Letters of Lydia Maria Child, with a biographical introduction by John G. Whittier and an appendix by Wendell Phillips.

166 LETTERS.
utmostt. I still have forty dollars left of a fund I
have set apart for the " contrabands." I keep it for
future contingencies; but if you think it is more
needed now, say the word and you shall have it.
TO MISS LUCY SEARLE.
WAYLAND, 1862.
So you dispute Gerrit Smith's testimony about my
being " wise and candid "? I cannot say I have
much respect for my wisdom. I think less and less
of it every year I live. But when I write for the
public, I think I am generally candid. I do not profess to be so in my talk, because that bubbles up, and
I do not take time to examine its spirit. We all present different phases of character, according to circumstances, and I think I do so more than most
people. It is natural enough that Gerrit Smith
should deem me "wise." When I approach him, I
don't go dancing on a slack rope, decorated with
spangles and Psyche-wings; I walk on solid ground,
as demurely as if I were going to meeting, with
psalm book in hand. If I happen to catch a glimpse
of a fairy by the way, she and I wink at each other,
but I never "let on." He supposes the chosen
teachers of my mind to be profound statesmen and
pious Christian Fathers. I never introduce to him
any of my acquaintances of light character. I have
a consciousness that fairies are not the most respectable company for a woman of my venerable years
(I shall be sixty to-morrow), and it is only to a few
that I manifest my predilection for such volatile visitors. Dear Sarah Shaw likes to see fanciful dancing on moon-beams, and when I write to her I sometimes caracole in a fashion that would make good,