I cannot write the details. It chills my
blood to think of them. The various letters published in this narrative
will suffice to give the reader some idea of things as they were; while
the hundreds of things which cannot be written and which, because of
their littleness are the more faithful exponents of meanness, must be
left to the reader to imagine as best he can. I say as best he can,
since no Englishman can imagine the thing precisely as it was.
She was reviled, upbraided, ridiculed, tormented; and by some, efforts
were made to bribe her into the selling of her conscience. What the
vilest and most vulgar prejudices could suggest were hurled at both our
devoted heads. Letters were not permitted to be received or sent without
their being first inspected by the parents. And finally she was
imprisoned after the manner set forth in the letter of Mr. Porter. So
rigid was the surveillance that her sister was also put under the same
"regimen," because her sympathies were with the persecuted and not the
persecutors.
When we met, therefore, we were not long in determining what was our
duty. And now, Reader, what would you have done? Just what we did--no
doubt. Made up your mind to have sacrificed nothing upon the altar of a
vulgar prejudice. Such was the nature of the demand--would it not have
been base to have yielded?
We concluded that now, more than ever, we would obey our heart's
convictions, though all the world should oppose us; that, come what
would, we would stand by each other, looking to Heaven to bless us, and
not to man, for either smiles or favor.
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