that I have been a little lavish, and of course I cannot permit another to purchase for me the luxuries which my pleasure-loving heart alone demands.
If thee wishes thee may send me some more, but should it prove inconvenient to do so, merely mention such to be the case, and I will absent myself from those excursions that are likely to be expensive.
I have been much mortified more than once already, by Edward H. or F. A. paying where I am concerned.
The first time this occurred was the day we sailed in the harbor. There were car fares, and boat tickets to be purchased, and Iawaited Anna W.’s movement, before getting out my purse. To my surprise she said nothing about it, and the young men bought everything for us all. I estimated the cost at about a dollar apiece, which thee sees is quite an item when figured for four. So at the close of the day, for we had lunch and all, I spoke to Edward about it. We were walking at the time, and he stopped and laughed so immoderately that I was hurt. Perceiving this, he turned and taking my hand, said gently: “Do not deny me this pleasure. Oh, if I could always do it for you! Your gratitude is so sweet.”
What does thee think he meant, mother dear? I was so perplexed by his speech that I was almost glad when Anna and F. A. turned to ask the cause of the laughter.But how thoughtful Edward was not to expose me to others’ merriment, for he turned the talk in another way immediately.
Was it not right and womanly in me to offer to pay the expense I had incurred? I want thy opinion, for I think it was, only, from his manner and that of Anna before, I fear such is not the custom; but I shall greatly hesitate to place myself under similar circumstances again.
It was with this thought in mind that I declined to go with them the next Seventh day. Everyone thought I was sick, and aunt began to imagine that I had looked pale all day! I denied feeling poorly, and was beginning to get embarrassed, when Edward H. walked to the window and asked me to come and see a peculiar cloud. This drew away the attentionof the others and he said very gently:
“That cloud is no more peculiar than the one which has arisen between us, and it does not threaten half the harm.” Then he went on to tell me that he suspected the reason of my refusal, and asked me to consider whether I would not like to do some small favor for him. I replied “Certainly.” “Then,” he said, “never speak of money where I am concerned, again. I have much more than I need, and I could not spend it in any manner that could both profit and please me more than by taking you about this region. Consider, too, the favors our family have had from your uncles.”
Was it not kindly done? And too, does thee not agree with my opinion that itsoundedlike Friends’teaching? I shall await thy judgment impatiently—but I went with him.
Another curious thing has happened too. I expect thee will laugh at the many adventures that befall me. On Sixth-day evening it rained very hard, but Uncle Joseph had tickets for a concert, which they wished very much that I should hear. I thought it would be discourteous to decline, although I do feel that vast sums are thus frittered away, which might benefit the poor. To my surprise aunt said I should wear a wool frock, as we were not going to take the horses on account of the rain, but would be driven only to a point where we can meet the horse railroad, which is often a very great convenience.
Notwithstanding the badweather there was a large number of persons present in the hall. I cannot pronounce judgment upon the concert, for I have no knowledge concerning these things. One lady who sang seemed to have, naturally, a sweet voice, but it was overstrained, and the long drawn notes were quite offensive. I am sure, however, that the audience was satisfied, and uncle and aunt have repeatedly signified their delight, and hope to have another opportunity to listen to her. I did my best to express my thanks for the kindness in taking me, without mentioning my distaste for such entertainments, but my aunt suspected me, and laughingly said “I believe you are sleepy, child.” And in truth I was! However, I was soon wide enough awake. We missed the car we had hopedto gain, and had to wait in a little room, nearly half an hour. All sorts of people were there. More than once aunt said wearily, “I hate these mixed crowds, and I shall not let my pity for the horses inconvenience us like this again.”
For my part I was quite interested in watching the people. Just as the car came there was a new throng, and we found it necessary to separate our seats. Indeed uncle, with many other gentlemen, was forced to stand the whole way. Just in front of me was a group of Harvard students, and the moment of starting added to their numbers some who were evidently under the influence of liquor. One of them was a very young fellow, neatly dressed and with a sweet expression of countenance, but, mother dear, he wasreally intoxicated. He staggered into the door, and leaning against the post actuallysnored. Many of the persons present laughed, but the sight was very sad to me, and a nice young man, tall and straight as Cousin Benjamin, who was close beside me, said, no doubt observing my distress: “This troubles you.” I answered: “Indeed it does; think of the boy’s parents!” He assented, and remarked that the lad was evidently a “Freshman”—that is, a newcomer at college—for that is what they are called in their first year.
