received tidings that her son is in the hands
of man-thieves. You must listen to the impassioned
appeal of the wife, whose husband’s retreat has
been discovered, and whose footsteps are dogged
by the blood-hounds of Slavery. You must
hear the husband, as I did, a few weeks ago, himself
bound and helpless, beg you for God’s sake to
save his wife. You must see such a woman
as Hannah Dellam, with her noble-looking boy at
her side, pleading in vain before a pro-slavery
judge, that she is of right free; that her son is
entitled to his freedom; and above all, that her
babe, about to be born, should be permitted to
open its eyes upon the light of liberty.
You must hear the judge’s decision, remorselessly
giving up the woman with her children born and
unborn, into the hands of their claimants—by
them to be carried to the slave prison, and thence
to be sold to a returnless distance from the remaining
but scattered fragments of her once happy family.
These things you must see and hear for yourself
before you can form any adequate idea of the bitterness
of this cup which the unhappy children of oppression
along this southern border are called upon to
drink. Manifestations like these have we been
obliged either to witness ourselves, or hear the
recital of from others, almost daily, for weeks
together. Our aching hearts of late, have
known but little respite. A shadow has been cast
over our home circles, and a check been given
to the wonted cheerfulness of our families.
One night, the night that the woman and the boy
and the unborn babe received their doom, my wife,
long after midnight, literally wept herself to sleep.
For the last fortnight we have had no new cases;
but even now, when I go home in the evening, if
I happen to look more serious than usual, my wife
notices it, and asks: “Is there another
slave case?” and my little girls look up
anxiously for my reply.
* * * *
From Miss MARY B. THOMAS.
Daring outrage! burglary and kidnapping! The
following letter tells its own startling and most
painful story. Every manly and generous heart
must burn with indignation at the villainy it describes,
and bleed with sympathy for the almost broken-hearted
DOWNINGTOWN, 19th, 4th mo.,
“My Dear Friend:—This
morning our family was aroused by the screams
of a young colored girl, who has been living with us
nearly a year past; but we were awakened only in
time to see her borne off by three white men,
ruffians indeed, to a carriage at our door, and
in an instant she was on her way to the South.
I feel so much excited by the attendant circumstances
of this daring and atrocious deed, as scarcely
to be able to give you a coherent account of it,
but I know that it is a duty to make it known,
and, I therefore write this immediately.
“As soon as the house was opened
in the morning, these men who were lurking without,
having a carriage in waiting in the street, entered