These boats looked large to me. They were the first I ever saw. I went on one of them, a sailing craft, to Baltimore when about seven years of age. Baltimore was the first city I ever saw. Our goodly ship (?) dropped anchor in the busy Patapsico river, amid scores and scores of steam and sailing crafts, river boats, coast wise and ocean steamers, and ships and brigs, and tugs. What a sight to a pair of young country eyes! Three score years, as full as they have been of travel and sight seeing, have not been sufficient to obliterate the scenes of the Patapsico harbor, nor to wipe out the impression made, upon my first visit there.

My mother took me there. A wonderful mother! Great men are not the only men who have great mothers. Some obscure men who have not been much more known in the world's great movements, than a match that starts a blaze and immediately perishes, have also had great mothers.

The light of John the Baptist was cruelly blown out before he saw the fruit of his labor; but, the Kingdom he proclaimed is still marching on. St. Luke tells us about his mother.

We know about the mother of Moses, and Timothy and Samuel, and John Wesley and others; but, there are unknown mothers whose sons, breathing their spirit, inheriting their nobility of soul, and becoming the heirs and beneficiaries of their faith and prayers, have helped to make up “the salt of the earth,” both upon the mountain top of fame, and in the vale of obscurity.

There were seven of us children, four boys and three girls. The most of us were born “on the hill” in Frederick Town.

Abraham Lincoln gave character to the log cabin. When ex-Vice President Fairbanks died—June, 1918, the Press referred to him as “the last of the famous Log Cabin Statesmen.”

Since America's most famous could come from log cabins, it has become popular to refer to these primitive dwelling places of earth's lowly, as a birth place. All the same, this is not the way of the world's desire, preferably.

We speak of a mother's love, but mothers have instinct also. Perhaps it is inspired vision.

What is it that could make a mother persist in clandestinely having her child taught to read and write when there was no visible prospect whatever of it ever being of service to him; and, besides, when, it being in violation of the law, it could only be done at a peril.

My maternal grandmother was free born, while her husband, Perry Lilly, was a slave. Alas! a slave! A slave in a country whose citizenship was made up of those who fled from oppression, and fought, and bled, and died for liberty!

Children took the condition of their mother. This was the surest way to perpetuate slavery where the masters were so plentifully the fathers. For this reason many a slave man married a free woman, that his children might be free.

Many slave men, veritable heroes, purchased their freedom by working by day for their masters, and by night for themselves; hiring their time, etc.

Many a free man married a slave woman because he loved her, and purchased her and her children.

My grandmother being free, the Lilly children were free born, and John Coppin, also free born, married Jane, one of the Lilly girls.

There was a large family of them; all girls but one. They got the reputation of being the best girls in the neighborhood, and my Aunt Clara told me that they called themselves “the Shoestring Breed.”

The girls all married free men, and grandfather, Perry Lilly, was “set free” before the Emancipation, on account of meritorious service. But he was about through serving by that time anyway.

His wife Amelia, had passed away, and he had a few years left to enjoy life with his children and grandchildren. I remember the visit he made to our home. I do not remember my grandmother.

The parentage of my father is not so easily traced. I do not, even now, see many Coppins in the directories and 'phone books.

In a visit to Covington, Kentucky, when Editor of the A. M. E. Review, I saw on a sign over a large store: “John Coppin.” That was my father's name. I had never seen or heard of it outside of the family. I immediately went in and asked for “Mr. Coppin,” and purchased a souvenir from the store.

In a rather lengthy conversation with him, for we became interested in each other, on account of the name, he gave me some facts about the history of the name. He said it was of German origin, and was primarily Coppenger. Coming to England the “ger” was dropped. Coming to America the “en” was changed to “in,” or “pen” to “pin,” thus Coppin.

As soon as he told me that, I began to account for the friendship, peculiar friendship that existed between our family and the only Coppins I ever knew outside of our family. James Coppin, a white man, was a bachelor, with one sister, Araminta. She married Robert Price. I think now that she and her brother Jim knew more about the origin of our father than they ever told us.

“Miss Minty,” as we children called her, would think nothing of taking us into her home and seating us at her table. This was contrary to the unwritten law of Maryland.

Well, if we are of German origin, this is not the most auspicious time to look it up, while the Kaiser is in such disfavor.

When I became old enough to really appreciate the greatness of my mother, who despite my lowly birth, planned for my future, on blind faith, I went to the site of the homestead to get a souvenir, from one of the logs of the house in which I was born. A new house stood on the spot. “Aunt Caroline” went behind the house in search of a log that might still remain, but, was doomed to disappointment.

However, that is the spot. The pear tree has long since ceased to exist. The old well, as dear to us as was Jacob's well, to his posterity, is filled up, but a sunken place in the ground, a few paces from what was the northwest corner of the dear old house, tells the story.

My mother always referred to me as her “Christmas gift.” I was born between sundown, December 24th and daybreak, December 25th.

We had no clock in the house, and the people in those days did not go to bed at all on “Christmas Eve Night,” and it may have been after midnight when I came. But the record in the old family Bible says:

“Levi Jenkins Coppin, born December 24th, 1848.” The “Christmas gift” idea is all right, for Santa Claus is always credited with coming at night and not in the morning.

No one can ever know exactly just what a mother is thinking about her children, or why she does this thing or that.

The sentiment that clustered about the time of my birth enabled mother to observe the day with a “birthday dinner” without seeming to show partiality. Neither did any of the other children ever show the least dissatisfaction because the “fatted calf” was killed only once a year.

I discovered early in life that I was always the one called up when company came to “speak a piece,” and to tell what day of the month it was; and later on to get down the Farmers' Almanac, and tell about the “full and changes of the moon.” Tell about the man standing there with “Pharaoh's plagues” all around him, punching him; and to read, to the admiration of the listening hosts, “conjectures of the weather.” With an eloquence that held all spellbound, I would cry out, “first and second, clear; third and fourth, cloudy; fifth and sixth, variable; seventh and eighth, showers, etc.”

Grandmother Lilly discovered an aptness about Jane, that the other children did not possess, and slipped her off to Baltimore.

Baltimore being in the State of Maryland, “free Negroes” from other parts of the State might go and come freely, so long as there was no suspicion of an ulterior motive.

If such a person was suspected of whispering to the slaves, or, clandestinely conveying passes, an accusation was equivalent to conviction, and for such a crime the offender could be sold to the highest bidder outside of the State and henceforth made a slave.

It is no wonder that so few would undertake to “run the blockade.” Runaway slaves, if captured, were entirely at the mercy of the master. The other slaves were made to form a cordon, while the culprit, in the midst, received such punishment as was thought best to terrify the other slaves.

Sometimes it would be a terrible castigation from the overseer. Sometimes the wife, or husband, or child of the victim would be selected to apply the punishment.

I heard of a case once, where the victim was cut up piece by piece and fed to the bloodhounds. And so it required a great deal of courage for a slave to run away, or, for a “free nigger” to be caught learning to read and write, for he would be accused of preparing to write passes for slaves in the name of their masters.

Amelia Lilly was willing to take so great a risk as this with her most likely child, and so, Jane was sent to Baltimore, ostensibly to live with her aunt, Lucy Harding, but, in fact, it was that her Aunt Lucy might find some one who would teach her to read and write; and so she did.

When mother came home on a visit one time, father, a man of taste and good judgment soon discovered that she was above the mark set by the custom of the place, and so, was bold and daring enough to seek her heart and hand, and not in vain.

What gave him an idea that he was worthy of the foremost young woman in Cecil County, so granted by common consent, no one knows.

Why not be wooed and won by a Baltimore lad, who could boast at least of having “city ways,” a thing quite unknown to a “country clodhopper.” Well, it is hard to tell just how far presumptuousness will go when once started. It may even be inherited.

Father had a habit of consulting mother on all important matters, and I think, generally took her advice. She was quick to reach a conclusion, and not easily changed from an opinion.

There were two things upon which they did not entirely agree in the earlier days, at least of their married life. First, father could not see the wisdom of taking such risks as mother would take, to teach the children to read and write. Of what service could it ever be to them?

The majority of the children held to the opinion of father, but the “Christmas baby” inclined to side with mother, and this fact made them early companions, much earlier than the average child is called into parental council.

Another point on which father and mother differed somewhat was, father always regarded mother as being recklessly generous.

Every old woman in the neighborhood formed a habit of visiting our home frequently, especially about hog-killing time.

When the winter set in, and the visitors could not make their customary itinerary, we boys knew where they lived, and knew how to go and hunt them up, carrying the practical compliments of mother; and not make known where we had been and for what purpose, a fireside talk upon our return.

Those dear old women would call mother “Cousin Jane.” Father would speak derisively of such relationships, and characterized it as “swap dog kin.”

I have often heard mother say: “I shall never want for bread,” and she did not.

The philosophy of father was different. He thought the best way to keep away want was to kill several fat hogs; bury a plenty of potatoes and cabbages; dry and preserve much fruit; salt away a barrel of herrings and pile up cord after cord of wood at the “wood pile,” and his theory was, let others do the same.

