worthily and beautifully performed by Mr. Gilman, the company rose from their seats and congratulated the bridal pair. A fat old negro-woman sate, like a horrid spectre, black and silent by the altar. This was the nurse and foster-mother of the bride, and who could not bear the thought of parting with her. This parting, however, is only for the time of their journey, as these black nurses are cared for with great tenderness as long as they live in the white families, and generally speaking they deserve it from their affection and fidelity.
You may believe that there has not failed to be here conversations about slavery. I do not originate them, but when they occur, which they frequently do, I express my sentiments candidly but as inoffensively as may be. One thing, however, which astonishes and annoys me here, and which I did not expect to find, is that I scarcely ever meet with a man, or woman either, who can openly and honestly look the thing in the face. They wind and turn about in all sorts of ways, and make use of every argument—sometimes the most opposite, to convince me that the slaves are the happiest people in the world, and do not wish to be placed in any other condition, or in any other relationship to their masters than that in which they now find themselves. This in many cases, and under certain circumstances, is true; and it occurs more frequently than the people of the Northern States have any idea of. But there is such an abundance of unfortunate cases, and always must be in this system, as to render it detestable.
I have had a few conversations on the subject, some thing in the following style:—
Southerner.—“Report says, Miss Bremer, that you belong to the abolitionist party?”
Myself.—“Yes, certainly, I do; but so, doubtlessly, do we both; you as well as I.”
Southerner is silent.