“And what will become of him when he gets out of the car?” I asked, for I could plainly see that the poor boy was too much befogged to find his way home alone.
“If he has no friend with him,a policeman may get hold of him.”
“How terrible,” I said, with some warmth perhaps.
“I suppose,” continued the young man after quite a pause, “that Icouldtake him to his room if he has any way to indicate where that is, or to mine until morning, if that will relieve your mind.”
I supposed I brightened up a good deal at this, and I urged it upon him, but he did not positively promise, for he quite shocked me by bending close to me and saying almost in a whisper:
“If I do, it will be done for your sake, remember, and one good turn deserves another, so tell me where you go to church.” I was so much surprised that for a moment I could not answer; then he repeated his request, but the car stopped with a jerk that it usuallyhas, and my uncle and aunt signified that we were to get out.
The carriage was waiting, but we had scarcely made ourselves comfortable, when my aunt exclaimed:
“Sallie, I do believe you were talking to those strange men in the car. What will you do next to astonish me?”
I saw my uncle closely regarding me, and with a more severe expression than I had ever seen him wear, but I could not believe I had done wrong to take a humane interest in the tipsy boy. So I told them all about it—except that I did not repeat the foolish speech of the tall young man; it was not worth remembering.
My uncle’s face softened as he heard me out, and he patted my aunt’s plump hand and said, smiling at me:
“I guess she means well always, Élise. Customs differ, you know.”
But I do not think she regarded it so lightly, for she sighed heavily, and on First day when I stood ready to accompany her to meeting—I mean church—she came into the entry leading to my room, and began:
“Sallie, child, I beg you not to talk to the minister between prayers,” and then she suddenly turned, took my cheeks between her hands and kissed each of them, saying rather wildly I thought, “But I declare,ma petite, you are pretty enough to turn the head of any male creature.”
She is a strange person! So full of moods—and tenses I might say—but very very kind to thy simple Sallie.
Of course thee understandsthat I gave no clew whatever to the place of worship where I was in the way of going.
Nevertheless, last First-day night, when I walked to the “Vesper Service,” I think it is called, in company with our young friends, Anna, F. A., and Edward H., whom should I see standing in the vestibule, but the tall young man! I assure thee I wanted to ask him how it fared with the poor tipsy boy, but I dared not, particularly after what aunt had said to me. Still, I could not be unmindful of his presence all through the hour, for he followed us into the room and sat just where he could see us all the time. I resolved to banish worldly thoughts, but I am afraid I did not, so that I grew very uncomfortable, and was glad when the end came, but even then I was pained by Edward askingme where in the world I had met Jack D. I answered that I was not acquainted with any person so named.
“Well, thatisa puzzle,” he said, “for he has been in Europe six months, and this is the first time I have laid eyes on him, yet I could have declared [he really saidsworn, but I don’t think he means evil by it] that he recognized you as we went in.”
I had to say something, so I inquired what class “Jack D.” belonged to, and this was his response:
“Great Jehosephat! Jack D. is the swellest senior on record. If once you get into his cave he sports his oak, and treats you like a nabob.”
The Harvard vernacular is sometimes hard to translate!But I am burning too much gas.
Affectionately,Thy Daughter.
Eleventh Mo., 3d.
Mother Dear: Anna W. and I have just returned from what was in many respects a most interesting excursion, and yet it had its dark side.
Almost immediately after I had written to thee last week, aunt carried me to town and insisted upon my choosing several nice garments. It was wholly unnecessary, for my wardrobe, thee knows, was very comfortable, and I did not care to be under so great obligation to her, but I found that to do otherwise would hurt her feelings, so I chose, very reluctantly, a white merino that she said I must have to wear in the evening, andaunt herself selected a pretty pale blue silk. It seems gay for me, but she has promised that it shall be made in a plain way. I am afraid, however, that her ideas and mine concerning those things will not agree. Lastly, she bought a gown and cloak of a heavy texture, and trimmed with beautiful gray fur. There is a muff too. I submit rather than enjoy taking so much, pretty as the things are. I am not certain that I can trust my pride, which gets the better of poor mortals so soon, but thee told me to do as nearly as possible without troubling my conscience, as aunt desires, therefore I shall wear the expensive garments with less thought of the unnecessary outlay than I otherwise could. Uncle Joseph says the color of the fur is the only thing that reconciles me to the purchase.Indeed I am ashamed to tell thee that the making of each dress—for I saw the bill—has cost about seven dollars!
