Never shall I forget the emotions which arose in my2 bosom, on bidding you farewell at the close of my visit in March last. Your house was then thronged with colored pupils from Miss Crandall's school, who were summoned as witnesses at Mr. Olney's3 trial, and who had no other place in Brooklyn “where to lay their heads” than your hospitable dwelling. They were kindly received by you all; and although in number sufficient to overwhelm a quiet family like yours, yet your dear wife and daughters were as composed as if not one of them had been present. Some families, under such circumstances, would have been thrown into utter confusion— and bustle, bustle, nothing but bustle, and running to and fro, would have been the consequence. I was forcibly struck by the quietude of spirit manifested by you all, and by that domestic order which reigned paramount; but more especially by that benevolent condescension which is as rare as it is godlike, and that disinterested philanthropy which led you cheerfully to entertain and accommodate so many of those who are generally treated in society as the offscouring of the earth. In riding to Providence, my thoughts constantly reverted back to the scene which I had just left, and my heart grew liquid as water. “Heavenly father,” I inwardly ejaculated, “let thy choicest blessings fall upon the head of that very dear and venerable philanthropist, and upon his dear wife, and all their children, for thus compassionating the condition of an injured and helpless race.”
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