Tough week. It's currently Good Friday as I write this.
It's strange, I think, how it was just a couple weeks ago that Donald Trump was being investigated for collusion with Russia. Now we learn that Russia has evicted American ambassador staff in retaliation for the United States evicting Russian ambassador staff, and Donald Trump is a hothead and doesn't know how to get along with other nations blah blah blah.
Also, last week, I visited my dad and he watched a lot of CNN and MSNBC. And on those two stations, literally every story was about Donald Trump, like "Uh duuh looks like Donald Trump is in even MOOOOORREE trouble, I can't believe this loser got elected, let's learn about his latest boner"
A lot of media stations haaaaaaate the President. Ah, well.
Oh, right. I talked the other week about Uncle Tom's Cabin. It helped to spread abolitionist feelings and ideas but it's not a great work of literature. Here's a sample from Chapter XIII:
At last, they were all seated at breakfast, while Mary stood at the stove, baking griddle-cakes, which, as they gained the true exact golden-brown tint of perfection, were transferred quite handily to the table.
Rachel never looked so truly and benignly happy as at the head of her table. There was so much motherliness and full-heartedness even in the way she passed a plate of cakes or poured a cup of coffee, that it seemed to put a spirit into the food and drink she offered.
It was the first time that ever George had sat down on equal terms at any white man’s table; and he sat down, at first, with some constraint and awkwardness; but they all exhaled and went off like fog, in the genial morning rays of this simple, overflowing kindness.
This, indeed, was a home,—home,—a word that George had never yet known a meaning for; and a belief in God, and trust in his providence, began to encircle his heart, as, with a golden cloud of protection and confidence, dark, misanthropic, pining atheistic doubts, and fierce despair, melted away before the light of a living Gospel, breathed in living faces, preached by a thousand unconscious acts of love and good will, which, like the cup of cold water given in the name of a disciple, shall never lose their reward.
“Father, what if thee should get found out again?” said Simeon second, as he buttered his cake.
“I should pay my fine,” said Simeon, quietly.
“But what if they put thee in prison?”
“Couldn’t thee and mother manage the farm?” said Simeon, smiling.
“Mother can do almost everything,” said the boy. “But isn’t it a shame to make such laws?”
“Thee mustn’t speak evil of thy rulers, Simeon,” said his father, gravely. “The Lord only gives us our worldly goods that we may do justice and mercy; if our rulers require a price of us for it, we must deliver it up.
“Well, I hate those old slaveholders!” said the boy, who felt as unchristian as became any modern reformer.
“I am surprised at thee, son,” said Simeon; “thy mother never taught thee so. I would do even the same for the slaveholder as for the slave, if the Lord brought him to my door in affliction.”
Simeon second blushed scarlet; but his mother only smiled, and said, “Simeon is my good boy; he will grow older, by and by, and then he will be like his father.”
“I hope, my good sir, that you are not exposed to any difficulty on our account,” said George, anxiously.
“Fear nothing, George, for therefore are we sent into the world. If we would not meet trouble for a good cause, we were not worthy of our name.”
Bleeeeuuuuuh. Got enough sentiment here? Is this mushy enough for you or would you like the author to further masticate her ideas about how slavery is bad and abolitionists are awesome?