Hence, the good lady whom I boarded with the most of the time in this country, would not use wine in her cooking, even at the risk of spoiling things for an American mouth. Our friend, the young native convert, said he would come to America, as he was outcasted and had no parents living, and no new sacrifice to make. He wrote a beautiful letter to the Secretary of the American Unitarian Association. He was older than I, and had a considerable knowledge of English literature and life, having been a great deal with the missionaries. In his character there is a mixture of childlike simplicity with matured experience; he is a good-hearted young man. I rejoiced at his earnestness, and hoped some one would join him in the undertaking. He was speaking of his intended visit to the United States to a deistical gentleman who is a great English scholar, the head teacher of a government school, and well informed about European, but less so, as it appeared, about American communities. My friend heard him say that the Americans are a rough people, that most of them are wild, and walk about with bowie-knives, pistols, and other deadly weapons,--that their government tramples upon the rights and lives of millions whom it holds in absolute bondage; and, what is more wicked, that if a man should dare to speak a word against this unjust, inhuman, and wicked institution, he would be insulted by the community, tried and imprisoned, or hung by the law.[34] At this time I saw a book called Uncle Tom’s Cabin, in the parlor of a rich native merchant in Calcutta. Not knowing the nature and contents of the book, I opened it and read the letter which a negro woman wrote to her mistress before her flight with her child towards Canada,--the Egypt of the slaves. I read of the pursuit of the master,--her crossing the river Ohio, the hospitality of the Quaker, etc. I, of course, took the story as fictitious,--something like the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, for I _could_ not believe that a man could buy or sell a human being, whatever might be his color, intelligence, or position. My friends told me that this book gives a true sketch of American Slavery. I would not at first believe it, and, calling up all my good feelings towards the American people, came to the following decision. Slavery might be existing in America,--it is a large country, and perhaps among the aborigines, who are wild savages, this system is prevalent. I hoped, also, to hear that the people of the United States are diligently engaged in driving away the men-sellers. Sad logic! I saw the picture of the _master_,--a white man, with coat, hat, and watch-guard. Even then I could not persuade myself to believe that this man was a citizen of the United States. I thought it was not necessary to believe that all the white people are good,--these man, woman, and baby-sellers are heartless ruffians, whom the laws of the Christian United States cannot always reach. No! I was mistaken still!