you seek to perpetuate her name in your own household, and to have a
little Cygnet grow up with your own little Susan. "I was always pleased
with the idea that my Susan and little Cygnet should grow up together;
but it seems best that it should not be so, or it would not be denied."
All this is very sweet and beautiful; but now let me tell you, honestly,
what the spontaneous thought of a Northerner is while meditating on such
an apparently lovely picture. Here it is: Suppose that Susan and little
Cygnet, when both are three years old, are playing in your front-yard
some morning, and a cruel slave-trader should look over the fence, and
say to your husband, "Fine little thing there, sir; take a hunderd and a
ha'f for her?" I ask, Would not your husband (perhaps in need, just
then, of money to pay a note) lay down his newspaper, invite the fellow
in to drink, and go through the opening scene of "Uncle Tom's Cabin,"
coaxing up the fellow's price; and finally, would he not sell little
Cygnet while her mother was out of sight, push poor little Susan into a
room alone to cry her eyes out, and you and your husband pocket the
money? Many of us at the North, dear madam, if you will take my
unworthy self as a specimen, and I am a very moderate anti-slavery man
and no fanatic, are quite as ready to believe such things of you as the
contrary. We have read "Uncle Tom's Cabin."

Nothing could exceed the disgust and ridicule which your letter would
meet with at the hands of some of our best anti-slavery men. I am
thinking of it, just now, as in the hands of Rev. Mr. Blank. The other
day I saw a cambric muslin handkerchief, richly embroidered, blow past
me out of a child's carriage. As I turned to get it, a dog seized it,
shook it, put both his paws on it, rent it, made rags of it, threw it
down, snatched it up, and seemed vexed that there was no more of it to
tear. So will our abolitionists serve your letter, should they ever see
it. And, my dear madam, though I disapprove their temper and language,