In the spirit of Hume's argument against the miracles of the Bible, I feel disposed, almost, to urge that it would be a greater miracle that the course of nature at the South in a slave-holder's heart should thus be set aside than that there should not be, in some way, deception about this letter.

But still, here is the letter; and it is written to her father, whom she could not deceive, whom she had no motive, no wish, to delude.

Had it been written to a Northerner, I could have surmised that she was attempting to make false impressions about slavery, and its influence on the slave-holder.

Why should she tell her father this simple tale, unless real affection for the babe and its mother were impelling her?
This tries my faith.

It is like an undesigned coincidence in holy writ, which used so to stagger my unbelief.