ng in the Negroes' mode of worship that seemed to fascinate him,
especially the saints of color who worshipped in old Ebenezer Church, in
South Seventh street. When that most eloquent of pulpit orators, the
Rev. William H. Banks, led his hosts to Cape Fear River's brink, and
drew three-fourths of the worshippers of other denominations with them,
George Howe would be there, yea, marching with the converts themselves,
joining as lustily as they in the singing of that familiar old marching
song:

"I'm er goin' up ter join in the army of the Lord,
I'm er goin' up ter join in the army."

Upon the river's bank he'd stand and drink in every word that flowed
from the mouth of that great divine. No Negro woman or man could lisp
the name of "Brother Banks" with sweeter accent than George Howe, and no
one could sing his praises more earnestly. Who can forget those early
days of revivals and religious enthusiasm in Wilmington, and the three
great divines who filled the three great pulpits from which the bread of
life was given to hungry multitudes. There was Lavender in "Christian
Chapel," Slubie in St. Stephen, and, more powerful and influential than
either of these, was William H. Banks, the pastor of Ebenezer Baptist
Church. Even years after Slubie and Lavender had been called to other
fields, it was George Howe's delight to stand upon the street corner
opposite the residence of the Rev. Banks and sing the parody to that
famous old song that electrified and filled with the spirit the revival
meetings of the early seventies:

"Brother Lavender's got some liars,
Brother Slubie's got some, too;
Jus' carry 'em down to Cape Fear River,
An' Banks'll put 'em through."

Chorus: "Git on board, children," etc.

These great men are gone into the spirit world, but George Howe still
lives. Banks was the last to go, and when that coffined clay was being
borne from old Ebenezer, where for sixteen years he had labored, George
Howe was one of that multitude of bleeding hearts who followed his
precious bones to the burying ground. He stood and looked on until the
last spadeful of earth was thrown upon the coffin and the mound shaped
above it. After the death of the Rev. Banks George Howe became very much
attached to his eldest daughter, Mary Elizabeth, and he could often be
seen leisurely strolling down Seventh street in the direction of Banks'
residence, playing his jewsharp and singing the praises of "Sist