My mother did not at all object to such a course, for she was hand in hand with him in providing. But she believed in sharing with others, especially the unfortunate and needy.

I was sent to the store one cold day with orders to go by the little hut where “Aunt Ruthy” lived. This was not even “Swap dog” relation.

The white people did not permit us to say “Mr.” and “Mrs.” to each other, so, the children, for “manner's sake,” were taught to call the older people, “aunt” and “uncle.”

Well, I called as I was directed, at the house of “Aunt Ruthy.” She was shivering before a few not very live coals, for, the wood must not be burned extravagantly. When I got ready to go, she said, “Leevie, tell your mother, while the grass grows, the steed is starving.”

I had never heard of a “steed” before, and thought “Aunt Ruthy” had surely made a mistake. And besides, I could not see how mother would make the application.

So, to help mother out somewhat, I changed the phraseology a little, and said: “Aunt Ruthy says, while the grass grows the sheep are starving.”

I knew what a sheep was.

A few minutes later I found myself on the way back to “Aunt Ruthy's” with a basket of meat and potatoes, from my father's smokehouse.

That was the interpretation of the starving steed.

In after years, father came to understand mother's philosophy better. When the opportunity unexpectedly came for the children to go to school, mother was not more anxious than father that we should go, and he also learned at last, that, they who sow bountifully, reap also bountifully.

Mother was a Christian as far back as I can remember. The fact is, she embraced religion when a girl.

The children, one by one, so soon as they could pronounce words, said prayers before going to bed, and said “thank the Lord” after each meal.

But “Missie” as we called her, not at all discouraged, gave all her attention to the one pupil who continued, and besides, the studies were divided between the Bible and secular studies. This is what I so much needed at that very time. I had about completed Comly's text book, and besides, had gone about as far as my mother could carry me. But “Missie” had been to college, and she was ready with any proposition in advance studies. So night after night, and month after month, I was the solitary student in this Biblico-secular school, which was doing more for me than I was at all able at that time to understand.

But besides this—and strange too to say— George Washington, the really brainy member of the Cruikshank family, was not married at the time, and feeling lonesome, invited me to spend as many evenings as I wished with him. It is more than likely that his sister had spoken to him of my faithfulness, and aptness as a student, and he, being of her spirit gave me a chance to divide the time with him. He was of like spirit of his sister as to kindness, but was not much on religious subjects. His mind ran toward law, and he had not calculated on spending many years as farmer, but had his mind on Elkton, the county seat, and the practice of law. He finally went from Elkton to Baltimore, and edited a daily paper, called: “The Day.”

He took a different course with me as a student. He would read, and explain what he had read, and force me into discussions. I can see now that he was really practicing on me, as a student minister does on a congregation. I was his audience, or jury, to whom he would speak, and explain. I would ask him questions. When in my course of reading, I came to words that I could not pronounce, or words and sentences that I did not understand, I would take them to him. He seemed to take the greatest delight in having me come with hard propositions. Hard indeed to me, but not to him.

I never heard him swear: he often used the word: “by George.” When he was especially pleased with a nights work, he would sometimes say: “by George, Levi, you are going to be a smart chap.” After I was grown and in the ministry, and he, established in his chosen field of work, I met him on the train between Philadelphia and Baltimore. It was indeed a pleasant reunion. We discussed sure enough then. He wanted to draw me out on my theological ideas. Among the many things he asked me was, what became of men who die without an opportunity to hear the Gospel. Of course I gave him the cut and dried answer about the heathen being a law unto himself, and how he was provided for by the atonement. I dare say he anticipated me, and quickly replied: “well, since the heathen can be saved without being civilized, why not let him alone? for many, after being civilized, will be lost.” This he said too, to draw me out. I asked him if he would rather be a heathen, living in the blissfulness of ignorance, than a Baltimore editor, with the knowledge of how to be saved. We called it even and quit.

The war finally came to a close by the surrender of Lee and the fall of Richmond. There was no longer any doubt then about the final issue. Slavery, the “sum of all villainy” was crushed. Its ghost has appeared in different and many forms since General Lee gave up the struggle on the field of battle; but, at most, it is but a ghost of the personality that lived and florished so long, and caused so much sorrow and degradation. The results of slavery had become so much a part of our civilization, both in Church and State, that there is no wonder that a written declaration could not wipe it out instanta. It required years for it to grow into the giant that it became, and its final and total obliteration will be by the growth of Christian sentiment, with other contributing causes.

But let us thank God, that legalized servitude is dead and doomed. The Amendments to the Constitution that fixed its status, will not only remain, but other amendments will be added; to emancipate women, to make impossible legalized vice, and give our struggling humanity a better chance to reach its highest and best possibilities.

The Small pox broke out at our home. Its origin was never known. But, since it was coming, it had to begin some where. I had heard much about small pox, and knew that people dreaded it, as they dread maddogs. Theoretically, I know about the isolation caused by it, but I was never close to it.

It came suddenly and unexpectedly, of course. No preparation had been made for a siege such as it would cause.

As soon as it became known, no one would dare come near the place. But this is both law and custom, and nothing else is expected at such a time. My friend David Anderson would come within calling distance, in the big field beyond, and we would converse at a distance, and he would leave what we had arranged for him to bring. This was always at night. Uncle Jim Jones lived on an adjacent lot on the Cruikshank property. This made us such close neighbors, that the public would be as much afraid of one from his family as from ours. So his place was also under quarantine.

Our dear old family doctor who had been the only doctor in the family from the birth of the first child—Doctor Roberts—had passed away, and we sent for Dr. Harry Cruikshank. He had not been long out of school and was but slowly building up a practice. A young doctor in the country, and especially at that time, certainly had to serve a probation, before being fully trusted. While Dr. Roberts lived, we would not think of sending for any other physician in time of sickness. This was also the prevailing sentiment of the place, and of the times.

This was an opportunity for Dr. Harry to try his skill, and also to make a reputation for himself: for I tell you, any Doctor who could cure small pox, would soon make a reputation in Cecil County.

Robert Purvis: William Still: Bishops J. P. Campbell and John M. Brown. Henry Gordon: Isaiah C. Wears, Stephen Smith who made quite a fortune as lumber merchant, and founded the home for the Aged and Infirm Colored people in Philadelphia, giving the munificent sum of two hundred thousand dollars. These and many others are among the number, worthy of special mention, who belong to the period under consideration.

So soon as the way opened, Bishop Wayman started South, with the cry: “I seek my brethren.” Genesis xxxvii 16. Father Jones, who was on the alert, sent for him to come to Cecilton and receive Friendship and her members into the fold of African Methodism. What a day! A summer day. Early summer. When harvest fields were just becoming golden, and fruit trees were rejoicing in anticipation of crops that would soon be ready for the market. Birds were nesting and making the forest vocal with their sweet songs. The proud grove in front of Friendship was looking its best. All nature was ready for the great event. Grove Neck; Veasey's Neck; Hackspoint Neck; all the Necks united with Sassafras Neck to prove to the “Bushup” that it was well worth his while to place “Union Bethel” as the Church was afterwards called, in the calendar of African Methodism. They came, they came; they were there.

Of course, the church would not begin to hold the people. The old regulars were there early, and on the inside. Jones', Bacons, Wilsons, Piners, Kennards, Scotts, Wrights, Youngs, Govens, Trustys, Freemans, Halls, Siscos, Crawfords, et al. My mother was there!

“Give me a chair,” said the Bishop. And, placing it just inside the door, where, standing on it he could maintain a commanding view of the multitudes in the grove, as well as those who were packed like sardines in a box on the inside. With sonorous voice he began to read his text: “Blessed is the man that walketh not in the council of the ungodly,” etc. We heard that day about the Godly man, and how he prospered, and the ungodly, and how like chaff he was ultimately blown away. We heard how righteousness exalteth and sin debases. Of the door of opportunity newly opened. What of divine blessing we might expect if we walked uprightly and how surely failure would come if we did not. We looked and listened; we listened and looked. The “little fat man,” as he termed himself in his lecture on the “Galaxy of Bishops,” did not look like any of our own men. He wore his hair long and brushed it back without parting it. His skin was as smooth as that of a woman. His face beamed with intelligence. His features were prominent, with nothing of the depression characteristic of slave conditions. He was princely in appearance, and may have been a lineal descendant from a royal house in Africa, for he was of unmixed blood. As a speaker he was naturally eloquent, with an easy style. He could preach three times a day without “soiling” his collar. Upon examination his diary showed that he averaged a sermon a day, year after year. He was much sought by white congregations, especially on camp-meeting occasions. He was conservative in speech and action. Took no prominent part in anti-slavery agitation, nor in reconstruction work. Just worked along evangelistic lines, and at that he seemed never to tire.

