The Degradation, The Wrongs, The Vices, That

There Must Be Sophistry In All This; But The Condition Of A Slave Confuses All Principles Of Morality, And, In Fact, Renders The Practice Of Them Impossible.

When I Was Six Years Old, My Mother Died; And Then, For The First Time, I Learned, By The Talk Around Me, That I Was A Slave.

The Slave Child Had No Thought For The Morrow; But There Came That Blight, Which Too Surely Waits On Every Human Being Born To Be A Chattel.

My Master Had Power And Law On His Side; I Had A Determined Will. There Is Might In Each.

For Years, My Master Had Done His Utmost To Pollute My Mind With Foul Images, And To Destroy The Pure Principles Inculcated By My Grandmother, And The Good Mistress Of My Childhood