The early setting sun warned us that the shortening days must soon end our twilight drives， and the moonlight nights were too chilly to linger long in the rustic arbors or shady nooks outside. With the peculiar charm of this season of the year there is always a touch of sadness in nature， and it seemed doubly so to me， as my engagement was not one of unmixed joy and satisfaction. Among all conservative families there was a strong aversion to abolitionists and the whole anti-slavery movement. Alone with Cousin 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：
"Harriet， I have brought all my young cousins to see you. I want you to make good abolitionists of them by telling them the history of your life杦hat you have seen and suffered in slavery."
Turning to us he said：
"Harriet has just escaped from her master， who is visiting in Syracuse， and is on her way to Canada. She will start this evening and you may never have another opportunity of seeing a slave girl face to face， so ask her all you care to know of the system of slavery."
For two hours we listened to the sad story of her childhood and youth， separated from all her family and sold for her beauty in a New Orleans market when but fourteen years of age. The details of her story I need not repeat. The fate of such girls is too well known to need rehearsal.
We all wept together as she talked， and， when Cousin Gerrit returned to summon us away， we needed no further education to make us earnest abolitionists.
Dressed as a Quakeress， Harriet started at twilight with one of Mr. Smith's faithful clerks in a carriage for Oswego， there to cross the lake to Canada. The next day her master and the marshals from Syracuse were on her track in Peterboro， and traced her to Mr. Smith's premises. He was quite gracious in receiving them， and， while assuring them that there was no slave there， he said that they were at liberty to make a thorough search of the house and grounds. He invited them to stay and dine and kept them talking as long as possible， as every hour helped Harriet to get beyond their reach； for， although she had eighteen hours the start of them， yet we feared some accident might have delayed her. The master was evidently a gentleman， for， on Mr. Smith's assurance that Harriet was not there， he made no search， feeling that they could not do so without appearing to doubt his word. He was evidently surprised to find an abolitionist so courteous and affable， and it was interesting to hear them in conversation， at dinner， calmly discussing the problem of slavery， while public sentiment was at white heat on the question. They shook hands warmly at parting and expressed an equal interest in the final adjustment of that national difficulty.