Well, I will add to this worldly record, that when the cloak and muff came home, there was also a round hat, with a long soft feather on it!Of course, I could not be comfortable in that, and as it is quite a new thing for me to wear aught but a bonnet, aunt was persuaded by dear Uncle Joseph to substitute a bit of ribbon and a band of the fur for the feather, but I almost wish thee could have seen it just as I first did, it was beautiful!
The young men come home from Harvard College every Seventh day at noon, and we mostly go together, Anna W., F. A., Edward H., and myself for a drive or a walk. It is getting rathercool for boating. Aunt seems to find it quite “proper” for four of us to be together. She says (I hate to tell thee this) that either of the boys would be a very desirable “parti!” Such suggestions drive away all the pleasure that would come from their companionship, so I try to turn a deaf ear when she approaches the subject.
To-day we went to Nahant, a beautiful rocky beach, where there is a large hotel in summer, and many charming seaside homes. One of the cottages is owned by a relative of F. A. and is still open, so we agreed to accept an invitation to dine.
It was so cool that I wore my new gown and hat, but they all had so much to say concerning their perfections and becomingness that I felt pained, and told them so. Edward H. was quiteserious over it and asked mewhyI should not enjoy knowing I had fine eyes, unusual hair, and a bright color. Of course I could only answer that if God had given mehonesteyes and healthy color I was very glad, but that I believed he did not wish me to think too much about them—and Edward said, “Well, you need not. We will do the thinking.” So then I blushed more and more, but I managed to ask him not to do any moretalkingabout it.
We left Uncle Joseph’s at eight o’clock in the morning, F. A. driving his father’s horses, which are very fleet. I never had a more exhilarating ride. The air was delicious and we were a long time directly by the ocean. Oh, I wished for thee continually! Anna wanted to drive part way. So Edward got back in the seat withme, and presently our conversation drifted into politics. Thee knows I am no politician, and that I adhere to the belief of Garrison, that the Constitution of the United States is a “Covenant with Hell,” but I confess I am greatly interested in the Republican party. If Charles Sumner is right in his opinion of the Constitution, then through political action we may look for the final overthrow of slavery, but Edward is not even a Republican! He says the very foundations of our government will be shaken if they elect their president, and I am not sure that he is wrong! Let them be shaken, and relaid say I. He calls me a rebel, and warns me that if another Anthony Burrs appears in Boston, I may walk the streets in chains, as a conspirator against the peace and well-being of society. I cansee that he goes to greater length than he otherwise might, because he thinks it teases me.
I asked F. A. to what party he belonged, and he quickly answered, “The Know Nothings.” I could not help joining in the laugh that followed, although it is a serious matter to me, and the levity with which these young men, of stanch old revolutionary blood, treat such questions astonishes me beyond measure.
Indeed I have as yet met no one whom I could characterize as other than “conservative.” One evening I said this in the parlor, and aunt quickly answered that to be erratic was always unpopular, and young people cannot afford to forego the pleasures of society. So she begged me not to say much even though I felt a great deal.