The vote was taken, the Friendship congregation became African Methodist, and subsequently, with Bohamia Manor and Chesapeake City, became a circuit. It is now a station, with parsonage and hall on the church lot, and is among the most pleasant appointments on “the Shore.”

It now being settled that we had a church which was our very own, a constituent of a well-organized and growing denomination, entitled to a “preacher in charge” like they had at the M. E. Church, where we had been sitting in the gallery, having no part in the services or government, we must apply to the Annual Conference for a minister, and affect an internal organization, with trustees, stewards, and the whole machinery of a well-ordered church. We would now have our own class leaders, who in addressing us would say brother and sister, according to the prevailing custom in the Methodist family. Class leaders, who would visit our homes, and, in times of sorrow, give words of comfort. We would now have our children baptized, and give them names. Call them “John Wesley,” and “Richard Allen,” and “Abraham Lincoln” if we wished. Give our daughters and sons in marriage. Recognize the relation of parent and child, and grand child, and brother and sister. Hold revival meetings without having white intruders come in and throw packages of red pepper in the stove to set us all coughing. Have religious and business meetings without the presence of a town official to take an account of what was said and done.

With such blessings, and privileges, it was now time to set the house in order morally, and spiritually. There were those among us who in morals and religion were absolutely above suspicion. But a good deal of drift wood had floated down from the old condition just coming to a close; this must be given attention.

One of the most prevalent evils of Quarter life was the “Common Law Marriage” which was no marriage at all. All of the free people who cared to do so, could find some one authorized to perform the marriage ceremony, and, in most cases, it was done. But, in the happy-go-lucky custom that was so prevalent, many just “took up” with each other. In the case of slaves, no marriage would be permissible without the consent of the master; and, as many masters would not object to their slaves living as man and wife without being married, it was not at all an unusual thing for them to do so. With reference to the master giving consent, there was one exception to the rule. When a free man wished to marry a slave woman, it was good policy for the slave holding interests to consent to it. Of such a union, the children would be slave. Besides, the father, being free, could help support the children, and the wife also. It often happened that when a free man chose a slave woman, for a wife, it was that he might either purchase her freedom, or secure it by “running away” with her. I regret to say that there were some worthless, heartless ones, who might select a slave woman, because he would not be responsible for the keep of his family. But such a one generally got what he so richly deserved. The wife's master would rope him in, make him work, and give him about what he chose: thus, he would be on a level with those of the other slaves. At all events, the close of the war found many living together without being married. My mother became a self-constituted missionary to such, and so soon as our minister came, mother began gathering up all who were irregular in their connubial relations, and arranging with the minister for quiet weddings. The license did not cost much and contracting parties, even to this day, very seldom give the minister much. It was pathetic to see old people who had lived for years as man and wife; who had children and grand children, going to have the marriage ceremony performed. So long as the neglect was from no fault of theirs, it made no difference to man; and a just God did not hold them morally responsible. But now, according to my mother's theory it was a case of: “arise and shine for thy light has come.” Then again, there was father Jones, who, even in the presence of death, would not spare those who through carelessness and indifference refused to have the sacred and divine rite of marriage performed.

Then there were other kinds of irregular living by Church members when there was no one to prefer “charges and complaints”, and bring the transgressor to book. A man might be a member of the Church, and yet be “stopping” with a woman to whom he was not married. Or, in the irregular union, the woman might be the Church member. These are cases where even Common law marriage was not claimed. Both parties going for single. The man just a “star boarder.” But, in this general clean up at Friendship, under the new regime, such parties had to choose between getting married, or facing charges for immoral conduct. Under the old condition of things, stealing was not considered a crime sufficient to: “exclude one from the Kingdom of grace and glory.” Elsewhere I have called attention to the fact, that in the moral code of the master, stealing was not a crime on the part of the slave, unless he stole from his master. Of course, it was not very difficult for the slave to add an amendment, and extend the privilege to any barn yard, or hen roost whatsoever.

Then, there was the whiskey drinking habit. No slave was taught that drunkenness was a crime, and, at harvest time, the beverage flowed freely, and every body drank, and, “when whiskey is in, wit is out,” and vulgarity and profanity may be indulged in alike, by all, Church members and non Church members. There was also what may be called general loose living. A child is born, its father unknown. Another is born, its mother unmarried. The responsible man, or, the unfortunate mother, or both, might be Church members. All such things were considered under the new regime. Dear old Friendship now became the Ecclesiastical Court House, as well as the Church. For any of the above named lapses, hitherto unnoticed, a member was liable at any “Quarterly Meeting” to be called to face charges and complaints.

As in politics, so in religion, I came under the influence of that masterful Daniel P. Hamilton. I was a Christian and a member of the African Methodist Episcopal Church when I met him, and had heard from the mouth of “Father Jones” something about “Allen,” and what his Church stood for. But as a lad I had not taken it so seriously that it had become “second nature” with me. All of my Wilmington relatives belonged to other communions, some to the M. E. and others to one or the other of the “Union” churches. My home was with those who belonged to the M. E. Church, and I frequently accompanied them to “Ezion.”

The young people of Wilmington were making much of the study of vocal music at that time. In nearly every house one could hear do, do, do; fa, fa, fa; sol, sol, sol. The churches did not have organs then; all the music was vocal, and the singers sang by note. Every church had a good substantial choir, and the singing was made a special feature of the service. James Crozier, the leader of “Ezion” choir, was the principal chorister among the churches, and had regular weekly rehearsals, where the members of the choir were required to come and learn to read the notes. This was very attractive to me, and I united with this singing class, and much to my own delight began the study of vocal music. I thought about the Quimby class in the Cecilton school-house where I stood at the window and resolved that if ever I got a chance, I would study do, re, mi. Being encouraged by my own progress and becoming impatient with the backward ones who kept the class back, I resolved to take extra lessons from other masters, which I did; from Messrs. Peter S. Blake and James A. Anderson, at the same time attending the Crozier rehearsals weekly, and singing on “Ezion” choir.

My friends, Isaac Parker and Arso Purnell —members of the Crozier School—and I would frequently meet for private practice, and we considered it a great triumph when we could pick up the Jubilee, or, the New Lute of Zion, or, the Sacred Lute, and read any piece therein at sight. All the while I was attending Bethel A. M. E. Church as a member, and being a member of the Sunday school of which Daniel P. Hamilton was superintendent, becoming more acquainted with the man who in due time would fully and to my satisfaction explain the Allen movement, and enable me, like himself, to answer the question, Why am I an African Methodist?

One warm—not to say hot—Sunday afternoon, I was on the choir at “Ezion,” and the pastor had given the service to an elderly white minister who had evidently come around, as they often did, looking for an opportunity to preach. After the preliminaries were concluded and the brother got fairly down to work at his sermon, which was evidently worked out for a “colored” congregation, he became illustrative, and used the following as pertinent to the occasion. “When I was a boy I used to go to the kitchen where the colored boys had a big fire. I would read to them by the light of the candle. Who made that fire? The colored boys. Who made the candles? The white boys. And so, we come to you for your fire, and you come to us for our light.” I looked around among the members of the choir to discover what effect this injudicious—to say the least—comparison had upon them. I discovered many of them had been put soundly to sleep by his narcotized homily, and others seemed not to have been sufficiently interested to pay any attention at all to what he was saying. Well, I decided that I had shown sufficient gratitude to Bro. Crozier for giving me an opportunity to study vocal music, and a chance to practice on the congregation of “Ezion” and that this insult to my manhood would be a sufficient explanation should I ever be asked why I discontinued my membership in the choir. So right in the midst of the discourse at the conclusion of that personal application, I took my hat and unceremoniously left the church. I then became an active member of Bethel Choir, and when during the next year, our leader, Josiah Loans, died, I was unanimously elected by the members of the choir to succeed him. I am not quite sure that the Mayor-elect of the city of Wilmington felt more highly honored in his elevation than I did in mine. I was well aware of my limitations as master chorister, but of two things I felt sure; my connection with the choir for more than a year gave me a chance to know that no one there was better prepared for the place than myself, and, that if severe application would do the deed, I would be sure to keep ahead of the rest of them.

The minister who impressed me most at this really formative period of my life was Dr. Theophilus Gould Steward. I cannot say that I listened very critically to sermons previous to the time that he became my pastor. To me, preaching was in a way, professional oratory, of a more or less emotional style, and the preacher who could entertain the people agreeably, and make them happy most of the time, was to me, the right man in the right place. If he were not thus gifted as a speaker, the consensus of opinion was, it would be better for the spiritual growth of the Church if his pastorate covered but one or two years. But the advent of Dr. Steward marked the turning point of my idea of preaching. Strange to say, his style made him exactly the opposite of what had been my ideal, if indeed, I had given sufficient thought to the subject to have what might be dignified as an ideal. If any one became very demonstrative under the preaching of Dr. Steward, it was more on account of what he said than his manner of saying it. He had none of the “rousnum” that a “Methodist Preacher” was supposed to have, and to bring in at least, toward the close of his sermon if not before. It was the custom of many to pay but little attention to the beginning of the sermon. Indeed, they would often fix themselves for a quiet nap, while the preacher was making preliminary remarks, and warming up, but would be wide-awake in time to see the finish, and join in the hallelujahs that generally closed this part of the service.

