After attending the colored Sabbath-school in -- --, and teaching a class of nicely-dressed, bright little "slave" girls, and hearing the school sing their beautiful songs, with melodious voices, such as, I can truly say, I never heard surpassed at the North, and after looking upon the teachers, who represented the very flower of Southern society, the superintendent being a man who would adorn any station, you cannot fully conceive with what feelings I read, in one of Hattie's little papers from the North, these lines, set to music for the use of Northern children: "I dwell where the sun shines gayly and bright, Where flowers of rich beauty are ever in sight; Here blooms the magnolia, here orange-trees wave; But oh, not for _me_,--I'm a poor little slave.
"They say 'Sunny South' is the name of my home; 'Tis here that your robins and blue-birds are come, While snows cover nests up, and angry winds rave; _They_ may rest here,--not _I_; _I'm_ a poor little slave.
"Here beautiful mothers, 'mid splendors untold.
Their fairy-like babes to their fond bosoms fold; My mammy's worked out, and lies here in the grave; There's none to kiss _me_,--I'm a poor little slave.
"I've heard mistress telling her sweet little son, What Jesus, the loving, for children has done; Perhaps little black ones he also will save; I ask him to take _me_, a poor little slave!" No wonder, Gustavus, that you write such letters as your last, fed and nourished as you are on such things as this.

I took it with me that evening to a missionary party at the house of Judge ----.

I read the lines.

The ladies said nothing for a time, till at last one said to me, "Such things have helped us in seceding." The Judge took the lines, looked them over, and, smiling, handed them back to me, saying, "Madam, is Massachusetts a dark place ?" "Yes," said a young gentleman, "and the dark places of the earth are full of the habitations of cruelty." "Oh," said I, "how prejudiced you all are!" Whereupon they all laughed.

"Now," said I, "you think, no doubt, that the author of such a piece is malign.
I know nothing of its origin, but I venture to say it was written by one whose heart overflows with love to everybody, but who is 'laboring under a delusion.'" I did not tell them of the "delusion" which you were "under," in the Senior's room, but I said, "I have a nephew in a New England college who has the Northern evil very badly.