The time was when every person holding an office under the general government was supposed to be in sympathy with the slave power and ready to obey its behests, an idea somewhat erroneous. It was under such impressions that two strangers rode up to the post-office in the village of Attica and inquired for the postmaster. On that functionary’s presenting himself they inquired if he knew anything of a slave woman, nearly white, with her little girl, being in the neighborhood, as such persons had recently escaped from the vicinity of Washington, and were believed by them to be in the immediate vicinity. The postmaster invited them to alight and come inside, which being complied with, he said, “Gentlemen, the persons you seek are within a half mile of you, but though I might under some circumstances be willing to assist you, my advice is, let them alone. Every man, woman and child in the town is ready to protect them. You can not raise men enough in this county to secure their apprehension. I see by the commotion in the street the people are apprehensive of mischief. Such a thing as an abduction has never been attempted here, and if you are wise you will not attempt one now. Indeed I would not like to guarantee your limbs or life fifteen minutes longer.” Beholding the commotion, the would-be kidnappers quickly mounted their horses and rode silently out of town, no demonstration being made by the multitude until the meddlers reached the bridge, when cheer on cheer arose, causing them to put spurs to their horses and get quickly out of sight, notwithstanding their threats to secure their prey, a thing they never attempted. Statie died within two years after her escape; Col. Shepard long kept the box in which she was brought off as the only “through car” he had ever seen; Lila is still a resident of the Empire State, whilst Mr. Barbour, having disposed of his real estate sought a clime more congenial to his sense of justice and humanity. CHAPTER IX. GEORGE GRAY. I. “My deah chile, ’tis too bad.” “Too bad, mother! I tell you I’s agoin’ to run away. Ole Massa can’t whip dis chile no moah. I’d rather be shot or hab the dogs tear me to pieces.” “Hush, chile, hush! you’ll break your ole mudder’s heart, ’cause it’s a’most done gone smashed afore, an’ now she knows you can neber, neber, get across the big river an’ de great lake. I tell yer, chile, you better stay wid ole mas’r if em do whip.” “Mother, my mine is made up. Massa Jones hab whipped George Gray for de las time. I hate to leave you, mother, but then I’s agoin’. Some day de Massa’ll sell me as he did father an’ de res’ of us down South, an’ then you shall see George no moah, an’ I’d hab no blessed chance for ’scape, so now I’s goin’ for freedom or I’s goin’ to die. I say ole massa can’t whip me no moah.” “De will ob de Lor’ be done, chile; but how is you agoin’ to do it?”