No doubt she intended to do me a kindness by this warning, but the contrast between this teaching and thine, dear mother mine, brought tears to my eyes. I think Uncle Joseph must have observed them, for when aunt was called out of the room, he patted me on the head and whispered, “Next week I am going to give my little girl a treat. We will not talk about it now, but she shall see and hear some Bostonians who arenotconservatives.” I kissed him, and then we both laughed; and when aunt came in again he proposed a game of authors, which we play very often. It is quite new, and I am sure they have learned it in kindness to me, since they have discovered that I do not play cards. Did I ever tell thee my experience on this matter? It was soon after my arrival thata party of friends came in to spend the evening, and cards were proposed. It seems that aunt is a great card player—whist I believe they call it—and prides herself not a little on teaching it to others. It needs a certain number to perfect the game, and including myself there was just enough for two parties. When I found how matters were I am afraid I felt cowardly about avowing my principles. It is so unpleasant to make others uncomfortable, but I did not hesitate long. I spoke quietly to Uncle Joseph and asked him please not to count me, as I could not play. Aunt heard me and answered before he had time to do so: “Oh, that does not amount to much. You shall be my partner, and as you are surprisingly quick to learn, I will guarantee that another time youcan lead a game.” I know my poor cheeks burned, but I had to tell her more. “Dear aunt,” I said, “it is not that I am ignorant, for you are both ever ready to help me, but that I believe it is wrong.” I wish thee could have seen the astonishment on her face. Her tone changed at once, and she spoke rather harshly, “Come, come, child, let us have no whims. How often do you have to be told that the judgment of your elders is enough. This is no concern of yours save to do as you are bid; take your place.” I am sure I do not know what would have followed—for Icertainlycould never have yielded and even for peace’ sake touched the pasteboard that is connected in my mind with all that is low and of evil report. But our struggles are never forgotten, and a friend was raisedup. One of the ladies appealed to her brother to know if he had the new game in his pocket—authors—and then very graciously aunt permitted half of us to play this very simple and innocent amusement. Why is it to do right sometimes costs so much trouble to others? I think thee would say: We cannot solve all the problems of life; this is one that must rest with a higher intelligence than our own.
Uncle Joseph has just brought me a card of invitation to a party at the house of John B.’s mother. A queer little dark woman full of learning! With the card was a penciled note: “Our liberal entertainment will not take place until the week following Thanksgiving.” I suppose uncle wrote this, rather than talk about it before my aunt. But how sad it mustbe for two really well-meaning people not to agree in their principles.
Dear mother, I have kept this letter until after the party in order to tell thee about it, but I am afraid neither of us will quite enjoy my relation of it.
In the first place aunt insisted upon dressing my hair and arranging some flowers about my blue silk frock. She is really an artist in those things, and with the help of the maid I scarcely knew myself! Forgive me, if I say I could but admire the creature they had constructed. And yet it made me cry, I looked like a stranger! I thought best not to say a word but to go just as I was, in order to please her. Every time I passed a glass I felt like an imposter! Dear Uncle Joseph drove with me in the carriage and came after meat whattheyregard as an early hour, eleven o’clock. On the way he said, “Little girl, try and forget your furbelows, and next time I will persuade aunt to let you go in your simple white frock.” So I was comforted. And indeed Itriedhard to forget, but I could not. People looked at me on every hand, and I thought it must be because it was as if I was trying to be someone else than a Friend. Then came another trial. There was a large room with a linen cover over the rich carpet, and dancing going on. The musicians sat in the upper hall, and supper was served from ten on. I had no sooner gone through with the ceremony of various introductions, than I was surrounded by young men, who asked me to dance. I suppose they did so out of kindness to a stranger, but Anna W.helped me in my trouble, by saying “Yes” to each one that asked me, and then I explained that Friends did not think it right to dance, and one young man made us laugh heartily by saying:
“Why, I thought you were a Quaker or a Shaker, or something that dances all the time, even when they go to church!” Did not that show gross ignorance?
The supper, too, tried me, for everyone, almost without an exception, took a glass of wine! Anna told me it was a “light wine,” butthatcould make no difference to me.
Edward H. was my escort, and when I declined taking it, he put his glass down untouched. I thought it was very wise in him. Perhaps the thought of its injurious influence was new to him. We did not talk about it, but halfa dozen times we were urged to drink. It really made me sad, for these young men are not proof, always, against temptation, and indeed I had reason to fear before I left, that the wine had affected one of them at least; for as I stood waiting to say Good-night, he asked if he might accompany me home, and when I told him uncle was coming for me, he added: “I do not blame him for trying to keep such a beauty to himself as long as possible!”
During the evening a young matron living near here told me some of their friends had proposed to have a series of “sociables,” meeting at their houses alternately, and wished me to join. I am sure it is very kind, although I do not know what sort of entertainments these are to be, but I thanked her and said I would askaunt’s permission, and to my surprise, as she threw my shawl about my shoulders, she stooped and kissed me, “Good-by for the present!” That is what they use here as the form of farewell.
