The Sable Cloud | Page 2

and they who have borne it,
alone can tell the unutterable pain of all this. The little child is so
carefully and tenderly watched over and cherished while it is with
you,--and then to leave it alone in the dread grave where the winds and
the rain beat upon it! I know they do not feel it, but since mine has been
there, I have never felt sheltered from the storms when they come. The
rain seems to fall on my bare heart. I have said more than I meant to
have said on this subject, and have left myself little heart to write of
anything else. Tell Mammy that it is a great disappointment to me that
her name is not to have a place in my household. I was always so
pleased with the idea that my Susan and little Cygnet should grow up

together as the others had done; but it seems best that it should not be
so, or it would not have been denied. Tell Mary that Chloe staid that
night with Kate, and has been kind to her. All are well at her house.
* * * * *
Of the persons named in this letter,
KATE is a slave-mother, belonging to the lady who writes the letter.
CYGNET was Kate's babe.
MAMMY is a common appellation for a slave-nurse. The Mammy to
whom the message in the letter is sent was nursery-maid when the
writer of the letter and several brothers and sisters were young; and,
more than this, she was maid to their mother in early years. She is still
in this gentleman's family. Her name is Cygnet; Kate's babe was named
for her.
MARY is the lady's married sister.
CHLOE is Mary's servant.
The incidental character of this letter and the way in which it came to
me, gave it a special charm. Some recent traveller, describing his
sensations at Heidelberg Castle, speaks of a German song which he
heard, at the moment, from a female at some distance and out of sight.
This letter, like that song, derives much of its effect from the
unconsciousness of the author that it would reach a stranger.
Having read this letter many times, always with the same emotions as
at first, I resolved to try the effect of it upon my friend, A. Freeman
North. He is an upright man, much sought after in the settlement of
estates, especially where there are fiduciary trusts. Placing the letter in
his hands, I asked him, when he should have read it, to put in writing
his impressions and reflections. The result will be found in the next
chapter. Mrs. North, also, will engage the reader's kind attention.

CHAPTER II.
NORTHERN COMMENTS ON SOUTHERN LIFE.
"As blind men use to bear their noses higher Than those that have their
eyes and sight entire."
HUDIBRAS.
"One woman reads another's character Without the tedious trouble of
decyphering."
BEN JONSON. New Inn.
So then, this is a Southern heart which prompts these loving, tender
strains. This lady is a slave-holder. It is a slave toward whom this
fellow-feeling, this gentleness of pity, these acts of loving-kindness,
these yearnings of compassion, these respectful words, and all this care
and assiduity, flow forth.
Is she not some singular exception among the people of her country;
some abnormal product, an accidental grace, a growth of luxuriant
richness in a deadly soil, or, at least, is she not like Jenny Lind among
singers? Surely we shall not look upon her like again. It would be
difficult to find even here at the North,--the humane North, nay, even
among those who have solemnly consecrated themselves as "the friends
of the slave," and who "remember them that are in bonds as bound with
them,"--a heart more loving and good, affections more natural and pure.
I am surprised. This was a slave-babe. Its mother was this lady's slave. I
am confused. This contradicts my previous information; it sets at
nought my ideas upon a subject which I believed I thoroughly
understood.
A little negro slave-babe, it seems, is dead, and its owner and mistress
is acting and speaking as Northerners do! Yes, as Northerners do even
when their own daughters' babes lie dead!

The letter must be a forgery. No; here it is before me, in the
handwriting of the lady, post-marked at the place of her residence. But
is it not, after all, a fiction? I can believe almost anything sooner than
that I am mistaken in the opinions and feelings which are contradicted
by this letter. In the spirit of Hume's argument against the miracles of
the Bible, I feel disposed, almost, to urge that it would be a greater
miracle that the course of nature at the South in a slave-holder's heart
should thus be set