The Steward style was not popular from the first with the masses. Many adverse criticisms could be heard upon the style of the new preacher. Some characterized him as a Presbyterian, and others as a lecturer. Dr. Steward knew perfectly well what was going on, but he also knew what the people needed, and paid no attention to the criticisms of those who were no more capable of sitting in judgment upon a theological discourse, or denominational tenets, than they were upon geology, or political economy. Our minister began to make friends and converts to his way of thinking, and his manner of expressing his thoughts. As for me, I found myself so absorbed in what I heard from the pulpit Sunday after Sunday, and from the lesson reviews and addresses in the Sunday school by our pastor, and in personal conversation in social as well as official life, that there was no place so attractive to me as Bethel Church, and no services so helpful as the Sunday morning services, where sermons, fresh, well prepared, and delivered more and more forcefully as the response from the pew was more cordial, became the very bread of life to the soul and a means of enlightenment to the mind.

The friendship between Bro. D. P. Hamilton and myself became closer and stronger, and it was his delight to push me forward in the affairs of the church, especially in the Sunday school, where for many years he had been the superintendent. My fondness of Bible study, and my knowledge of, and love for vocal music, made the Sunday school to me a very desirable place. The International Lessons were just being introduced into Sunday schools, and we laid aside the old system of study and adopted the Berean series of the International Course. My practice was to study each lesson in connection with the Home Readings; parallel passages and Scriptural references; the English Teacher's Notes; topic, title, golden text and Teacher's Quarterly, Peloubet's Select Notes, and whatever I could get, throwing light upon the lessons, and upon the Scriptures generally. This became a habit with me, and year in and year out I kept it up, thus acquiring a general familiarity with the Bible, The Old Book; “lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.” Psalms 119.

My cousin, Christopher Jones, and I, used to teach each other by each reading passages from the Bible, Old and New Testaments, and asking the other to name the book—author— from which the passage was read. The Bible has been my chief text book for the preparation of life's work. It is art, science and literature— geology, astronomy, biology, geography, ethnology, biography, history, sociology, hygiene, and above all, theology. God, man's relation to his Maker, his whence and his whither. What a book! All other books are but parts of this great book of nature and revelation.

As my progress in learning proceeded largely by dint of hard study and application, my brick yard experience became an important period in my life. Machinery for making bricks had not then come fully into vogue. Nearly all bricks for building purposes were hand made. The men even dug the clay with spades instead of the steam shovels now used. These fellows of the clay bank had a wonderful appetite and a marvelous digestion. Some of them boasted that they could digest an oyster shell.

From a child I was of slender build; not muscular. But a few years on the brickyard of James Beggs laid for me a physical foundation upon which I am now supporting a building weighing two hundred and forty-seven pounds, more than sixty pounds above my father's best weight, and still more in advance of any other member of the family. The old brick moulders said, that in order to become a master workman one must come into the yard when a boy, and learn to “off bear” and all that was preliminary to moulding. There was a sort of aristocracy among the brick moulders, as there was among the grain measurers, of long ago. Men who did not go into the yards when a boy and “come up,” never got beyond “wheelers.” Well, some one must prove to be an exception, and as I always had an independent way about doing things, I decided to become an innovation in the art of “rolling a walk,” and taking a near cut, become a brick moulder. And so I did. It was only a round table talk for a little while, for when I could turn out two thousand, three hundred and thirty-two—“a day's task in four hours,” the speediest record attained, the old veterans admitted me into their society by simply admitting that I had done the “impossible.” One who could finish his task in from four to six hours, had a good deal of leisure each day. My custom was to begin work at four o'clock in the morning, and this gave me much time for study. Earning wages above the average wage earner, with a brick-yard appetite, and the ability and inclination to sleep the sleep of the just, and the invigorating value of early morning air and exercise, I was prepared to make the most of my hours of leisure, and I have always been able to look back with satisfaction upon the days when the music of the steel mould was the early morning song on the brick-yard.

Having saved some money, after a few years on the brick-yard, I decided to go into business with a company of young men who were like minded. So, a place on Shipley Street, above Eighth, was selected, and there under the rather pretentious firm name of “Collins, Coppin & Co.,” we opened a retail flour business. The outfit consisted of a storeroom, with the regulation counter and shelves, and a coal stove. A few barrels of flour were purchased; a number of small cotton bags for handling small quantities of five and ten pounds to be delivered to customers, emptied, and the bags retained. Upon the shelves were placed a quantity of articles for the accommodation of customers who might become regular purchasers of flour; articles such as soap, starch, some canned goods, tea, coffee and sugar.

It soon became apparent that if we would compete with other retail flour merchants we must, like them, deliver the goods to the homes of our customers. For this necessity, a horse and wagon were purchased. Then too, an order occasionally would come in for a barrel of flour which could only be delivered by the use of a horse and wagon.

Now with a complete outfit the business opened auspiciously. Cash customers came around in numbers sufficient to make the business attractive and the company optimistic. The customers increased, the receipts increased. Quite a number of customers opened weekly accounts. As is generally the case, the credit orders became larger than the cash orders by the same customer. For a time the weekly payments were promptly made, and the number of such customers, as well as the size of the orders increased. This, of course, worked no hardships, for the firm could easily get monthly credit and besides, it was business, as the Saturday receipts showed, and business was the thing we opened for. But alas! we had our lesson to learn. A lesson that can only be learned by experience. After the credit accounts mounted up into hundreds of dollars, one after another of the largest buyers failed to come around on pay day. Good excuses and good promises followed, but these were not made good. The result was inevitable. The business finally closed down with large outstanding bills that even the professional and astute collecting agencies could not collect. The company wound up its affairs, wiser, poorer, and with fewer friends, but with an experience that was sure to be turned to good account.

My next venture was at school teaching. A teacher was needed at Smyrna, Del. I applied to the Actuary, Mr. Henry Conrad, later, the Hon. Henry Conrad, and obtained the place. Smyrna was and still is a flourishing little town. The “two races” got on peaceable together and both prospered. “Uncle” Lewis Hamilton was to Smyrna, in a general way, and to our Church in particular, what his illustrious brother was to Wilmington, and to its church life: in both cases, meaning first of all, the African Methodist Episcopal Church. At Smyrna, I was day school teacher: Sunday School General Director, and Assistant; teacher of vocal music, and, in fact, a sort of plenipotentiary in all matters social, moral and intellectual. I was hailed as a sort of envoy extraordinary; consulted upon all matters, and pushed forward in all the secular and religious activities. I may have been of some benefit to the people of Smyrna, but the opportunity afforded me for intellectual and administrative development, was of incalculable benefit to me. It afforded the needed opportunity for research and study, both as it related to leisure and favorable vocation. And being called upon to enter into all the local activities of whatever nature, taking the leading part, the result was, theory and practice most admirably combined. This new leadership, with its responsibilities, gave me a chance to better understand the kind of equipment needed, and how to obtain it. Many a learned man cannot teach school; cannot organize, cannot govern, cannot initiate. Blessed is he who has the talent and gift for those things, and the learning besides. The kind of education most needed and how to impart it, is one of the very much alive questions of the day. It is now reduced to a science, but some of our most successful educators had to work it out along lines of common sense, thanks to that inventive genius called necessity.

The first and only time I ever saw Henry Ward Beecher was in a lecture at the Academy of Music, Philadelphia, on “The New Profession.” He made it quite clear to my mind that there were persons teaching school who were not following their calling. He suggested that school teachers should be better paid, and then required to give efficient and conscientious service, thus making it an honorable and profitable “profession,” instead of a means to an end. Teaching school offers an opportunity for character study. Children in school are passing the most impressionable and the most indefinite period of their lives. “A little pebble in the river has often turned its course forever.” It causes a very comfortable feeling to have a man or woman in after life meet you, and say: “I attribute my success in life to the fact that I came under your influence at an early period of my life.”

William Whartenbury and the Hemsley girls, and David Clayton, are about all of my old Smyrna pupils, as I remember it now, who are still living at Smyrna. “Bill Tom Hill” moved to Wilmington, Del., and reared his family. John Price, my brightest pupil, went away to teach. I have lost sight of him. The children and grandchildren of “Uncle” Lewis Hamilton who still live are scattered. John Purnell teaches school in New Jersey. His sister Anna—sweet girl—died before reaching her majority. Whartenbury comes to Philadelphia to see his children and grandchildren. “Uncle” Wesley Brown's Richard started off on a brilliant business career but was overtaken by death. My old friend, Joseph Whaley, has passed away. All the Potts family have disappeared. Smyrna has grown much larger since those days. It was my privilege to visit there a little while ago, note familiar scenes and look into the few familiar faces that remain “to remind us of the past.” But it was the old Smyrna that impressed me, through its stalwart, historic characters, who have since passed away.

