NEW BEDFORD, Mass., October 16th, 1854.

MR. STILL:—­Dear Sir—­I now take my pen in my hand to inform you of my health which is good at present all except a cold I have got but I hope when these few lines reach you you may be enjoying good health.  I arrived in New Bedford Thursday morning safely and what little I have seen of the city I like it very much my friends were very glad to see me.  I found my sister very well.  Give my love to Mrs. Still and also your dear little children.  I am now out at service.  I do not think of going to Canada now.  I think I shall remain in this city this winter.  Please tell Mrs. Still I have not met any person who has treated me any kinder than she did since I left.  I consider you both to have been true friends to me.  I hope you will think me the same to you.  I feel very thankful to you indeed.  It might been supposed, out of sight out of mind, but it is not so.  I never forget my friends.  Give my love to Florence.  If you come to this city I would be very happy to see you.  Kiss your dear little children for me.  Please to answer this as soon as possible, so that I may know you received this.  No more at present.  I still remain your friend,

    ELLEN SAUNDERS.

ELIZA MCCOY—­the wife of Robert McCoy, whose narrative has just been given—­and who was left to wait in hope when her husband escaped—­soon followed him to freedom.  It is a source of great satisfaction to be able to present her narrative in so close proximity to her husband’s.  He arrived about the first of October—­she about the first of November, following.  From her lips testimony of much weight and interest was listened to by several friends relative to her sufferings as a slave—­on the auction-block, and in a place of concealment seven months, waiting and praying for an opportunity to escape.  But it was thought sufficient to record merely a very brief outline of her active slave life, which consisted of the following noticeable features.

Eliza had been owned by Andrew Sigany, of Norfolk—­age about thirty-eight—­mulatto, and a woman whose appearance would readily command attention and respect anywhere outside of the barbarism of Slavery.  She stated that her experience as a sufferer in cruel hands had been very trying, and that in fretting under hardships, she had “always wanted to be free.”  Her language was unmistakable on this point.  Neither mistress nor servant was satisfied with each other; the mistress was so “queer” and “hard to please,” that Eliza became heartily sick of trying to please her—­an angel would have failed with such a woman.  So, while matters were getting no better, but, on the contrary, were growing worse and worse, Eliza thought she would seek a more pleasant atmosphere in the North.  In fact she felt that it would afford her no little relief to allow her place to be occupied by another.  When she went into close quarters of concealment, she fully understood what was meant and all the liabilities thereto.  She had pluck enough to endure unto the end without murmuring.  The martyrs in olden times who dwelt in “dens and caves of the earth,” could hardly have fared worse than some of these way-worn travelers.