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, and aunt 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 rather cool 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 quite serious over it and
asked me _why_ I 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 me _honest_ eyes 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 more _talking_
about 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 with me,
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 can see 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 are _not_ conservatives.” 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 that a 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 you can 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 I _certainly_ could 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 raised up. 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
must be 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 me at what _they_ regard 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 I _tried_ hard
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,” but _that_
could 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 half a 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 ask aunt’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 your _outré_ garments; you must look odd, or you will not be in
harmony with your surroundings. Only _queer_ people 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, is _very_ large, 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 arm and 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, I had 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 I should 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 a _little_ look 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, _both_
of 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 to _introduce_
Ralph 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 like him 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 the
_individual_, 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, whom _I_ supposed 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 with those 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 active _work_; 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 a _complete_ pleasure at the
Anti-Slavery Fair, but as I was about to write it thus, a reminder came
to me of _one_ thing that I wanted and did not get, and that was a
piece of _temperance 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 on further, 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 I _did_ want 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, without
intruding 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 throughout the 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
is of 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 taskmasters
with 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 2 P. 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 surrounded with 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 had never 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 looked as 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 being allowed 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 2 P. 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 thyself calmly 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.”