competitors on no other ground than that of color.[1] I saw your bitter
tears, and recollect assuring you--what afterwards proved true--that
justice would overtake the offenders, and that you would live to see
these enemies bite the dust! I remember your unsullied character, and your
prosperity, and when your word or endorsement was equal to that of any
other citizen. I remember too, when yourself, and others of your kind,
sunk all the gatherings of years of toil, in an unsuccessful attempt to
establish an asylum for your enslaved and oppressed brethren--and, not to
enumerate, which I might do much farther, I remember when your "old
master," finding you had been successful, while he himself had lost in the
changes on fortune's wheel--came here and set up a claim to yourself and
your property--a claim which might have held both, had not a higher power
suddenly summoned him to a tribunal, where both master and slave shall one
day answer each for himself!

But to the book. Let its plain, unvarnished tale be sent out, and the
story of Slavery and its abominations, again be told by one who has felt
in his own person its scorpion lash, and the weight of its grinding heel.
I think it will do good service, and could not have been sent forth at a
more auspicious period. The downfall of the hateful system of Slavery is
certain. Though long delayed, justice is sure to come at length; and he
must be a slow thinker and a poor seer, who cannot discern in the elements
already at work, the mighty forces which must eventually crush this
oppression. I know that you and I have felt discouraged at the long delay,
years ago,--when we might have kept up our hopes by the fact that every
thing that is slow is _sure_. Your book may be humble and your
descriptions tame, yet truth is always mighty; and you may furnish the
sword for some modern Sampson, who shall shout over more slain than his
ancient prototype. I close with the wish, that much success may attend
your labors, in more ways than one, and that your last days may be your