to you is as gentle and pleasant, almost, as that of an adopted member of a family, who is half attendant, and half companion; this we understand.  You see nothing terrible in such a relation.  O dear madam, you have the misfortune to have been born under the blinding, blighting influence of slavery, and cannot see things in the true, just light in which they appear to us, whose minds are unprejudiced and clear, and whose moral sentiments on this great subject are more correct and elevated.  What is making all this trouble in our nation?  I will answer you in the burning words of a Northern clergyman in his speech at a meeting called to sympathize with the family of John Brown, after his death by martyrdom:  “The Slave-Power itself, standing up there in all its deformity in the sight of Northern consciences,—­that is the cause, [applause] and there the responsibility belongs."[2] Yes, you are sinning against the Northern conscience!  It is settled forever that you are evil-doers in holding your present relation to the slave.  We are bound to hem you in as by fire, till, like a scorpion so fenced about, you die by your own sting.  We must proclaim liberty to your captives.  Step but one foot with Kate on free soil, and our watchmen of liberty, set to break every yoke and help fugitives on their way from the house of bondage, will be around you in troops, and shout in her ear those electrifying and beatifying words, “You are a free woman!” There her chains will drop; she will cease to be a slave, and become a human being.

   [Footnote 2:  Boston Courier, Nov. 26, 1859.]

Must I refer to your letter once more?  I hope to destroy its spell over me.  But I wish at times that I had never seen that letter.  “Tell Mammy that it is a great disappointment to me that her name is not to have a place in my household.”  Your little slave-babe, Kate’s child, you named Cygnet, because Mammy’s name is Cygnet, and she and your mother grew up together, and she has been your kind, faithful servant and friend, as much friend as servant, during all your youth till you were married.  And you seek to perpetuate her name in your own household, and to have a little Cygnet grow up with your own little Susan.  “I was always pleased with the idea that my Susan and little Cygnet should grow up together; but it seems best that it should not be so, or it would not be denied.”  All this is very sweet and beautiful; but now let me tell you, honestly, what the spontaneous thought of a Northerner is while meditating on such an apparently lovely picture.  Here it is:  Suppose that Susan and little Cygnet, when both are three years old, are playing in your front-yard some morning, and a cruel slave-trader should look over the fence, and say to your husband, “Fine little thing there, sir; take a hunderd and a ha’f for her?” I ask, Would not your husband (perhaps in need, just then, of money to pay a note) lay down his newspaper, invite the fellow in to drink, and go through the opening scene of “Uncle