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Apropos of the lamentable exhibitions of mob-violence, court-house burning, Sabbath desecration and election frauds presented by Cincinnati in the past few years, it may not be amiss to give a little exhibition of the spirit there manifested by the men of a past generation and see whence some of her present unenviable reputation comes. The city was well known to be intensely pro-slavery and to her came many a haughty Southron for purposes of business or pleasure, bringing with him more or less of his chattels as attendants. Among the comers of the summer of 1843, was a man named Scanlan, visiting his brother-in-law, one Hawkins. He brought with his family a pretty slave girl named Lavinia, some ten years old.

Before the party left New Orleans, the mother of the girl, a slave in that city, had given her the following admonitory instruction:—“Now ’Vinya, yer Massa’s gwine for ter take yer Norf, an’ wen yer gets to Sinsnate, chile, yer free, an’ he’ll sen’ some good anj’l for to hide yer un’er him wing; an’ if you doan go wid him, but kum back to dis Souf wid yer ol’ Massa, dis very han’ll take yer black skin right off yer back shuah. Mebbe wen yer safe in dat free lan’, yer ol’ muder’ll fin’ yer thar if the good Lor’ be willin’.” Then she placed around the neck of the girl a small gold chain which was to be continually worn, that if they ever chanced to meet in Canada, the mother might know her child.

Once in Cincinnati, Lavinia began looking carefully for some “good anj’l,” but instead, soon found two in the person of a colored man and his wife living near Mr. Hawkins’. To those she carefully committed her mother’s counsel and threat. These parties entered heartily into her proposition to escape, and one night dressed her in a suit of boy’s clothes and took her to the head of Spring street, near the foot of Sycamore Hill, and gave her in charge of Samuel Reynolds, a well-known Quaker, where she was successfully concealed for a number of days whilst Scanlan was raging about and as far as possible instituting a vigorous search.

Not far from Mr. Reynolds was the home of Edward Harwood in whose family resided John H. Coleman, a dealer in marble. The Harwoods and Colemans were ardent Abolitionists and ready to stand by any panting fugitive to the last. Mrs. Harwood’s house stood on a side hill with a steep grade in front, and the narrow yard was reached by a flight of some twenty steps, whilst the side and rear were easily accessible.

After a time Mrs. Harwood, who had become much interested in Lavinia, took her home, where she was carefully concealed during the day, but allowed a little exercise in the dusk of the evening in the front yard, which was so high above the street as to be unobservable.

One evening when the girl was thus engaged the great house dog, Swamp, which always accompanied her kept up such a growling and snarling, as induced the men to think there might be foul play brewing and they went out several times but could detect nothing. Finally one of them said, “That child had better come in; some one may be watching for her,” upon which Mrs. Coleman put her head out of the window and calling her by name, bade her come in, after which all was quiet for the night.

Dinner over the next day, the gentlemen had taken their departure down town, the ladies were busy about their work; an invalid gentleman was reclining in an easy chair and the girl had fallen asleep up-stairs, when a man suddenly appeared at the top of the flight of steps and very uncermoniously entered the front door which was open, and looking hurriedly around roughly demanded, “Where’s my child? I want my child, and if you don’t give her up there’ll be trouble.”

It needed no further evidence to convince the ladies it was Scanlan, an impression which had seized them both even before he had spoken, but then they were not the kind to be scared by his bluster, and Mrs. Coleman replied with spirit “You have no child here and if you were a gentleman you would not be here yourself.”

At this Scanlan turned upon her and whilst his fists were clinched and his face livid with rage, exclaimed, “I tell you she is here, my slave girl, Lavinia; I saw her last night myself; and if it had not been for you, madam, and that devilish dog there, I should have gotten her then. I had her nearly within my grasp when you bade her come in. I say where is my child? Give her up.”

“You have no child here,” coolly replied Mrs. Coleman again.

“I say I have, and if she hears me call she will answer me.” Saying which he went to the stairway and called “Lavinia, Lavinia.”

The child heard the voice, recognized it, and at once quietly hid herself within the bed. Though the call was repeated several times, no answer came, and Mrs. Coleman inquired, “Are you satisfied now?”

“I know my child is here, and you cursed Abolitionist have hidden her away,” said the now almost frantic Scanlan. “You need not think you are going to fool me. I’m going to have my child, my slave, my property. I shall go down town and get a warrant and an officer to search your house, and you’ll get no chance to run the girl away either, for I shall leave a guard over you whilst I am gone,” then stepping to the door he said, “Hawkins, come in here,” and the brother-in-law, before unseen by the inmates of the house, entered. “Now, Mr. Hawkins, I am going for a warrant, and I want you to see that my child does not get away till the officer comes,” saying which Scanlan took his departure and Hawkins a seat, though evidently very ill at ease.

