Eliza Murray and I had classes of colored children in the Sunday school.  On one occasion, when there was to be a festival, speaking in the church, a procession through the streets, and other public performances for the Sunday-school celebration, some narrow-minded bigots objected to the colored children taking part.  They approached Miss Murray and me with most persuasive tones on the wisdom of not allowing them to march in the procession to the church.  We said, “Oh, no!  It won’t do to disappoint the children.  They are all dressed, with their badges on, and looking forward with great pleasure to the festivities of the day.  Besides, we would not cater to any of these contemptible prejudices against color.”  We were all assembled in the courthouse preparatory to forming in the line of march.  Some were determined to drive the colored children home, but Miss Murray and I, like two defiant hens, kept our little brood close behind us, determined to conquer or perish in the struggle.  At last milder counsels prevailed, and it was agreed that they might march in the rear.  We made no objection and fell into line, but, when we reached the church door, it was promptly closed as the last white child went in.  We tried two other doors, but all were guarded.  We shed tears of vexation and pity for the poor children, and, when they asked us the reason why they could not go in, we were embarrassed and mortified with the explanation we were forced to give.  However, I invited them to my father’s house, where Miss Murray and I gave them refreshments and entertained them for the rest of the day.

The puzzling questions of theology and poverty that had occupied so much of my thoughts, now gave place to the practical one, “what to do with a baby.”  Though motherhood is the most important of all the professions,—­requiring more knowledge than any other department in human affairs,—­yet there is not sufficient attention given to the preparation for this office.  If we buy a plant of a horticulturist we ask him many questions as to its needs, whether it thrives best in sunshine or in shade, whether it needs much or little water, what degrees of heat or cold; but when we hold in our arms for the first time, a being of infinite possibilities, in whose wisdom may rest the destiny of a nation, we take it for granted that the laws governing its life, health, and happiness are intuitively understood, that there is nothing new to be learned in regard to it.  Yet here is a science to which philosophers have, as yet, given but little attention.  An important fact has only been discovered and acted upon within the last ten years, that children come into the world tired, and not hungry, exhausted with the perilous journey.  Instead of being thoroughly bathed and dressed, and kept on the rack while the nurse makes a prolonged toilet and feeds it some nostrum supposed to have much needed medicinal influence, the child’s face, eyes, and mouth should be hastily washed with warm