Thy Loving Daughter.
Eleventh Mo., 24th.
Dear Mother: Oh, what a treat I have had! Nothing that Uncle Joseph could have done would have given me more pleasure than attending the Anti-Slavery Fair, held in Music Hall last week. I think thee cannot estimate aright the effort which it cost him, unless thee calls to mind all that I have told thee concerning the real relation of the business men of Boston to the comparatively small number belonging to the A. S. Society. Of course aunt knew about our attendance,although I doubt whether she had an invitation to join us, and she made merry continually over what she called our “escapade.”
When I went upstairs to get my cloak, she called to me, “Girly, put on all youroutrégarments; you must look odd, or you will not be in harmony with your surroundings. Onlyqueerpeople belong.”
The entertainment began at half-past seven with a tea; that is, small tables were scattered about, where one could sit down, and the ladies handed around tea and cakes. My pleasure began at once, for we had scarcely entered the hall, which, by the way, isverylarge, when we met Uncle Joseph’s old friend, Daniel K. I had seen him before, and he told me how much I was like grandmother. So now, as soon as he saw us, he tucked my hand under his armand bore me across the room, where, behind one of the tables sat a stout elderly woman, in a very queer cap. I have seen pictures like it, and does thee remember Elizabeth Jones, who did our laundry work one summer? She wore a similar one. It was not thin like thine, but rather heavy in texture, with a wide frill about the face. But the woman beneath it was very attractive. She had such bright eyes and a most winning smile.
She spoke with Friend Daniel, and I did not catch his words, but immediately she came around to us, stroked my hair and invited me to pour tea. Then someone else came and called her by name, and who does thee think it was? Lydia Maria Child. When I realized that I was helping the writer of those beautiful stories, Ihad to turn and look at her more closely and I could not help saying, “Did thee ever know David and Jonathan?” We laughed together, and she seemed pleased that I had read her works. For an hour or more we waited on the cake and tea, and then Uncle Joseph took me over to the other side where articles were exposed for sale. I bought a few trifles, which uncle insisted upon paying for, but thee knows just about what Philadelphia fairs are, so I will not repeat. One thing however I must speak of. I selected a tiny package of visiting cards tied together with a bit of ribbon, and each one was inscribed with the name of a prominent Abolishionist written by himself. William Loyd Garrison, Wendell Phillips, Charles Remond, Stephen Foster, and so on. I thought Ishould like to keep them until I am old, and tell my children how I came to have them. I also bought a pocket pincushion with alternate black and white pins.
Presently there was some music, for which I did not care, and then a gentleman announced Wendell Phillips as a speaker. My! but I wish thee had been there! Such enthusiasm! and with good reason. I do not believe I ever saw a finer looking man. He has alittlelook of a man of the world, but one forgets that as soon as he opens his lips. Then came forth no uncertain sounds, but genuine thunderbolts of truth and eloquence. Oh, it was grand! Uncle says he spoke over half an hour, but it seemed short to me, and as he left the platform I sighed. Uncle Joseph inquired what I would like next, and I answered“Either Sumner or Emerson,” and lo! as if I had touched a magic spring,bothof them appeared. The former, thee is aware, is not able to do duty, but his magnificent presence was enough, and he smiled down at the audience with a great friendliness as he said he “wanted tointroduceRalph Waldo Emerson.” Everybody laughed and cheered, and the gentle philosopher spoke only a little time, about human rights and human wrongs. I was much impressed by his manner, which is that of one who soliloquizes rather than of an orator. He is a great contrast in appearance too, to those who preceded him—tall and slender, his head bowing just a little, as if it was heavy with great thought, but there is not much fire about him, and thee would undoubtedly likehim the better for it. He is very genial, for I saw him talking and smiling with all who approached. I hear that he has a great reverence for theindividual, and looks not for the foibles, but the majesty of the man.
I asked Uncle Joseph if he thought it would be right for me to speak with William Lloyd Garrison, of whom dear grandfather had so much to say, and I soon found that the very name of my good ancestor was a passport everywhere in the room. I was introduced to the Garrison young people, three sons at least; and the mother asked me to come and see her, which I should like to do, but it is scarcely probable. I do not wish to offend aunt’s prejudices, unnecessarily, and my visit there could be of no real use.