It was here that I first met the Hon. John S. Durham. Not then the able diplomat and counselor-at-law, but a beardless youth, teaching his first school in an adjacent school district in the same county as Smyrna. He and I became friends and companions. A braver lad never faced American prejudice. On one Sunday he came into Smyrna, and went to the M. E. Church (white) and took a seat in the gallery. He noticed that his presence caused some commotion. The next day a “gentleman” from Smyrna drove down to his school, and advised him, for his personal safety, to not repeat the visit. But, it took my additional advice, forcefully given, to dissuade him.

After my friend Durham had grown too large for the Kent County school and large enough for the editorial staff of the Philadelphia Bulletin, and I had become pastor of “Mother Bethel Church,” we met at a bazaar at the Eleventh Street Masonic Hall, in Philadelphia, and he challenged me for a bet that I would not offer to accompany Miss Fanny M. Jackson home from the Bazaar. The sequel of this rash challenge, and the still more rash venture on my part will constitute some of the pages in another chapter.

Reference to my stay in Wilmington, Del., would be incomplete without acknowledging my debt of gratitude due to my own dear relatives with whom I lived.

My home was with John Backus, the husband of my Aunt Clara, one of the “shoe-string-breed” girls of Amelia Lily, my maternal grandmother. They reared but one child, Amanda, who was the wife of Benjamin Mislis, and lived home with her parents. They had buried a number of children, and seemed afraid to permit Amanda to go from them. She was, indeed, the sunshine of the home, and everybody deferred to her. She was to me a model woman, and housekeeper and Christian.

Uncle John and Aunt Clara were like bride and groom. In the seven years I spent in their home, I never heard a harsh word passed between either couple. Uncle John was especially affectionate. I got an idea that I wanted to be such a husband. Here I spent the first years of my early manhood; here in this model, Christian home. My first home away from the Cecilton fireside. Here the moral atmosphere was pure, and love abounded, and the influence could only be salutary. These dear ones have passed away, but they still live in the lives of others.

The Philadelphia Conference that year was held at Reading, Penna., a German town. When world war involved the United States and every body was ordered to curse the Kaiser, and speak evil of all Germans, it was not quite safe to speak the German language, much less was it safe to speak in complimentary terms of the German people. But, the war is over now; let us hope forever, and it may not be out of place to say, that Reading, and other German settlements, welcomed and entertained our Conferences royally. All hotels were open to us, the same as to others. All the Churches were thrown open, and our ministers invited to preach. On this particular occasion, I accompanied Dr. T. G. Steward to a “white” Church. His text was: “Thou shall call his name Jesus, for he shall save his people from their sins.” Dr. Steward preached a characteristic sermon which was most favorably commented upon afterwards. Not only were hotels open to us as to others, but homes, as is the custom among Christian people when a religious gathering is coming to town. I only recall one other place where homes were placed at the disposal of Conference members, and that is Millville, New Jersey.

The pastor of Mother Bethel Church was ill during the session of Conference; so much so, that he couldn't be sent to a new charge, though he was physically unable to do the work of Bethel. So, the Bishop decided to let him remain and send a young, unmarried man there to assist him, “until” said he, “we see what the Lord will do with Whitfield.” A council was held between the Bishop and his Elders and it was decided that “Young Coppin” was the man to send temporarily to Bethel. Of this decision I was promptly informed by the Bishop, and kindly, but firmly directed to go in the spirit of meekness, preach, visit the sick and bury the dead as an assistant, and by no means imagine myself the pastor. Only by the most inexcusable presumption could I entertain a thought of ascending to the pastorate of the Mother Church, even accidentally. I was only a Deacon, just ordained at that Conference, and with but two years experience, and that too with Mission points. But as human nature is capable of doing the unexpected and unreasonable at any time, the Bishop's advice and caution was not out of place.

Conference closed and sure enough, I was sent to Bethel as an assistant to the Rev. George C. Whitfield who was returned, leaning on his staff in the last stages of consumption. In less time than two weeks, Rev. Whitfield passed away, and by a vote of the official Board the Bishop was requested to let me remain until he held his New England Conference sixty days hence, at which time he promised to send a pastor to Bethel.

How would I spend those two months? Simply preaching, visiting the sick and burying the dead is by no means the sum of a Methodist Preacher's duty. Our Churches are generally in debt, or, in need of repairs, or, without parsonage; something, however, that requires money, and the minister in our Churches is expected to plan and execute the financial rallies.

It happened that Bethel had a chronic debt. Not a large one to be sure, but one that on account of long standing, and supposed mismanagement, the people had repudiated. They claimed that money had been raised again and again for the debt, and put to other purposes, and for that reason they would not respond to collections for trustee purposes. The amount was twenty-seven hundred dollars, and the claim was held by a Fraternal Society. Besides this note, there were open accounts amounting to a few hundred dollars, making in all an indebtedness of over three thousand dollars.

I was no sooner installed for my two months pastorate, than the news was broken to me about this chronic indebtedness. Some were accusing and some excusing the trustees for its existence. Some also were accusing the ex-pastor for taking no interest in it, while others were saying that he did right to stand aloof, and not take sides with either of the contending parties. I saw no chance for doing much good spiritually or materially during my brief pastorate with a divided Church, so I concluded that the most that I could hope to accomplish in so brief a period as two months, would be to bring about a measure at least of harmony between the discordant elements.

The plan I fell upon was to call a Church meeting, have a season of song and prayer, then frankly talk matters over, avoiding so far as possible controversy. The meeting was called, was well attended. A more or less good feeling prevailed. I succeeded in convincing them that nothing could ever be gained by delaying payment of the indebtedness. It would never be repudiated, and the longer it stood, the larger it would grow. That it would be to the interest of all to settle the claims, and remove the unpleasant feeling that they had caused.

We agreed upon a plan, organized our forces and went to work. It was soon apparent, that the plan would succeed if not interrupted. And more; the way the people, young and old, were coming together and cooperating, it seemed evident that peace and harmony would soon prevail again at this old citadel of African Methodism: this fortress of religious enthusiasm: this source of manhood Christianity.

The older members, Shadd, Tate, Lawrence, Banton, Seymour, Frisby, Robinson and others who had fought many battles, and passed through many stormy scenes since 1816, were quick to discover if the present tendency continued it would lead to high tide of success, spiritually and materially, and they began to plan to have the two months' limit removed, and the Coppin pastorate made permanent. But how could this be done? The faithful membership at Morris Brown Mission had from the Bishop a promise that I was only borrowed for a time, and would soon be returned to them. Besides, I was only a Deacon. How could the Mother Church accept less than a full fledged minister as a regular pastor? But Bethel Pioneers were not to be defeated in their purpose.

So far as a Deacon filling the pulpit was concerned, they regarded that as only sentimental, and therefore not an insuperable difficulty. As to the Bishop's promise, that was quite another thing. But even facing this difficulty, they determined to not be thwarted in their purpose without exhausting their diplomatic skill.

When Bishop Payne was approached upon the subject, the messengers received a prompt and positive no; with two reasons; both reasons characteristic of Bishop Payne. “In the first place,” said he. “You certainly do not mean to ask your Bishop to lie: I have promised his people at Morris Brown that he would return to them. Besides this, I do not want to spoil that young man, who might other wise, be useful to the Church.” This seemed decisive. But not with “Father” Tate. He promptly reminded the Bishop that if the people at the Morris Brown Mission would consent to the promotion, emphasizing “promotion,” that he, the Bishop, would be free from his promise: and if those people loved their pastor so well this would be a good way to show it. As to the other objection, they had no fear that he would be spoiled. “I have watched the young man,” said “Father” Tate, “and from my knowledge and experience in such matters, I am willing to assume all responsibility in this case.”

When the Committee discovered that the Bishop was considering the proposition, they suggested the appointment of a committee to wait on the Morris Brown people, to solicit their consent. To this the Bishop agreed and appointed Author Tate, W. C. Banton and Rev. H. A. Knight then pastor of Union A. M. E. Church, Philadelphia. “Uncle” George W. P. Custic an enthusiastic advocate of the proposition made himself a self-constituted member of the committee, and actually became its spokesman. The Morris Brown people could not withstand the logic and persuasive arguments of the committee, and so yielded and my second ministerial appointment became Mother Bethel. Bishop Payne never would take to himself the credit of the appointment, but always said, the Lord made it.

As for me: well, no one was more disappointed. I had already set my heart upon securing a site for a Church, and leading the people out of “Monumental Hall’ and besides, Morris Brown was to me a very large and important pastorate, and I was delighted to return to it. When I planned the rally at Bethel, I had not the slightest dream of doing more than bringing the people together, and putting the movement on foot preparatory to the coming of the new pastor.

