But she herself is a slave-holder, and therefore
by our theory she ought to be imbruted. I beg her pardon, and that of
her father; but they must consider how hard it is for us at the North to
conquer all our prejudices even under the influence of such a
demonstration as her letter. I ask one simple question: Is not this
slave-babe, (and her mother,) of "the down-trodden," and is not this
lady one of the down-treading? And yet she weeps,--not because, as I
would have supposed, she had lost one hundred and fifty dollars in the
child, but as though she loved it like the sick and dying child of a
fellow-creature, of a mother like herself. Now, who at the North ever
hears of such a thing in slavery? The old New York Tabernacle could have
said, It is not in me;--the modern Boston Music Hall says, It is not in
me. None of the antislavery papers, political or religious, say, We have
heard the fame thereof with our ears. Our Northern instructors on the
subject of slavery, the orators, the Uncle Tom's Cabins, "The Scholar an
Agitator," have never taught us to believe this. The South, we are
instructed to think, is a Golgotha, a valley of Hinnom; compacts with it
are covenants with hell.
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