"There is no peace," saith my God, "to the wicked."--And surely, clearer
exemplifications of this saying of Holy Writ were never had, than in the
brain-teasings, mind-torturings and heart-rackings of these precious
people, out of deference to our welfare. May they be mercifully
remembered and gloriously rewarded.

It is proper to introduce to the reader at this point, our cherished
friends,--Mr. and Mrs. Porter,--and to say at once, that words are not
expressive enough to describe the gratitude we owe them, nor in what
remembrance we hold them in the deepest depths of our hearts. They stood
by us throughout that season of intended bloody persecution, turning
neither to the right nor the left, nor counting their own interests or
lives as aught in comparison to the friendship they bore us, or to their
love of the principles of truth, justice and humanity. Amid the raging
billows, they stood as a rock to which to cling.

We had known these friends for months, nay, for years. They had also
been students in Mc. Grawville, but had subsequently married, and at the
time of my December visit to Fulton were teachers of a School in
Phillipsville,--where, it may be proper here to say, was located the
depôt of the Fulton trains of cars.

Not only belonging to that class of persons, (rare in America, even
among those who claim to be Abolitionists and Christians), persons who
do not _profess_ to believe merely, but really _do_ believe in the
doctrine of the "unity, equality, and brotherhood of the human race;"
and who are willing to accord to others the exercise of rights which
they claim for themselves; but, having also great purity of heart and
purpose, Mr. and Mrs. Porter did not, as they could not, sympathise