It may not be generally known that the ground upon which Bethel Church stands, is the first piece of ground owned in America by an independent organization of our race variety. It is true that when the colored contingent of St. George Church withdrew, and a committee was appointed to purchase, or, select a church site, the one selected by Absolum Jones was accepted by the congregation, and not the one selected by Richard Allen. But, a majority of those who withdrew from St. George, thus forming the new congregation, voted to be Episcopalians, and St. Thomas was erected upon the lot chosen. St. Thomas Church is a part of the Protestant Episcopal Denomination, and not an independent congregation.

When the majority following Richard Allen organized, they accepted the lot that was purchased by him and reported at the original meeting. It is upon this lot that Bethel Church is built; the first Church of the first organization in America with absolute independent ownership, and controlled by colored Americans.

When in September, 1908, sixteen religious denominations assembled to take part in the two hundred and twenty-fifth anniversary of the founding of Philadelphia, the writer was selected to represent all of the colored Denominations upon the theme: “Penn and Religious Liberty.” The addresses were necessarily brief, limited to the same number of minutes for delivery, and all read twice, the second time being to an overflow meeting where a second large building filled to overflow received each speaker as in his turn he came from the first building.

Sitting in a row in the large Friend's Meeting House, were the representatives of the following denominations, in the following order:

Universalists, Mennonites, Friends-Hixte-Colored Churches, Presbyterian, Baptist, Episcopalian, Roman Catholic, Hebrew, Lutheran, Congregational, Friends-Orthodox, Reformed, Methodist, Unitarian, Disciples.

My address, was, by the very nature of things, more an address on behalf of a people than a denomination, though it would be quite out of place to speak of the early struggles of a race for religious liberty, without referring to the pioneer of the movement.

The address follows:

Mr. Chairman:—Viewed from any standpoint, William Penn must be considered one of the foremost men of his age, and a good example for men of every age.

Refusing to take the condition of his illustrious father, Admiral Penn, and follow the fortunes of war, he chose for himself an ideal that constantly appealed to the highest and best instinct of his nature, and with admirable courage, made that ideal the guiding star of his eventful life.

Providently, it would seem, it became his lot to tread a new path and do initiative work in a new field, instead of undertaking the very uncertain task of changing old conditions and customs in an old and long established government.

It was fortunate for the new State which he was destined to found that his religious bent was settled and fixed before he entered upon the perplexing work of its organization and development.

The time was ripe for breaking away from old forms of government where privileged classes took the place of true democracy, and the leader of such an important movement must needs be one whose sense of religious obligation would enable him to withstand the almost irresistible tide of popular sentiment.

It sometimes happens, that a people who are themselves fleeing from political and religious oppression, will become forgetful of the golden rule when they themselves become dispensers of the law.

In the day when Penn launched his ship of state, the evil of human slavery had not only received the sanction of the potentates of the Old World, but had dragged its debauching form into the New.

A writer of those times speaks thus: “Queen Elizabeth had the honor of extending the commerce of England to the slave-pens of the gold coast, and long before her time, in continental countries, anything made in the image of God, in a black skin, was considered property.” Continuing, he says: “Slaves were held by all the American colonies, and if a man did not own slaves it was because he was too poor to buy them.”

Here, then, was the soil into which William Penn must sow the seed of his ideal commonwealth and organize a government that must stand for religious liberty, civic righteousness, and the new doctrine proclaimed by the friends that “God has made men peers, and that setting up marks of separation was but dividing men without a cause, and trifling with the noblest work of God.”

That the new venture would be sure to meet with numerous obstacles, must have been evident. How well it succeeded, the story of 225 years of effort must tell.

In 1688, at the Friends' meeting-house in Germantown, a protest was made against slavery, and although its success at first was not all that was hoped for, it was the “leaven in a measure of meal” that continued to work until the blight of slavery was finally banished forever from our fair land.

Thus it was that the city founded by Penn became the cradle of abolitionism, and the Society with which he had identified himself amid much persecution became a most potent force against the evil that has been fitly styled “the sum of all villianies.”

But in answering the question: “William Penn's contribution to religious liberty,” it will be well to ascertain who in his day was considered eligible to profess religion.

When we first entered the grounds—via Midway Plaisance—we decided that several days would be required to simply walk through the grounds, to say nothing of anything like a critical inspection of all the buildings. The various attractions of the Plaisance were quite enough to occupy several days.

Some of the attractions along the avenue were the Diamond Match company; Model Workman's Home; International Costume Exhibit, with about fifty living representatives of different nationalities, races and types, each clad in native costume; Nursery Exhibit; Electrice Scenic Theatre; Libby Glass company; Japanese Bazaar; Japanese Village; German Village; Lecture Hall, illustrating the science of animal locomotion; Persian Palace; Eiffel Tower, Street in Cairo; Ferris Wheel, revolving 250 feet in the air; East India Bazaar; Algernian and Tunisian Village; Kilanea Panorama, showing the noted Hawaiian Volcano; Chinese Village; Brazil Concert Hall; National Hungarian Orpheum; Lapland Villiage; Dahomey Village; Old Vienna; St. Peter's Model; Glass Spinning House; Ice Railway; Moorish Palace, Turkish Village; Cyclorama of Bernice Alps; South Sea Islanders; Hogenbeck's Animal Show; Venice-Murano company glass exhibit; Log Cabin; Nursery; Blarney Castle and Irish Village. The admission to those various attractions on Midway Plaisance varies from 10 to 50 cents. It costs from $12 to $15 to visit them all, and would require nearly a week. Now, when one remembers that this is but the entrance to the Fair and not really the Fair proper, he can get an idea of its immense proportions. It would be useless to attempt a description of the various exhibits, suffice it to name the general departments, which are as follows: Agricultural, Horticultural, Live Stock, Fish, Mining, Machinery, Transportation; Manufactures, Electricity, Fine Arts, Liberal Arts, and Ethnology.

In those various General Departments, twelve in number, are exhibited the various products of nature under cultivation, and of human genius and skill. Almost every civilized nation is represented with exhibits giving an idea of its wealth in natural resources and of inventive genius.

There were two exhibits that we were especially anxious to see, and to which we hastened, and these were the exhibits of Wilberforce University and the Haitian Building.

The exhibit of Wilberforce was small, compared with some other institutions, and especially some of the exhibits of the Roman Catholic Church; and the Haitian building was humble compared with many of the massive structures that surrounded it and overshadowed it; but Wilberforce and Haiti represented a people, the genius, industry, and capability of whom, but for them, would have been without representation, or, as is frequently the case would have been misrepresented.

The genius of the Negro is interwoven with the civilization of America, and indeed of the world, but in such a way as to leave him without credit. Hence the burning question, can the descendants of Ham do anything great? Or, must it be left alone to Shem and Japhet to show the trend of progress under a higher civilization? Wilberforce and Haiti answered at the World's Fair—Wilberforce with her institutions of learning, organized and managed from begining to end by colored men, and Haiti with her Republic, whose independence was gained by her brave and noble Toussaint L'Ouverture, and maintained by his successors. Our thanks are due to Bishop B. W. Arnett and the Hon. Frederick Douglass for getting the Negro before the assembled nations in other than a subordinate relation.

We divided our time during the week of our stay between sightseeing at the Exposition grounds and the Educational Congress, which held its meetings at the Liberal Arts Building, foot of Adams Street. The meetings were really good, as could only have been the case, since they were participated in by some of the first educators of the world. The part contributed by colored educators was altogether creditable. Strong papers were read by many on various subjects, and stirring addresses were made by others. A special point of interest brought to light by these meetings was the fact that a goodly number of colored teachers are teaching in public or mixed schools. Many of our people opposed mixed schools, because they feared that it would deprive our teachers of their positions. Many of us believed that while this would be the case at first, that even this difficulty would be over come as our teachers made themselves indispensible. Statistics upon the subject, given by delegates, show that colored teachers at work in public schools are as follows: Massachusetts, 14; Michigan, 5; Ohio, 11; Pennsylvania, 2; Minnesota, 3; New York, 2; Illinois, 2. Thirty-nine in all. This does not include those who are required to do normal work before leaving College. These statistics tell their own story of the progress that we are making.

The Chicago Fair demonstrates in a high degree the capability of man. When he began to inhabit the earth it was in a very crude state, but he was commanded by his creator to take possession of his territory and subdue it. The march of civilization, as it is exhibited by the Columbian Fair, shows how well man has been doing his work. The rivers and mountains are no longer barriers to his onward march, but are made his servants. By an enlightened mind directing the skilled hand, he has invented all manner of machinery, by which the burdens of life are neatly lifted, labor is dignified and time is saved. The four quarters of the globe are brought together and all nations of the earth are made neighbors. But as the thoughtful man looks upon these wonderful acheivements with admiration, he is forcibly reminded of two things—first, that these great accomplishments are the result of years and centuries of study, toil, and sacrifice. We stand, looking upon a mass of machinery, with its thousand different parts curiously wrought, skillfully put together and set in motion, and we say great are the wisdom and skill of the inventor. But upon a sober second thought we remember that all those mighty works in art had humble beginnings. the teakettle is mother of the gigantic steam engine that is capable of running a mile in thirty seconds. The costly fabric in tapestry and fine linen sprang from the fig leaf apron. From the dirt-made hut has sprung the hall, the place of marvelous acheivements in architectural skill. The first plow to break the soil for the husbandman was a sharpened stick, but now the art of tilling the soil has risen to such dignity that the Department of Agriculture is the first to be named on the official guide at the World's Columbian Exposition. The lesson to be learned by these progressive steps in civilization is that any nation or any race variety that would rise to the degree of excellence attained by those that are now on exhibition at the “White City” must be industrious and patient. There is a philosophy in progress, and this must be regarded by all who would compete with progressive nations.

