Southern women often marry a man knowing that he is the father of many little slaves. They do not trouble themselves about it.

But to the slave mother New Year's day comes laden with peculiar sorrows. She sits on her cold cabin floor, watching the children who may all be torn from her the next morning and often does she wish that she and they might die before the day dawns.

When I was six years old, my mother died; and then, for the first time, I learned, by the talk around me, that I was a slave.

When my babe was born, they said it was premature. It weighed only four pounds; but God let it live.

For years, my master had done his utmost to pollute my mind with foul images, and to destroy the pure principles inculcated by my grandmother, and the good mistress of my childhood

My master had power and law on his side; I had a determined will. There is might in each.

When I was nearly twelve years old, my kind mistress sickened and died.