"Mary, do you remember the time when you told me that I must love you better than I had ever done before; for friends would forsake you, and there would be none left to love you but P., and myself, and your father, and Julia, and J. B., and D. S., and S. T.? Our arms were twined around each other in close embrace. Your heart was full to overflowing, and words gave place to tears. I shall not forget the intense anxiety I felt for you at that moment as I tried to penetrate the future, knowing, as I did, somewhat of the cruelty of prejudice. It seems we both had a foreboding of something that would follow. I do not know that I wept, but heaven witnessed and recorded the silent, sacred promise of my heart to draw nearer and cherish you with truer fidelity as others turned away. And so shall I always feel.
"Oh, Mary, how little can we imagine the sufferings of the oppressed, while we float along on the popular current. I thank God from the depths of my soul, that we have launched our barks upon the ocean. Frail they are, yet, having right for our beacon, and humanity for our compass, I know we shall not be wrecked or go down among the raging elements.
"Now, dear Sister, farewell, and as you depart from this boasted 'land of liberty and equal rights,' and go among strangers, that you may, indeed, enjoy liberty, be not despondent, but cheerful, ever remembering the message of your angel mother.
Again, dear sister, farewell,—you know how much we love you, and that our deepest sympathies are with you wherever you may be.
"Affectionately yours,
"Sarah D. Porter."
I subjoin an extract of a letter which I received from Miss K. a few days before our marriage:—