But, again, the thoughtful observer is reminded that the great accomplishments before him are the results of Christian civilization. How many kingdoms have risen and fallen, and how many exalted nations have been brought low because they did not recognize the claim of Him whose right it is to rule. Most all the nations represented at the Columbian Exposition are Christian nations, and those that are not are perceptibly behind in the procession. China, the oldest civilization that is represented here, is but an infant compared with England, France, Germany and America. These nations as representatives of Christianity, have their imperfections, and for these we neither praise nor excuse them; upon the face of the sun there are spots, yet he outshines the moon.

At the expiration of another century, when all the civilized nations assemble to take account of their acheivements, what nation will be first in the sisterhood? May we not give the answer of our Lord, when he was asked who shall be greatest in the kingdom of heaven?

Leaving Chicago, our next stop was Denver, Col. Some one has spoken thus eloquently of Denver:

“Poets have poured forth their souls in the marvelous measures of rhythmic rhapsody; artists have felt their deft fingers tingle and thrill while they painted the never ending glories of peaks and plain; historians, statisticians and scientists have struggled together in a vain effort to comprehend the possibilities of a region unlike anything ever before heard of in song or story or the cheerless realm of hard dry facts and figures. They had seen Colorado, they were wrestling with a stupendous problem—the destiny of Denver. There is only one Denver. There never has been, there never can be another, for there is no influence which can create its equal.”

The writer was evidently speaking of the Denver of the past, and what we trust will also be the Denver of the future, for upon our arrival we found fourteen banks suspended, and a city fairly wearing the badge of mourning. Neither Denver as a city, nor Colorado as a State can prosper with closed mines. The depreciation of silver closed all the mines at Leadville, and shut went the banks of Denver. Colorado's output of bullion—gold, silver, lead and copper—for the year 1892, aggregated in value $37,017,993. This enormous product came principly to the smelters of Denver. Agriculture, horticulture, manufacturing, and other interests and industries have helped Denver, but the mining interests made it chiefly, and without this interest it must remain badly crippled. Since the great money panic began, real estate in Denver has depreciated more than 50 per cent.

Our church work in this metropolitan city has for four years been in the hands of that king of financiers, Rev. P. A. Hubbard. The bonded debt when he took the church was $8,000. He went to work with a determination to reduce the indebtedness by at least $2,000 each year. Though the membership is less than 300, he succeeded in carrying out his plans, and just before the panic came had paid the last dollar. During the years when he was constantly urging the necessity of paying the entire debt, many thought him too exacting, and saw no good reason why the entire debt should be paid, so long as the interest was kept up. But he could not be persuaded to relax his efforts, and now that they have made their escape from the great financial depression that is upon us, every one is loud in the praise of P. A. Hubbard. But this long and constant strain told on his health, and he was glad to join us and go out to the “Coast” seeking a renewal of health.

Another thing that the good people of Denver, with their heroic pastor, must be given credit for, is that in managing the heavy work of their own church they were not forgetful of the needs of others; so they planted two missions, one in the western and the other in the northern portions of the city. These missions are pastored by two faithful young men, Revs. James Smith and Robert Cason. The old church—Shorter Chapel—has nourished them as a mother would a child.

The pastors and people of these missions regret much that the time of Rev. Hubbard has expired. The disciplinary limit moves him. But we must trust in the goodness of God and the wisdom of the Bishop to send a faithful successor of him who has worked so faithfully and successfully at this post for four years. Of course he cannot be returned. We must keep our rules, “not for wrath, but for conscience sake.”

At Denver, Col., we met Mr. Leroy Hayes, who gave some very interesting statistics of our people who have left the South and gone West. Mr. Hayes lived at No. 2229 Arapaho Street. Through his efforts, and by the aid of the Union Pacific, 3,090 persons have been brought out during the last three years and located as follows: Idaho, 800; Washington, 900; California. 650; Colorado, 480; Utah 260. These for the most part have been settled on farms; 110 families have been settled in Kehrn County, California; 360 persons have been put to work in the Rouse Mines. The 800 that were left in Idaho were given free transportation from Texas; 800 of the 900 that were carried to Washington are operating mines.

In San Joaquin County, California, a tract of 3,000 acres of land has been taken up by those who have come out in search of better homes. We have observed that colored settlers, especially in California, are being encouraged, while the Chinese are not in good favor. This is probably because the Chinese do not take kindly to our civilization. Rev. C. B. Caldwell, one of our pastors in Tennessee, came out some months ago, and procured several thousand acres of excellent land in Salt Lake Valley, upon which he expected to settle a colony.

Mr. Hayes said to me in an interview: “I have now a proposition on hand providing that if we can secure one hundred families, farmers, an Eastern syndicate will set apart 360 acres as a town site in a Southern Colorado farming district, erect a town hall, and furnish employment, in the laying out of streets, building the town hall, and other public buildings, for at least one hundred and fifty men, for three months prior to the coming of the colony. The syndicate further agrees to supply water by ditch right to the farming district, with the privilege of the persons purchasing farm tracts and paying for them by working on the ditch and laterals; provided, however, 80 percent of the required number purchase farm tracts of 80 acres each, not to exceed in the purchase price $26.00 per acre with water rights. The remaining 20 per cent to controll the stores of the city. I have contracts similar to this for Colorado, Utah, California and New Mexico.” Mr. Hayes further said that the mistake made by many who have come out is that they settle in the cities instead of taking up the farm lands. Said he: “We are not looking for loafers, but for men who are willing to go out on farms and work and such will not only be welcomed, but will receive encouragement and substantial help.”

Mr. Hayes and Mr. J. C. Watson have been very active in assisting our people who desire to go West, settle lands and better their condition. Mr. Hayes has promised to give us such information from time to time as will be of interest to home seekers in this portion of our country. The columns of the REVIEW are always open to such information. We do not discourage African Emigration. Our people have as good right to go to Africa as any other people, but they also have as good right to possess themselves of the unsettled lands of the West as has any other people. To wait until the wild lands have been brought under cultivation, and cities are built by others, then go, is to submit to subordinate relation among the people of the rich and vigorous West, and to enjoy no more real independence there than we enjoy in the East and South.

If we have not courage sufficient to do pioneer work in the land of our nativity, we would not be very valuable accessions to the undeveloped Continent of Africa.

But we must continue our journey. Leaving Denver, Col., the next point of interest to which the attention of the tourist is called is Palmer Lake. But few passengers stop here longer than is necessary to get lunch. It is scarcely necessary to say any more about this station than that it has a population of about 200, is fifty two miles from Denver; the elevation is 7,237 feet, and is said to be a very healthy place. There is a curious fact, however, about Palmer Lake, it is situated exactly upon the summit of an arm of the Rockies, called the “Divide.” From the crest of this summit the waters divide, flowing northward into the Platte, and southward into the Arkansas, as it “wends its way into the Mississippi.”

Those who remain here will find much to engage them in visiting points of interest in the vicinity. But our party pushed on to Colorado and Manitou Springs. These two cities are twins, they are coupled together both by steam and electric car roads. Colorado Springs has a population of 10,000, and does not allow a drop of intoxicating liquors of any kind sold there. Every deed that is executed contains this prohibitory condition. A large number of millionaires live here. They have made the city what it is as a residence city and health resort, and they do not intend to have their quiet disturbed by intoxicated persons. Indeed the city ordinance even forbids the ringing of a bell, except it be a fire bell; hence the church goers must watch the time on Sundays as well as on other days. We have an interesting church work at this point. The building is of Colorado stone, and is situated on the corner of two broad avenues. The congregation is wide awake, and thinks much of its rank in the Colorado Conference. The population of Manitou is 1,000. This place is, in our opinion, the finest health resort in our great Western world. It is situated at the foot of Pikes Peak, and has the famous effervescent soda and iron springs. Visitors are permitted to drink all the mineral water they desire and to carry away at each visit a quart of the health giving draught. At each spring a boy is stationed with a large ladle, and he courteously waits on all who come either for a drink or for a quart allowance.

