The Drama Is The Looking-glass In Which

Though The Negroes Are Fed, Clothed, And Housed, And Though The Irish Peasant Is Starved, Naked, And Roofless, The Bare Name Of Freemen-the Lordship Over His Own Person, The Power To Choose And Will-are Blessings Beyond Food, Raiment, Or Shelter; Possessing Which, The Want Of Every Comfort Of Life Is Yet More Tolerable Than Their Fullest Enjoyment Without Them.

I Never Desire To Know Anything Of The Detail Of Political Measures, Lest Even Those Which I Think Best Should Lose Anything Of Their Intrinsic Value To Me, By Seeing What Low, Paltry, Personal Motives And Base Machinery And Dirty Hands Have Helped To Bring Them About.

In The North We Could Not Hope To Keep The Worst And Poorest Servant For A Single Day In The Wretched Discomfort In Which Our Negro Servants Are Forced Habitually To Live.

The Whole Gamut Of Good And Evil Is In Every Human Being, Certain Notes, From Stronger Original Quality Or Most Frequent Use, Appearing To Form The Whole Character; But They Are Only The Tones Most Often Heard. The Whole Scale Is In Every Soul, And The Notes Most Seldom Heard Will On Rare Occasions Make Themselves Audible.

Better Trust All, And Be Deceived, And Weep That Trust And That Deceiving, Than Doubt One Heart, That If Believed Had Blessed One's Life With True Believing.