Francis Jackson Garrison, William Lloyd Garrison, 1805-1879; the story of his life told by his children: volume 2

‘ [47] send a line to my anxious wife by to-night's mail.’ Just at¹ that moment, Henry and friend Burleigh burst into the room,² and then Mrs. Grew, Miss Sullivan, and Miss Parker. What a collection of raving fanatics and dangerous incendiaries! A happy meeting this!

I have left them all below, for a few moments, to scribble these few imperfect and scarcely legible lines, which Henry will take to the post-office immediately.

Now, my dear wife, disburden your mind of uneasiness as much as possible, on my account. Be assured I will not needlessly run into danger, but shall use all proper precaution for my safety. I feel excellently well, both in body and mind. All the dear ladies, with Henry, Thompson, and Burleigh, send the best remembrances to you. Mr. Knapp I have not yet seen, but shall probably see him this evening. Do not yet know where I shall sleep to-night—probably here or at bro. Fuller's.

W. L. Garrison to his wife.

23 Brighton Street, Boston,³ November 7, 1835.

You perceive that I write in the house that we fondly expected to call our home, in which we have spent so many happy hours, but which can be our home no longer. Everything looks, if possible, more than natural—at least seems dearer to me than ever. The carpets—tables—chairs—sofa—looking-glasses, &c., &c., seem almost to have found a tongue, to welcome my return, and to congratulate me upon my escape out of the jaws of the lion. The clock ticks an emphatical and sonorous welcome. As for puss, she finds it a difficult matter, with all her purring and playing, to express her joy. Then, to pass to the reception which I receive at the hands of my friends: it is so kind, and sympathetic, and joyful, that one might almost covet to be mobbed, to obtain such a return. One anonymous individual has made me a present of forty-five dollars,⁴ which comes most seasonably.

I wrote to you on the evening of my arrival, at the house of my esteemed friend Southwick. That night I slept at home, in