In a few moments she said, "I would give the world if I could have a conversation with that Southern lady." "I fear," said I, "that it would have a deleterious effect on your attachment to the principles of liberty." "Liberty!" said she.

"Oh, how foolish I have been! I see now that there is another side to that question." "I hope, my dear," said I, "that you will say and do nothing to occasion any reproach.

Certainly, there are two sides to every question.

If you manifest any surprise at finding that there is another side to the Liberty question, I fear that some will quote to you the fable of the mouse who was born in a meal-chest." "I never heard of it," said she.
"Why," said I, "the mouse one day stole up to the edge of the chest, when the cover had been left open, and, looking round on the barn-chamber, she said, 'Dear me, I had no idea that the world was half so large.'" "The cover has been down and the meal has been in my eyes long enough," said she.

"I have been so much accustomed for a long time to read in our papers about 'enormous wrong,' 'stupendous injustice,' 'the slave-breeders,' 'sum of all villanies,' that, unconsciously, I have come to think of the South, indiscriminately, as though they were Robin Hood's men, or"-- "O my dear," said I, "you must have known that there are many good people at the South, notwithstanding slavery." "How can there be one good man or woman there," said she, "if all that those newspapers say of slave-holding be true?
Husband, depend upon it we have been believing a great lie.