“S’pose a man’s mind holds a quart, an’ a-woman’s don’t hold but a pint; ef her pint is full, it’s as good as his quart.”

Sojourner was fond of singing an extraordinary lyric, commencing,—­

  “I’m on my way to Canada,
    That cold, but happy land;
  The dire effects of Slavery
    I can no longer stand. 
      O righteous Father,
        Do look down on me
      And help me on to Canada,
        Where colored folks are free!”

The lyric ran on to state, that, when the fugitive crosses the Canada line,

  “The Queen comes down unto the shore,
    With arms extended wide,
  To welcome the poor fugitive
    Safe onto Freedom’s side.”

In the truth thus set forth she seemed to have the most simple faith.

But her chief delight was to talk of “glory,” and to sing hymns whose burden was,—­

  “O glory, glory, glory,
  Won’t you come along with me?”

and when left to herself, she would often hum these with great delight, nodding her head.

On one occasion, I remember her sitting at a window singing and fervently keeping time with her bead, the little black Puck of a grandson meanwhile, amusing himself with ornamenting her red-and-yellow turban with green dandelion-curls, which shook and trembled with her emotions, causing him perfect convulsions of delight.

“Sojourner,” said the Professor to her, one day, when he heard her singing, “you seem to be very sure about heaven.”

“Well, I be,” she answered, triumphantly.

“What makes you so sure there is any heaven?”

“Well, ‘cause I got such a hankerin’ arter it in here,” she said,—­giving a thump on her breast with her usual energy.

There was at the time an invalid in the house, and Sojourner, on learning it, felt a mission to go and comfort her.  It was curious to see the tall, gaunt, dusky figure stalk up to the bed with such an air of conscious authority, and take on herself the office of consoler with such a mixture of authority and tenderness.  She talked as from above,—­and at the same time, if a pillow needed changing or any office to be rendered, she did it with a strength and handiness that inspired trust.  One felt as if the dark, strange woman were quite able to take up the invalid in her bosom, and bear her as a lamb, both physically and spiritually.  There was both power and sweetness in that great warm soul and that vigorous frame.

At length, Sojourner, true to her name, departed.  She had her mission elsewhere.  Where now she is I know not; but she left deep memories behind her.

To these recollections of my own I will add one more anecdote, related by Wendell Phillips.