I saw Elizabeth Peabody, who is trying to interest people in the kindergarten methods of teaching young children, by playing and talking with them, rather than through books, and it certainly seems a most reasonable system.
It seems to me now as if I had seen Boston, for the people who were at the Fair were the very people I have heard about, and read about all my life—the people indeed, whomIsupposed constituted Boston, and yet outside their own circle, few know or care whether they exist. I am wrong. They have been raised up for a holy purpose, and if, as it seems, the busy mart is deaf to their entreaties for universal liberty, unconditional emancipation, the sin will lie at its own door should bloodshed follow.
I am afraid this meeting withthose in whom I am so much interested will rather spoil me for our everyday routine. It is pleasant enough, but it seems selfish to devote so large a share of time to one’s entertainment. I sometimes long for activework; but aunt says it spoils the domestics (servants is her word) to help them, and it spoils a “lady’s hands”! I never heard thee complain in that way, and there are no dearer or daintier hands than thine, which are ready for pot or pan, needle or butter mold. Perhaps it is a little Pharisaical to thank God we are “not like other men,” but I am thankful that I was sent into thy arms!
I have been tempted to say that I had acompletepleasure at the Anti-Slavery Fair, but as I was about to write it thus, a reminder came to me ofonething that Iwanted and did not get, and that was a piece oftemperance mince pie; for I heard it said that there were such in an adjoining room, and much as I like pies, I have steadfastly declined tasting those that looked so nice at uncle’s table, for I know full well they are made with a strong infusion of brandy.
We came out home by the horse railroad again, and I somehow could not help thinking about the poor tipsy boy and the tall young man, and strange enough, the latter got into our car! I did not lift my eyes once, on the whole route, for he sat directly opposite me, and I thought it would be discourteous not to acknowledge his presence, and to do so would trouble my uncle. So I was especially weary when we got out, and I thought the young man went onfurther, but just as we stopped he sprang up as though he had been asleep and in hurrying out he jostled me, and begged me to excuse it. He has a fair voice, manly, and direct, and—but what does thee think? after he had passed, there was a scrap of paper lying on my muff! Perhaps I ought to have thrown it away without reading, but Ididwant to know about the poor lad, and so I crumpled it up in my glove, until I got into my quiet chamber, and then I saw that it was a bit torn from a newspaper border, and beautifully written with a lead pencil. It said: “I took him home and have talked with him since about the wrong he has done. I think it will not happen again.”
Was it not kind in “Jack D.” to let me know in this way, withoutintruding upon me, or even signing his name?
I intended to bring home the little cushion I bought at the fair, but when I told Edward H. all about it, he said that he would like a memento to recall what I have told him about the sin of slavery, which I really believe he had never been taught to consider. So I gave him the pinball.
I must tell thee about my French lessons next time. Aunt speaks with a fine accent, they tell me; and she thinks I have been well taught.
I wish I could kiss thy dear cheek. Farewell,
Sallie.
Philadelphia,Fourth Mo., 26th.
Mother Dear: Thy presence has been roundabout me throughoutthe day, and I cannot sleep until I have availed myself of this poor medium, my pen, to convey to thee some of the thoughts that fill my mind.
Cousin Henry went with me to attend the morning meeting at Race Street, where we listened to words of warning and words of comfort from the lips of Friend B. and Friend T., and I was quite lost in meditation following the discourse of the latter, whose fine voice I ofttimes fear has an influence over me that should only be the result of his spiritual teaching. Then Lucretia Mott arose and spoke very acceptably, as she has ever done, to me. Yet it was not the words that fell from her lips that so greatly affected me, it was the memory of a strange scene that I have recently witnessed that endeared her to me, and it isof this that I am anxious thee should know.
On Second day, while we were awaiting Cousin Henry at the customary dinner hour, a lad brought in a note asking aunt to excuse his non-appearance and begging her to bring some friends and join him at the office of the U. S. Commissioner on Fourth Street as soon after two o’clock as possible.
