This was rather a damper to me. I thought his position was rather absurd, but how to move him or my boards seemed just then beyond my control.
A happy thought, however, occurred to me. Thought I, if this Yankee wants to retain my furniture, the world shall know who it belongs to. I accordingly hired a painter to paint in good large white letters on the tops of my boards: "This is the product of the industry of a fugitive slave from the United States, whose residence is Dawn, Canada." This was done early in the morning. In due time the American superintendent came around, and found me at my post. The gaze of astonishment with which he read my inscription, was laughable to witness. His face was black as a thunder-cloud. "Look here, Sir," said he; "What, under heaven, have you got up there?"—" O, that is only a little information to let the people know who I am."—"But don't you know better than that. Do you suppose I am going to have that insult up there?" The English
