LETTER FROM A KANZAS EMIGRANT.

[We esteem it a privilege to call the writer of
the following letter our friend and brother; and
we are sure that he will not, though a white
man, disown the relationship. He is one of the
truest and most active friends of liberty in the
State of New York, and has, doubtless, been
moved to leave the ease and refinement of the
East, by a sense of patriotic and Christian duty.
We hope to have other letters from our friend
Schuyler, when he shall have arrived on the
spot, and has observed the chances for freedom
in that far off section.—ED.]

Missouri River, on board Steamer
Kate Cassel, May 7, 1855.

MY VERY DEAR FRIEND:—If the young lady,
bearing the above name, is as worthy as this
boat is beautiful, she will be a prize for some
young gentleman, as she is the daughter of a
wealthy merchant of Janesville, Ohio, with oth
er possessions aside of merit. Notwithstanding
the worthiness of the boat, the passage is a
tedious one. We can make but about 3 1/2
miles an hour. The river is unusually low, and
but few boats can get up, of which this is one.
This is a great draw-back upon the Kanzas em
igration. Sickness and death await many. This
deck passage up this river, is as fatal as the
Midae one from Africa. Its loathesomeness
and horror are frightful. Would that our Kan
zas friends could be persuaded from it, certain
ly through the hot season. The boast is about
half less—say five dollars, and for this money
exchange their lives.

This is the third day out from St. Louis, and
we have already buried three from that Gol
gotha. The last, a lady of fifty, who was taken
from another boat that had been on the way
for a week. For the want of a minister, I had
to officiate. We tied up to the bank, and dug
a decent grave, where we deposited the rough
box containing the corpse. I said to the sym
pathizing attendants, that this was the closing
scene of the voyage of life. One was a child
two years old, buried in the night. The other
partook of a commercial house transaction,
more than a solemn rite. The sorrow was that
of dollars, and the burial was such as we afford
to a favorite house-dog of value. This was one
of those pieces of property peculiar to certain
districts, about two years old, and valued at
two hundred dollars—a slave! The owner says
he has ten or a dozen on board, going to one of
the western counties of this State.

Every look I get of this "patriarchial" insti
tution, hardens my heart against it; and I trust
I may be favored with the opportunity of di
rectly voting against it, at a loss even of two
thousand miles travel. As I love and
truth, I shall esteem it a privilege at this cost.

I have not great faith in the Kanzas emigra
tion; it is too verdant—I fear pusillanimous.—
Men start without counting the cost, young and
unfixed. This is seen and understood by our
opponents—hence, much of their bullying and
bluster. "," says a slaveholder to me, "." That may be, sir, I replied;
but understand, that mixed with that material,
you will find much of true grit. Men will be
found there with the true element. They go
counting the lost, their houses and their farms,
and sacred rights are to be protected, and they
will do it at the peril of life; and your "revol
ver" will not keep them off any more than Brit
ish rifles drove our fathers from their purpose of
resistance to wrong.

I hope you will not reject all my offerings, as
many will like to hear from me through your
paper.

Very truly yours,

PHILIP C. SCHUYLER.