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.