Jail or no jail, we are expecting to see you in Brooklyn 1 tomorrow noon, or on Saturday at farthest. . . . I suppose you have heard of the presentation of a stout gallows to me, at 23 Brighton Street, Boston, by order of Judge Lynch. It was destroyed by the city authorities.2 I regret that it was not preserved for our Anti-Slavery Museum. Thompson has presented a brickbat to it, but this would have been a more substantial curiosity. The slave States continue to be excessively agitated. They appear to have organized Vigilance Committees and Lynch Clubs in various places. The most daring propositions are made in the open face of heaven for the abduction of Arthur Tappan, George Thompson, and myself. Public and private appropriations of money, to a large amount, are made for our seizure. Our preservation is remarkable. I presume that our principal cities will be visited by assassins, legalized by the ‘State Rights’ Government to destroy us. It matters not. To the obedient, death is no calamity. If we perish, our loss will but hasten the destruction of slavery more certainly. My mind is full of peace—I know what it is to rejoice in tribulation. The two rival political parties, Whigs and Jacksonians or Van Buren men, are striving to see who will show the most
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