"SARAH JACKSON."
When the above letter arrived at our house, the whole four of us were seated at the tea table in the evening, and laughing first over one thing and then another, as people will do at eventide when the work of the day is done. We read the letter aloud in the midst of great sport and laughter, which went on, grew and increased the more we examined it. It was the work of Mrs. Jackson and hers alone. None of us believed that father knew anything about it at all, and I am sure he did not. Mrs. Sarah Jackson evidently was unable to keep down her temper and spite after all our grand escapades, marriages and other things.
"Why," said Mr. Sutherland, "I suppose she will be coming on us with bloodhounds themselves! She would look grand in hunting costume on the streets of Buffalo with bloodhounds!"
"What makes me laugh," remarked Tom, "would be to see the boys and young lads pelting those dogs with stones, and belaboring their sides with big sticks!"
This was followed by another shout of loud laughter, when mother exclaimed,
"She would indeed be a sight well worthy of a first-class painter in the midst of an infuriated crowd who were bent upon our protection and rescue."
As it was now my turn to put in a word, I remarked,
"She had better send nobody after us. It is now five years since the passage of the Fugitive Slave Bill, which no man can enforce, because the Christian spirit of the North will not have it, and the North is right to resist it."
The question next arose as to who should answer the letter. Tom and Mrs. Sutherland absolutely refused to answer it in any shape or form, so I took pity on the great lady of Riverside Hall, and said that I would answer her one of these fine days, which would be both sport and pleasure for me, and then perhaps she would let us all have a rest. So in a few days after the receipt of her wonderful letter, I took up my pen and wrote as follows:
"BUFFALO, N. Y., November, 1855.