When part way down town the Southron recognized Mr. Harwood coming up the hill in his buggy, and thinking to intimidate him said, “I am after my slave girl who is in your house. Your women refuse to give her up. You will find the place well guarded, and I will soon have a warrant to search the place.”

“I’ll make it hotter than tophet for any one guarding my house, and the man who comes about my premises with a search warrant until I am accused of murder or theft, does so at his peril,” was the warm reply, as Mr. Harwood started rapidly towards his home. Arriving there he thus addressed Mr. Hawkins: “I am told, sir, you are here to guard my house and family. We have need of no such attention, and if you do not immediately depart from our premises I shall pitch you headlong into the street. Be gone you miserable tool of a most miserable whelp.” Just then the cowed and crestfallen Hawkins made a practical application of his knowledge of Shakespeare, and “stood not upon his going.”

Remembering the great pro-slavery mob of 1836, when the office of James G. Birney’s paper, The Philanthropist, was destroyed, and that of 1841, when but for the prompt action of Governor Corwin in aiding the arming of the students, an attack would have been made upon Lane Seminary as a “d—d Abolition hole,” Scanlan hastened to the “Alhambra,” then a popular saloon, gathered about him a band of roughs and after a treat all round proceeded to harangue them regarding his loss and also his unavailing efforts to regain his chattel. Under the influence of his speech and the more potent one of an open bar, the crowd readily promised him their support, and arranged to be at the hill in the evening time to see the fun.

Meantime Mr. Harwood was apprising his friends of the state of affairs, and these were beginning to gather at his house. One of them, an employee of Mr. Coleman, as he came up the hill, found a number of flags already set to guide the mob to the Harwood residence. These were torn down. Before the arrival of Mr. Coleman a crowd of excited people had assembled in the street below the house. Seeing among them an officer notorious for his cupidity and in entire sympathy with the slave catchers, Mr. Coleman approached him and shaking hands said, “Why how do you do, Mr. O’Neil? I am told you have a search warrant for my house.”

“For your house?”

“Yes; here is where I live and I wish to know on what grounds you intend to search my house, as I am not aware of having laid myself liable to such a process.”

“There must be some mistake,” said the officer. “Indeed, Mr. Coleman, I must have been misinformed as to the merits of the case.”

“Let me see the paper,” persisted Mr. Coleman.

“No,” said O’Neil, “there is a blunder somewhere,” and he pushed his way, in a discomfited manner, through the crowd and disappeared.

As the crowd increased in the streets, the friends of Mr. Harwood arrived, until all the Abolitionists in the city, some forty in number, were present. Mr. Harwood stood on the front steps with Swamp, and when anyone evinced a purpose to ascend the steps the fine display of ivory in the dog’s mouth cooled his ardor. Mr. Coleman and Alf. Burnet, afterwards well known in anti-slavery circles, went to a Dutch armory and secured a quantity of arms and ammunition; the women took up the carpet in the parlor, which soon presented the appearance of a military bivouac, whilst papers and valuables were hurried off to other houses, and a strong guard was placed before the door. An application was made to the sheriff for protection, but he only replied, “If you make yourself obnoxious to your neighbors, you must suffer the consequences.”

Whilst Scanlan was making his inflammatory speeches down town, and subsidizing the saloons, Lavinia was redressing in her boy’s suit and was quietly taken out on a back street to a Mr. Emery’s, the crowd meanwhile crying, “Bring out the lousy huzzy; where is the black b——ch?” and other equally classic expressions. One blear-eyed ruffian exclaimed, “If my property was in thar, I’d have it or I’d have the d—d Abolitionist’s heart’s blood, I would.” Another one, equally valorous called out, “Go in boys; why don’t you go in?” and a score of voices responded, “Go in yourself. The nigger ain’t ourn. Where’s the boss? Guess he’s afraid of shootin’ irons,” a feeling that evidently pervaded the whole assemblage.

Being without a leader, and having no personal interest at stake, about dark the mob moved down the street, stoning and materially damaging the house of Alf. Burnett’s father as they passed by. The old gentleman gathered up a large quantity of the missiles and kept them on exhibition for several years as samples of pro-slavery arguments.

Scanlan vented his spleen and breathed out his threatenings through the city papers, but being unable to get any redress, and finding he was to be prosecuted for trespass, he hastily decamped for New Orleans.

After a week or two, Lavinia, dressed in her masculine suit went with some boys who were driving their cows to the hills to pasture, and was by them placed in the care of a conductor, by whom she was safely forwarded to Oberlin. Here she was found to have a fine mind, was befittingly educated, and ultimately sent as a missionary to Africa. After the lapse of several years she returned to this country, and whilst visiting the friends in Cincinnati, who had so kindly befriended her in the days of her childhood, suddenly sickened and died.