The Drama Is The Looking-glass In Which

What Shall I Do With All The Days And Hours That Must Be Counted Ere I See Thy Face? How Shall I Charm The Interval That Lowers Between This Time And That Sweet Time Of Grace?

Christmas Is A Season Of Such Infinite Labour, As Well As Expense In The Shopping And Present-making Line, That Almost Every Woman I Know Is Good For Nothing In Purse And Person For A Month Afterwards, Done Up Physically, And Broken Down Financially.

[on John Brown:] The Poor Wretch Is Hanged, But From His Grave A Root Of Bitterness Will Spring, The Fruit Of Which At No Distant Day May Be Disunion And Civil War.

The Southern Newspapers, With Their Advertisements Of Negro Sales And Personal Descriptions Of Fugitive Slaves, Supply Details Of Misery That It Would Be Difficult For Imagination To Exceed. Scorn, Derision, Insult, Menace - The Handcuff, The Last - The Tearing Away Of Children From Parents, Of Husbands From Wives - The Weary Trudging In Droves Along The Common Highways, The Labor Of Body, The Despair Of Mind, The Sickness Of Heart - These Are The Realities Which Belong To The System, And Form The Rule, Rather That The Exception, In The Slave's Experience.

Maids Must Be Wives, And Mothers, To Fulfil Th' Entire And Holiest End Of Woman's Being.