The author of this book is my highly-esteemed friend. If its
readers knew her as I know her, they could not fail to be deeply
interested in her story. She was a beloved inmate of our family
nearly the whole of the year 1849. She was introduced to us by
her affectionate and conscientious brother, who had previously
related to us some of the almost incredible events in his
sister's life. I immediately became much interested in Linda; for
her appearance was prepossessing, and her deportment indicated
remarkable delicacy of feeling and purity of thought.

As we became acquainted, she related to me, from time to time
some of the incidents in her bitter experiences as a slave-woman.
Though impelled by a natural craving for human sympathy, she
passed through a baptism of suffering, even in recounting her
trials to me, in private confidential conversations. The burden
of these memories lay heavily upon her spirit—naturally virtuous
and refined. I repeatedly urged her to consent to the publication
of her narrative; for I felt that it would arouse people to a
more earnest work for the disinthralment of millions still
remaining in that soul-crushing condition, which was so
unendurable to her. But her sensitive spirit shrank from
publicity. She said, "You know a woman can whisper her cruel
wrongs in the ear of a dear friend much easier than she can
record them for the world to read." Even in talking with me, she
wept so much, and seemed to suffer such mental agony, that I felt
her story was too sacred to be drawn from her by inquisitive
questions, and I left her free to tell as much, or as little, as
she chose. Still, I urged upon her the duty of publishing her
experience, for the sake of the good it might do; and, at last,
she undertook the task.

Having been a slave so large a portion of her life, she is
unlearned; she is obliged to earn her living by her own labor,
and she has worked untiringly to procure education for her
children; several times she has been obliged to leave her
employments, in order to fly from the man-hunters and
woman-hunters of our land; but she pressed through all these
obstacles and overcame them. After the labors of the day were
over, she traced secretly and wearily, by the midnight lamp, a
truthful record of her eventful life.

This Empire State is a shabby place of refuge for the oppressed;
but here, through anxiety, turmoil, and despair, the freedom of
Linda and her children was finally secured, by the exertions of a
generous friend. She was grateful for the boon; but the idea of
having been bought was always galling to a spirit that could
never acknowledge itself to be a chattel. She wrote to us thus,
soon after the event: "I thank you for your kind expressions in
regard to my freedom; but the freedom I had before the money was
paid was dearer to me. God gave me that freedom; but man put
God's image in the scales with the paltry sum of three hundred
dollars. I served for my liberty as faithfully as Jacob served
for Rachel. At the end, he had large possessions; but I was
robbed of my victory; I was obliged to resign my crown, to rid
myself of a tyrant."

Her story, as written by herself, cannot fail to interest the
reader. It is a sad illustration of the condition of this
country, which boasts of its civilization, while it sanctions
laws and customs which make the experiences of the present more
strange than any fictions of the past.

Amy Post. Rochester, N.Y., Oct. 30th, 1859.

This narrative contains some incidents so extraordinary, that,
doubtless, many persons, under whose eyes it may chance to fall,
will be ready to believe that it is colored highly, to serve a
special purpose. But, however it may be regarded by the
incredulous, I know that it is full of living truths. I have been
well acquainted with the author from my boyhood. The
circumstances recounted in her history are perfectly familiar to
me. I knew of her treatment from her master; of the imprisonment
of her children; of their sale and redemption; of her seven
years' concealment; and of her subsequent escape to the North. I
am now a resident of Boston, and am a living witness to the truth
of this interesting narrative.

George W. Lowther.