Oh, I thought, the very cotton which fills this comforter, was cultivated by the hand of a slave.

And shall I complain at being nearly smothered by it, when I remember what an incubus slavery is to the poor creature who gathered this cotton, and what an incubus it is to our unhappy land?
I was delivered at last from my load, because my tormentors were tired of their sport.

Would that there were some prospect that they who load cruel burdens on the slave were increasingly tired of their work! They would not, however, let me rise.

So, thought I, when we have taken the burden of slavery off from the poor negro, unholy prejudice against color keeps him from rising to a level with the rest of the community.

I begged that I might get up.