Chapter: In the spring, sad news came to me. Mrs. Bruce was dead. Never again, in
this world, should I see her gentle face, or hear her sympathizing voice. I
had lost an excellent friend, and little Mary had lost a tender mother. Mr.
Bruce wished the child to visit some of her mother's relatives in England,
      and he was desirous that I should take charge of her. The little motherless
      one was accustomed to me, and attached to me, and I thought she would be
      happier in my care than in that of a stranger. I could also earn more in
      this way than I could by my needle. So I put Benny to a trade, and left
      Ellen to remain in the house with my friend and go to school.

      We sailed from New York, and arrived in Liverpool after a pleasant voyage
      of twelve days. We proceeded directly to London, and took lodgings at the
      Adelaide Hotel. The supper seemed to me less luxurious than those I had
      seen in American hotels; but my situation was indescribably more pleasant.
      For the first time in my life I was in a place where I was treated
      according to my deportment, without reference to my complexion. I felt as
      if a great millstone had been lifted from my breast. Ensconced in a
      pleasant room, with my dear little charge, I laid my head on my pillow, for
      the first time, with the delightful consciousness of pure, unadulterated
      freedom.

      As I had constant care of the child, I had little opportunity to see the
      wonders of that great city; but I watched the tide of life that flowed
      through the streets, and found it a strange contrast to the stagnation in
      our Southern towns. Mr. Bruce took his little daughter to spend some days
      with friends in Oxford Crescent, and of course it was necessary for me to
      accompany her. I had heard much of the systematic method of English
      education, and I was very desirous that my dear Mary should steer straight
      in the midst of so much propriety. I closely observed her little playmates
      and their nurses, being ready to take any lessons in the science of good
      management. The children were more rosy than American children, but I did
      not see that they differed materially in other respects. They were like all
      children--sometimes docile and sometimes wayward.

      We next went to Steventon, in Berkshire. It was a small town, said to be
      the poorest in the county. I saw men working in the fields for six
      shillings, and seven shillings, a week, and women for sixpence, and
      sevenpence, a day, out of which they boarded themselves. Of course they
      lived in the most primitive manner; it could not be otherwise, where a
      woman's wages for an entire day were not sufficient to buy a pound of meat.
      They paid very low rents, and their clothes were made of the cheapest
      fabrics, though much better than could have been procured in the United
      States for the same money. I had heard much about the oppression of the
      poor in Europe. The people I saw around me were, many of them, among the
      poorest poor. But when I visited them in their little thatched cottages, I
      felt that the condition of even the meanest and most ignorant among them
      was vastly superior to the condition of the most favored slaves in America.
      They labored hard; but they were not ordered out to toil while the stars
      were in the sky, and driven and slashed by an overseer, through heat and
      cold, till the stars shone out again. Their homes were very humble; but
      they were protected by law. No insolent patrols could come, in the dead of
      night, and flog them at their pleasure. The father, when he closed his
      cottage door, felt safe with his family around him. No master or overseer
      could come and take from him his wife, or his daughter. They must separate
      to earn their living; but the parents knew where their children were going,
      and could communicate with them by letters. The relations of husband and
      wife, parent and child, were too sacred for the richest noble in the land
      to violate with impunity. Much was being done to enlighten these poor
      people. Schools were established among them, and benevolent societies were
      active in efforts to ameliorate their condition. There was no law
      forbidding them to learn to read and write; and if they helped each other
      in spelling out the Bible, they were in no danger of thirty-nine lashes, as
      was the case with myself and poor, pious, old uncle Fred. I repeat that the
      most ignorant and the most destitute of these peasants was a thousand fold
      better off than the most pampered American slave.

      I do not deny that the poor are oppressed in Europe. I am not disposed to
      paint their condition so rose-colored as the Hon. Miss Murray paints the
      condition of the slaves in the United States. A small portion of _my_
      experience would enable her to read her own pages with anointed eyes. If
      she were to lay aside her title, and, instead of visiting among the
      fashionable, become domesticated, as a poor governess, on some plantation
      in Louisiana or Alabama, she would see and hear things that would make her
      tell quite a different story.

      My visit to England is a memorable event in my life, from the fact of my
      having there received strong religious impressions. The contemptuous manner
      in which the communion had been administered to colored people, in my
      native place; the church membership of Dr. Flint, and others like him; and
      the buying and selling of slaves, by professed ministers of the gospel, had
      given me a prejudice against the Episcopal church. The whole service seemed
      to me a mockery and a sham. But my home in Steventon was in the family of a
      clergyman, who was a true disciple of Jesus. The beauty of his daily life
      inspired me with faith in the genuineness of Christian professions. Grace
      entered my heart, and I knelt at the communion table, I trust, in true
      humility of soul.

      I remained abroad ten months, which was much longer than I had anticipated.
      During all that time, I never saw the slightest symptom of prejudice
      against color. Indeed, I entirely forgot it, till the time came for us to
      return to America.

 Mrs. Bruce dies. This is really sad for Linda, and a little nerve-wracking for us. What's Linda going to do now? Luckily, Mr. Bruce keeps her on as a nurse for little Mary. They all travel to England, so Mary can be with her relatives. Linda notices that the English poor are oppressed, but they're still better off than American slaves. They've got homes, access to education, and legal protection. Linda stays in England for ten months and never encounters racial prejudice.

