Decatur, Brown County, Ohio, Nov. 16.
Dear Sir: Can you give me a minute of your time? Like Mrs. Child, who can scarcely take comfort in any thing on your account, for a time I could not well attend to my work, but only wanted to sit down, lean my head upon my hand, and remain thus in the palsy that had come upon me. My mental and moral nature seemed paralyzed with the thoughts that the self-evident impossibility that man could own man seemed to be true; and when one arose to rescue his brother, following only the instincts of right, and the teachings of the golden rule, that there should be power upon earth lawfully to put him to death. In listless moments tears have welled up and offered themselves, but no sooner is nature conscious of them than they come no farther. The subject is too great. Tears can express nothing of what the soul feels under some contemplations. Believing myself in conscience bound to give heed to the views of others (as H. W. Beecher) about the best mode of enfranchising the slave, and wondering if the slave could have sunk so low in his degradation that he would not have been willing to accept your boon, had it proved to be in your power to give it to him, — such considerations diverted my thoughts and relieved somewhat the oppression of my mind. I suppose thousands upon tens of thousands feel the same kindness and admiration that is felt for you here. I wish they would write and say so to you, instead of telling all to each other. But, perhaps, they do not think of that; or they may be afraid. Our minister prays for you in our pulpit; and I have sometimes felt that it might do you good to hear such prayers as he puts up for you, and those who suffer with you. I have been watching for it, and am so glad the channel has been opened through which "the sympathies of others can most successfully reach you," (though my own contribution must at present be small,) for it is such a comfort to do any thing for you; and personally you seem to need so little of any thing that we can do. I suppose martyrs that are called forth by the sins of a lost world have that greatness of soul, of benevolence, that needs not so much the sympathies and consolations called forth by affliction. Although they may shed nature's tears of love and affection with friends most dear, yet it seems to me the souls of those friends themselves must retire again to a depth or an elevation beyond the region of tears. You perhaps do not know what a comfort it is to your thousands of friends, and will be, especially as the time of death draws near, and when it is past, that you have left this statement: "I am quite cheerful under all my afflicting circumstances and prospects, having, as I humbly trust, the peace of God which passeth understanding." And now, noble old man,—noble from our point of view, though in God's sight but a pardoned and unprofitable servant, — that our Father awaits you is the hope of one who, I humbly trust, is your friend in Christ.
M. N.
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