The Spring Is Already Here

The Drama Is The Looking-glass In Which We See The Hideousness Of Vice And The Beauties Of Virtue.

Politics Of All Sorts, I Confess, Are Far Beyond My Limited Powers Of Comprehension. Those Of This Country As Far As I Have Been Able To Observe, Resolve Themselves Into Two Great Motives. The Aristocratic Desire Of Elevation And Separation, And The Democratic Desire Of Demolishing And Levelling.

The Most Intense Curiosity And Excitement Prevailed, And Though The Weather Was Uncertain, Enormous Masses Of Densely Packed People Lined The Road, Shouting And Waving Hats And Handkerchiefs As We Flew By Them.

Yesterday Morning I Amused Myself With An Exercise Of A Talent I Once Possessed, But Have So Neglected That My Performance Might Almost Be Called An Experiment. I Cut Out A Dress For One Of The Women.

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.