In reading your life, no one can say that we have unfairly picked out
some rare specimens of cruelty. We know that the bitter drops, which
even you have drained from the cup, are no incidental aggravations, no
individual ills, but such as must mingle always and necessarily in
the lot of every slave. They are the essential ingredients, not the
occasional results, of the system.

After all, I shall read your book with trembling for you. Some years
ago, when you were beginning to tell me your real name and birthplace,
you may remember I stopped you, and preferred to remain ignorant of
all. With the exception of a vague description, so I continued, till the
other day, when you read me your memoirs. I hardly knew, at the time,
whether to thank you or not for the sight of them, when I reflected that
it was still dangerous, in Massachusetts, for honest men to tell
their names! They say the fathers, in 1776, signed the Declaration of
Independence with the halter about their necks. You, too, publish your
declaration of freedom with danger compassing you around. In all the
broad lands which the Constitution of the United States overshadows,
there is no single spot,--however narrow or desolate,--where a fugitive
slave can plant himself and say, "I am safe." The whole armory of
Northern Law has no shield for you. I am free to say that, in your
place, I should throw the MS. into the fire.

You, perhaps, may tell your story in safety, endeared as you are to so
many warm hearts by rare gifts, and a still rarer devotion of them to
the service of others. But it will be owing only to your labors, and the
fearless efforts of those who, trampling the laws and Constitution of
the country under their feet, are determined that they will "hide the
outcast," and that their hearths shall be, spite of the law, an asylum
for the oppressed, if, some time or other, the humblest may stand in our