When I think of what she might be, of what she will be, I feel like grasping time till opinions change, and thousands like her rise into a noble freedom.

I have seen Frado's grief, because she is black, amount to agony.

It makes me sick to recall these scenes.

Mother pretends to think she don't know enough to sorrow for anything; but if she could see her as I have, when she supposed herself entirely alone, except her little dog Fido, lamenting her loneliness and complexion, I think, if she is not past feeling, she would retract.

In the summer I was walking near the barn, and as I stood I heard sobs.