Gerrit in his library he warned me, in deep, solemn tones, while strongly eulogizing my lover, that my father would never consent to my marriage with an abolitionist.  He felt in duty bound, as my engagement had occurred under his roof, to free himself from all responsibility by giving me a long dissertation on love, friendship, marriage, and all the pitfalls for the unwary, who, without due consideration, formed matrimonial relations.  The general principles laid down in this interview did not strike my youthful mind so forcibly as the suggestion that it was better to announce my engagement by letter than to wait until I returned home, as thus I might draw the hottest fire while still in safe harbor, where Cousin Gerrit could help me defend the weak points in my position.  So I lingered at Peterboro to prolong the dream of happiness and postpone the conflict I feared to meet.

But the Judge understood the advantage of our position as well as we did, and wasted no ammunition on us.  Being even more indignant at my cousin than at me, he quietly waited until I returned home, when I passed through the ordeal of another interview, with another dissertation on domestic relations from a financial standpoint.  These were two of the most bewildering interviews I ever had.  They succeeded in making me feel that the step I proposed to take was the most momentous and far-reaching in its consequences of any in this mortal life.  Heretofore my apprehensions had all been of death and eternity; now life itself was filled with fears and anxiety as to the possibilities of the future.  Thus these two noble men, who would have done anything for my happiness, actually overweighted my conscience and turned the sweetest dream of my life into a tragedy.  How little strong men, with their logic, sophistry, and hypothetical examples, appreciate the violence they inflict on the tender sensibilities of a woman’s heart, in trying to subjugate her to their will!  The love of protecting too often degenerates into downright tyranny.  Fortunately all these sombre pictures of a possible future were thrown into the background by the tender missives every post brought me, in which the brilliant word-painting of one of the most eloquent pens of this generation made the future for us both, as bright and beautiful as Spring with her verdure and blossoms of promise.

However, many things were always transpiring at Peterboro to turn one’s thoughts and rouse new interest in humanity at large.  One day, as a bevy of us girls were singing and chattering in the parlor, Cousin Gerrit entered and, in mysterious tones, said:  “I have a most important secret to tell you, which you must keep to yourselves religiously for twenty-four hours.”

We readily pledged ourselves in the most solemn manner, individually and collectively.

“Now,” said he, “follow me to the third story.”

This we did, wondering what the secret could be.  At last, opening a door, he ushered us into a large room, in the center of which sat a beautiful quadroon girl, about eighteen years of age.  Addressing her, he said: