possible good that came to us from it; the contact with superior
civilization, the knowledge of the true God, the crude preparation for
citizenship, the mastery of some handicraft; yet, slavery had its side
of suffering and degradation. North and South rejoice that it is gone
forever, and yet, many of its evils cling to us, like the Old Man of the
Sea to Sinbad the sailor, and, like Banquo's ghost, they haunt us still.

As I stand here to-night, my mind is carried back to a plantation down
in "Old Virginia." It is the first day of January, 1864. Lincoln's
immortal proclamation is a year old, and yet I see an aunt of mine, the
unacknowledged offspring of her white master, being sent away from the
old homestead to be sold. The proud Anglo-Saxon blood in her veins will
assert itself as she resists with all the power of her being the
attempts of the overseer to ply lash to her fair skin, and for this she
must be sold "Way down Souf." I see her now as she comes down from the
"Great House," chained to twelve others, to be carried to Lumpkin's jail
in Richmond to be put upon the "block." She had been united to a slave
of her choice some two years before, and a little innocent babe had been
born to them. The husband, my mother with the babe in her arms, and
other slaves watch them from the "big gate" as they come down to the
road to go to their destination some twenty miles away. As she saw us,
great tears welled up in her big black eyes; not a word could she utter
as she looked her last sad farewell. She thought of one of the old
slave-songs we used to sing in the cabin prayer-meetings at night as we
turned up the pots and kettles, and filled them up with water to drown
the sound. Being blessed, as is true of most of my race, with a splendid
voice, she raised her eyes, and began to sing:

"Brethren, fare you well, brethren, fare you well,
May God Almighty bless you until we meet again."

Singing these touching lines she passed out of sight. More than forty
years have passed, and she and her loved ones have never met again,
unless they have met in the Morning land, where partings are no more.

For the sufferings we have endured, leaving their traces indelibly
stamped upon us, I claim your aid that we may have for our children this
blessed Gospel, the panacea for all human ills.

The Negro has elements in his nature that make him peculiarly
susceptible to religious training. He stands as a monument to
faithfulness t