“It is a marvellous thing to me,” said she, “as I now view it, that our good Christian people here are not willing to confide in that which good Southern Christian people say about slavery.  We should trust their judgments, their moral sentiments, their consciences, on any other subject.  How is it that when men and women, who are the excellent of the earth, tell us the results of their observation, experience, and reflections, with regard to slavery, we treat them as we do?  When ill-mannered people, who must be vituperative and saucy to every body and in every thing, behave thus, it is not surprising; but I cannot explain why truly good men should not either adopt the deliberate sentiments of good people at the South, or at least consent to leave the subject, if beyond their faith or discernment, to the responsibility of Southern Christians.  I condemn myself in saying this.  But having myself been converted, I have hope for everybody.”

During this talk, Mr. North was affected somewhat as he said his wife was when he first read the Southern lady’s letter to her.  He was a little incoherent by reason of his emotions; but he made out to say something about the sweetness and the strength of reconciled affections, and of the happiness which there would be when it should be proclaimed that the North and the South are once more friends.

“What is your whole name, Mrs. North?” said I; “for I shall wish to speak of you to the Southern lady, if I write to her father.”

“My Christian name,” said she, “is Patience.”

“PATIENCE NORTH!” I said to myself, once or twice, as I stood at the parlor door.  I was musing upon the name perhaps ten or fifteen seconds, and when I looked up, they were each both smiling at me and crying.

We shook hands, and I went my way.

THE END.