It seems that a colored man had been claimed as a fugitive slave by a Southerner staying in the city, and this reaching the ears of a prominent Abolitionist, a few persons resolved to make a strenuous effort to have the case publicly tried.
Such, as thee knows, is not the usual proceeding, for the poor creatures are generally given over to the hands of their taskmasterswith very little noise or show of justice.
The watchword was quickly passed, and when the case was opened the small room was densely packed and it was made evident to the commissioner that considerable excitement prevailed. He therefore judged it best to delay further trial until 2P. M., at which hour the court would sit in the large hall just around the corner, by Independence Square, and it was there that aunt took me.
Friend J. and his wife, Elizabeth C. and two sons, and four or five other “plain bonnets and broad brims,” entered the room about the same time that we did. A. L., whom thee remembers, was present and arranged comfortable seats for us, some having benches, others chairs, while a large table in the middle of the hall was surroundedwith the roughest looking men I ever saw! They were armed with pistols and bowie knives and handled their weapons too freely to make me comfortable. And yet how cowardly I felt when I glanced at the poor slave face so full of terrible anticipation!
The room was fast filling up with Southern sympathizers when Lucretia Mott quietly took her place beside the colored man, and after speaking kindly with him drew forth her knitting work! I never saw anything so diabolical as the countenances of the company about the table, as they commented to each other upon her appearance there. Evidently they resolved to render her situation as trying as possible, which, I assure thee, they never failed to do during the whole session.
Of course thee knows I hadnever been in a court room before, and so I am afraid I shall not be able to give thee anything more than a very meager account of the regular proceedings. It seems that the identity of the slave had first to be proved, with the date of his escape. Then the poor man brought what testimony he could quickly gather as to his having lived near Lancaster for a greater length of time than his would-be owner asserted. The evidence was given under great difficulties because the strong Southern bias of the crowd broke forth in wild cries and oaths, whenever the adverse testimony came on. Sometimes the noise was deafening. The commissioner is a frail man of middle age, and by the way, a descendant of Friends. He made great exertion to maintain order, but frequently lookedas if he feared the result of interference.
Hour after hour went on. The twilight had grown into darkness and midnight finally drew near. None of the anti-slavery party had been allowed to leave the room, or rather having left it, to return. Everyone was getting hungry, yet I think we all thought especially of the good woman who sat so calmly beside the not over cleanly colored man, but I am bound to add, with a group of tried and true friends close around her.
In one of the pauses loud voices were heard outside, and a rush toward the door gave us fear that a measure was on foot to seize the prisoner and carry him off under the very eye of the law, but we found the trouble arose from a young man insisting upon beingallowed to enter with refreshments for Lucretia Mott. He was actually driven away by force, and only after a hazardous entry, by means of a water pipe and window, was he able to present the modest supper to her. Thee will not be surprised to know that she at once shared it with other Friends in attendance.
Soon after daylight the commissioner announced that the testimony had all been taken and he found himself too much fatigued to continue the sitting, therefore the court was adjourned until 2P. M.of that day. I had grown very restless, as thee may imagine, and turning to aunt I said, “I scarcely dare breathe for fear the poor man must go back to his chains.” A. L., who sat near, touched me lightly on the shoulder, and replied: “Prepare thyselfcalmly for the worst in life, and thus thee will not be overwhelmed when disaster comes, and should the best be realized thy joy will be proportionate.”
I think I shall never forget his remark. The whole scene is so vivid before me. I cannot close my eyes without seeing every detail of the crowded room, dimly lighted, and the shadowy figures in the shady corners leaning anxiously forward to catch the expression as well as the words of an earnest old black man, who was questioned and cross-questioned for hours on the witness stand. I know, mother, that had it been I, I should certainly have made some mistake, but he did not get greatly confused, only wandered slowly over and over again in his statements and settled down uponwhat proved to be the absolute truth.
It seems he was a small gardener in the neighborhood where the prisoner worked, and had written down in his rough notebook the date of the stranger’s arrival. This book was the only direct testimony in favor of freedom, for all the other witnesses became confused, or else exhibited clearly the falsity of their statements. As it turned out, the good, conscientious gardener had made a mistake in his date, and the commissioner suspected it, but as A. L. told us they could not go behind the written facts and we all thought he was, indeed, greatly harassed by the situation and was glad enough to be able “to give the prisoner the benefit of the doubt,” which I suppose is a formal phrase that applies tocauses decided upon suspicious evidence, and thee knows, it is often said that English law leans toward mercy.
