"They say 'Sunny South' is the name of my home;
'Tis here that your robins and blue-birds are come,
While snows cover nests up, and angry winds rave;
_They_ may rest here,--not _I_; _I'm_ a poor little slave.
"Here beautiful mothers, 'mid splendors untold.
Their fairy-like babes to their fond bosoms fold;
My mammy's worked out, and lies here in the grave;
There's none to kiss _me_,--I'm a poor little slave.
"I've heard mistress telling her sweet little son,
What Jesus, the loving, for children has done;
Perhaps little black ones he also will save;
I ask him to take _me_, a poor little slave!"
No wonder, Gustavus, that you write such letters as your last, fed and
nourished as you are on such things as this. I took it with me that
evening to a missionary party at the house of Judge ----. I read the
lines. The ladies said nothing for a time, till at last one said to me,
"Such things have helped us in seceding." The Judge took the lines,
looked them over, and, smiling, handed them back to me, saying, "Madam,
is Massachusetts a dark place?" "Yes," said a young gentleman, "and the
dark places of the earth are full of the habitations of cruelty.
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