I ventured to ask “And was it not ‘meddling’ to throw the tea overboard.”
But they said I was getting too deep for them. And then F. A. told me that only a very insignificant part of Boston people respected the Abolitionists. This new party they admitted has an anti-slavery wing, but that it must be clipped or we shall have trouble. “Trouble” I cried—and I admit, mother dear, that I talked perhaps, more than I ought—“how can a man rest easy without troubling the public conscience about the poor slaves.” A. tried to show me that the best way to eradicate slavery is to be on good terms with the slaveholders, and have no concern for the black man, who is only an animal—I think he said—after all, and when it proves itself a failure in a business sense, as he admitted it must be, then slavery will die out!
Not a spark of humanity about him, not a thought of God’s suffering children, only a fear of disturbing business relations with a rich section! My heart stood almost still with astonishment. Here in Boston, where I had looked for the broadest humanity and the clearest intelligence, here on the lips of the descendant of a great patriot were words of cowardice and self-seeking!
When at last the boat turned about, and the young men gave Anna W. and myself lessons in rowing, we came again to the little landing, and there on the bank stood aunt in search of us.
I felt mortified, and would have explained only that I could not reproach others, and I expected her to reprimand me, but lo! she only shook her finger and said:
“Well, girls will be girls, and even a pretty Quakeress is not proof against temptation.” How I wanted to tell the whole story! But, mother dear, I did not. Was I wrong? And the young men went away and my cheeks burned as aunt called after them, “I know you will want to see those roses again.”
Good-night dear, dear mother.
Tenth Mo., 30th.
My Dear Mother: I know thee will not feel it to be wrong for me to tell thee of my trials as well as my pleasures, for thee has taught me that nothing is too small a matter to lay before our Heavenly Father, and in many respects I am puzzled by the new life I am leading here. Particularly do I regret having to think, and even to dwell upon, questions concerning money. That is, as thee has said, a necessity of our physical being, but must ever be relegated to the background in our thoughts. Uncle Joseph has asked me several times already whether my purse was not empty, but although I have answered with a laugh that I did not see the bottom yet, I feel that I have been a little lavish, and of course I cannot permit another to purchase for me the luxuries which my pleasure-loving heart alone demands.