Alas! that it should not always be based upon justice! And, mother dear, thee will recall here a great deal that I have written thee about the young men of New England with whom I have been thrown during the year. I cannot bring myself back to the old thought that I bore concerning them. I expected the H. and A. families were as eager for the abolition of slavery as their forefathers were to found a “free and independent nation,” and behold! they jeer at Garrison and Phillips and hesitate to do any thing that will hurt Southern pride.
Thee has ever taught me to “judge not,” yet I would that theyouth of distinguished patriot families now enjoying every educational advantage at the great seat of learning—Harvard College—might also feel the throb of sympathy for the oppressed. But we must turn back to the terrible slave trial.
At times, toward dawn especially, when the men grew weary, I suppose, the pistols were flourished as if they were harmless things. I drew very near to dear aunt once, but she quietly pointed to Lucretia Mott, whose age required rest, but whose motion betrayed neither her weariness nor deep concern. It was a relief when a little before nine o’clock the court was adjourned. It seems there was some thought of attempting a forcible capture of the man on trial, but his anti-slavery friends gathered close about himand thus remained until he was in the hands of the officers of the law.
Of course we were very tired, but nothing of small importance could have kept us from rejoining the throng, for such it had now become, when court opened again that afternoon.
What is called the “argument” began as soon as order was established. First the lawyer on one side, a much disfigured man named B. B., tried to show that all the evidence was in favor of the slaveholder. That is, that the man claimed was really the escaped slave, and this being so, the commissioner ought to give him up. Then the other, G. E., made a most satisfactory response, stating that the only evidence to be relied upon was the gardener’s account book, and that distinctlyshowed the man to have been free at the time he was said to have run away. Oh, mother! I wish thee could have heard him. I know it is dangerous to allow one’s enthusiasm too great liberty, but I never felt so well satisfied with any speaker before.
At last it was over and a long reading from the commissioner closed the matter. Even aunt, I think, was in doubt how it might end, until the very last sentence, and then—although I did not approve of the sentiment—I could not help a touch of sympathy with a man near me who shouted excitedly, “You have saved your soul, commissioner!”
Suchexcitement! People shook hands and cried and—the slave had disappeared! No one saw him go, no one seemed to know where he went, but aunt whisperedto me that it was all right, he was taken in charge by a friend and would be immediately out of harm’s way. I think it was an hour before we could get down to the street, so thronged was the staircase, and everyone seemed happy over the result.
I am inclined to think my mind dwelt as much on the awful responsibility of the commissioner as upon the released man. Howcanone bind himself by an oath to serve a government that has made this iniquitous bond with the slaveholders? Ialmosthope to learn later that this dreadful experience has led to the resignation of Commissioner L.
There was one other thing, mother dear, that gave me great joy. In the midst of the enthusiasm, someone seized my hand. I was not astonished at the movementfor every heart seemed to be throbbing with sympathy and brother love, but I assure thee I was very happy when I lifted my eyes and saw bending over me the familiar face of Edward H.! What a fine face it is! And on this occasion burning with newborn devotion to principle! It is needless to say that he has since been to visit us, and that he is going to return to Pennsylvania during the summer and has kindly responded to my invitation to come to our home.
Thee cannot help loving him, I know, nor can dear father either, and you will both rejoice that—for Edward has so expressed it—through your simple Sallie’s teaching a strong man has been led to see the enormity of our national sin, and pledged himself to leaveno stone unturned toward its abolishment.
In firm affection, I remain
Thy Daughter.
N. B.—I think perhaps I ought to tell thee about a letter I have recently had from F. A. A kind letter, but with a tone of flattery that I do not quite like, nor, indeed, understand. He speaks as if I was much in his thought and—can it be, dear mother, that I gave him a wrong impression of my friendship? My cheeks burn as I write this, but it is delightful to know good Edward H. was thoroughly inspired—through my mere suggestion that these are serious times—to do a great deal of honest thinking. I shall be right glad to welcome him within our home!