At this moment my wife, seeing I was waxing warm, pulled me by the coat-tail, and I said no more.  The lady, however, went on to say that she was opposed to slavery—­was a colonizationist, and heartily wished all the coloured people were back again in their own country.  “In their own country, indeed!” I was going to say,—­“why, this is their country as much as it is yours;” but I remembered my wife’s admonition, and held my peace.  These were the sentiments of a lady first and foremost in the charitable movements of the day, and regarded by those around her as a pattern of piety and benevolence.  She was shocked at the notion of the poor coloured orphan mingling with fellow-orphans of a fairer hue.

In the evening we went to take tea at the house of an English Quaker.  About half-a-dozen friends had been invited to meet us.  These were kindred spirits, anti-slavery out-and-out, and we spent the evening very pleasantly.  One of the company, in speaking of the American prejudice against colour, mentioned a remarkable circumstance.  Some time ago, at an hotel in one of the Eastern States, a highly respectable coloured gentleman, well known to the host and to his guests, was about to sit down at the dinner table.  A military officer—­a conceited puppy—­asked the landlord if that “nigger” was going to sit down?  The landlord replied in the affirmative.  “Then,” said the fop, “I cannot sit down with a nigger.”  The rest of the company, understanding what was going forward, rose as one man from their seats, ordered another table to be spread, and presented a respectful invitation to the coloured gentleman to take a seat with them.  The military dandy was left at the first table, “alone in his glory.”  When thus humbled, and when he also understood who the coloured man was, he went up to him to apologize in the best way he could, and to beg that the offence might be forgotten.  The coloured gentleman’s reply was beautiful and touching,—­“Favours I write on marble, insults on sand.”

On the morning of the 5th of March, the sun shining pleasantly, we were tempted to cross over to Covington, on the Kentucky or slave side of the river.  Ferry-steamers ran every five or ten minutes, and the fare was only 5 cents.  At this place the Baptists have a large and important college.  Why did they erect it on the slave rather than on the free side of the Ohio?  This institution I was anxious to see; but I found it too far off, and the roads too bad.  Feeling weary and faint, we called at a house of refreshment, where we had a genuine specimen of American inquisitiveness.

In five minutes the daughter of the house had asked us where we came from—­what sort of a place it was—­how long we had been in the United States—­how long it took us to come—­how far we were going—­how long we should stay—­and if we did not like that part of America so well that we would come and settle in it altogether! and in five minutes more our answers to all these important questions had been duly reported to the rest of the family in an adjoining room.  This inquisitiveness prevails more in the slave than in the free States, and originates, I believe, in the fidgetty anxiety they feel about their slaves.  The stranger must be well catechised, lest he should prove to be an Abolitionist come to give the slaves a sly lesson in geography.