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SLAVES 11
Into the quietude and peace of this little
sheltered, lovely place has come a horrid
messenger of pain. A little time ago a letter
reached me from the publisher who is now
issuing this book, begging that I would join
Mr. Willis in the production of it. The
publisher put before me the social duty, and
the flattering but inconvenient reminder that
the British public know me well and respect
me, and that thousands in this country love
me for some small service which it has been
my happy fortune to render to my fellowcreatures
who have been less happily placed
than I am. He said, " There is no one in
this country who could present these terrible
facts to the public as you could without
offending them without antagonising them ;
yet so truthfully and strongly that they would
want to do something to help" I replied that
I did not feel inclined to embark upon this
work. The subject with which he wished
me to deal is one that I have tried to
avoid, because what I know of it is so
terrible, and so agonising, and so far-reaching
that I have really felt impotent to
do anything. All that is sweet and clean
and lovely, all that is hopeful and tender
and gracious appeals to me, as it does to all
women who are natural. I had not hitherto
been able to see that it was my duty to
touch a horrible thing which I cannot kill
or eliminate; therefore, I refused to have
anything to do with this work.
But by some sjbrange fatality, or perhaps