The attractions near the Manitou, varying from one to seven miles, are; Manitou Grand Caverns, Cave of the Winds, Ute Pass, and Rainbow Falls, Red Canyon, Crystal Park, Garden of the Gods, Glen Eyerie, Monument Park, Seven lakes, North Cheyenne Canyon, and possibly the most famous of all, Summit of Pike's. Peak. The height of Pike's Peak is 14,147 feet, and is never entirely clear of snow. Three members of the United States Signal Service Corps live on the Peak continually. There is a cog railway line that carries passengers up daily at a cost of $2.50 per round trip; the fare has been as much as $5.00. Off to the left of the iron spring, situated at a considerable height, are two prominent rocks called “Gog and Magog.” We do not promise that the visitor to them will get any light thrown upon the rather mysterious passage in the “Revelation” bearing these names, but we can assure him that he will have a tedious journey and will be surrounded by that which is grand and beautiful in nature.

Nestling upon the hill-sides on every hand and at the base of the mountains, are residences of unique design; some are private and others are boarding houses for the accommodation of those who come seeking pleasure, recreation and health.

And now onward to Pueblo, which someone has called “the Pittsburg of the West,” not at all counting Pittsburg as a western city. The population of this city is 25,000, and they are an interprising set. This, at least, is the reputation that it bears. Our party did not stop here, but we were met at the train by our able and enterprising pastor, Rev. S. W. Byrd, who seemed to anticipate the appetizing effect that the mountain air would have upon us, and so he brought a large basket full of food prepared especially for the occasion. It is needless to say that we enjoyed the repast, and that elder Byrd deserves and has our most hearty thanks. I might as well say now that our company consisted of Bishop and Mrs. Handy; Rev. P. A. Hubbard, wife and daughter; Mrs. Fanny J. Coppin and the editor of the REVIEW. The bishop, of course, was at the head of the company. Brother Hubbard was general manager and we gladly acknowledge his efficiency as such. The ladies were the indispensibles to the comfort and the happiness of the party, and it remained for the REVIEW man to gather a few items for publication. On our return from the coast the Bishop and wife stopped at Pueblo, and he reports the church-work here as being in good condition. We have one church and parsonage at this point and an active membership.

The run over the Denver and Rio Grande, between Pueblo and Leadville, may be called the scenic portion of this route. The natural beauty of the country is in many instances simply beyond description. The train halts at Canyon City, which is a point of considerable interest, a health and pleasure resort, and a business center. But the name reminds the traveller that he is soon to enter that grand conyon of the Arkansas, the narrowest portion of which is known as the Royal Gorge. Here nature and art meet, and fairly vie with each other in stupendous work of beauty and wonder. The daring civil engineer has followed the river in its manderings, and contended with cliff and boulder until he has made a roadbed for his train. Such an accomplishment seems at a glance to be impossible; it is only the stubborn fact that the road bed is actually there that compels one to acknowledge the possibility of such a feat. All passengers are at the windows and open the platform, if not in the observation car—when this Gorge is entered. Lower and lower the train seems to sink, while the dashing, foaming river rushes by in wild fury. Higher and higher the almost perpendicular mountains rise, until the highest peak looks down from a distance of three thousand feet upon the train below as it cautiously carries its precious cargo. There comes over one a feeling akin to reverential awe as he passes through this wonderful path chiseled out by the hand of nature; as he views the granite cliffs upon which tree or shrub never grows, and up which even the aboriginal grizzly cannot climb. With silence or with abated voice the traveller passes through this wonderful scene.

Leaving the grand canyon, our next important stop was Leadville. If there are a people in the great West who are nothing wanting in their ability to entertain strangers, they are found at Leadville. Representatives of the Methodist Episcopal and Baptist churches —white—turned out with our people to welcome and entertain us. Father Rice holds the fort at this point. He is an old pioneer workman out here, and all delight to do him honor. But “how doth the city lie desolate that was full of people!” On our arrival here the city was fairly wearing the badge of mourning. The depreciation of the value of silver had closed the mines and smelters. It is to be remembered that Leadville is the richest mining district in the state of Colorado.

It was Leadville that made Denver the great rich city that it is. Lead, silver and iron are its chief products. When we are informed that in less than twelve months this place rose from a small hamlet of less than fifty inhabitants to a city of thirty-five thousand population, we can easily imagine the wealth of the mines that drew so many fortune seekers. The total value of Leadville smelting industry for 1892 is given at $11,509,643.37. When silver went down and the mines and smelters closed, three thousand men were put out of work who had been averaging three dollars per day. The people out here are intense bimetalists, and if there is but one metal used as a legal tender, they prefer the white metal. When we were asked for our opinion upon the silver question, we referred them to the REVIEW for July, 1893, in which is Mr. Fortune's able article on “Free Coinage.”

The West, Colorado especially, will suffer greatly if the momentary condition of the country remains much longer as it is—August 25th, 1893. But we have good hope that the extraordinary session of Congress will bring relief. Bimetalism seems to us the only solution. We need gold, silver and paper to do the commercial business of this country, and of the world, and any attempt to lessen the volume is sure to give trouble. The South and West evidently knew previous to the last national election that their chosen standard bearer was not in sympathy with the financial plank of the platform promulgated at the Chicago Convention. But if it were of doubtful interpretation then, it is evident now that the Democratic Party is a house divided against itself.

The next point of interest to mention after leaving Leadville, is Salt Lake City. Of this historic city and the mystic Salt Lake, our readers have had a description in a previous number of the REVIEW. Suffice it to say that Salt Lake City was founded by Brigham Young, the great Mormon leader who went out to Utah in 1847, and that it now ranks among the first class cities of the far West. When application was made to the United States to make the territory of Utah a State, the people found that a barrier stood in their way, and that was the practice of plural marriages, which seems to be the principal thing in the religion of “the Latter Day Saints,” as the Mormons are wont to call themselves. They are now forbidden by the United States to celebrate any more plural marriages. This prohibition was almost a death blow to the Mormon church at this place, and the result is that many are seeking other quarters. Nevertheless, they are still a strong and important element in Salt Lake City. The Temple that was began in 1853 was finished in April 1893. Forty years were employed in erecting the building. Only members of the church are permitted to enter it. All the public services are held at the Tabernacle, which accomodates 8,000 people.

The A. M. E. Church has a flourishing congregation at this point, and manages to give the bread of life to the church-going “Afro-American,” as they do not take kindly to the Mormon religion. Our party spent a day and night at this point. Visited “Saltair,” the grave of Brigham Young, and other points of interest.

Ogden a city of 15,000 population, is about twenty-five miles from Salt Lake City, and is the last city in Utah, going West. Here the tourist changes from the Denver and Rio Grande train to that of the Southern Pacific. The distance from Ogden to San Francisco is 883 miles, and the route is picturesque, historic, beautiful.

Promontory, a small place that the traveller would pass by without imagining that there was anything to be seen worthy of attention, is a place of more than ordinary historic interest. At this point, on Monday, May 10th, 1869, the Union Pacific Railroad, building West, and the Central Pacific building East, met. The news was immediately flashed all over the world that the great Trans-continental railroad of America was finished. The golden spike was driven by the late Senator Leland Stanford.

The run through Nevada has many points of interest. In the “Desert” there are many towns; and passing beyond the Valley of the Humbolt, we come to the “Lake Region,” where are the Humbolt, Carson, Mud, Winnemuca, Pyramid, and Walker's Lake.

I stuck close to my work for three years, writing an occasional letter to the Recorders, and, a part of the time, by the request of Bishop Arnett, editing the “Christian Endeavor Visitor.” At the same time, keeping up a correspondence with certain friends while my honored and valuable friend, Bishop Gaines, was “sowing by all waters” and permitting no opportunity to pass which gave a chance to get in a word for “my friend Coppin.” So many persons since my election have told me how Bishop Gaines explained to them why things happened as they did at Wilmington, in '96, and won them actively over to his cause.

When it became evident that I was again looming up, and that men who actually assisted in my defeat were declaring that I should be vindicated in 1900, an attempt was made to again compass my defeat by bringing out my friend, Dr. J. A. Johnson as a candidate, and thereby, not only divide my strength, but bring about confusion among my friends. But here the author of this new scheme reckoned without his host. Might just as well have asked Jonathan to betray David into the hands of Saul. The prompt reply, with a veritable Johnsonian emphasis, was: “I will not be a candidate for anything so long as Coppin is a candidate.” What next? The foe must take the field and fight like a man, which was his perfect right, but, fight an honorable battle.

I resolved to make one visit, only one, to some center, and I chose the North Georgia Conference. Bishop H. M. Turner presided. I had two reasons for selecting this place. First, it was the home of Bishop Gaines, and he would be present; and secondly, I wanted to again meet, face to face, some of my old friends whom I met when I first went to the far South, and among, them, the strong and intrepid Flipper, who, if he at all espoused a cause, was a host within himself. Here then would be the advantage if the North Georgia trip succeeded: if the presiding bishop became favorably impressed, with Dr. Fripper and Bishop Gaines, there would be three distinct forces in action, in a stronghold of African Methodism.

Bishop Turner gave me a hearty welcome. The men, my old time friends,—a host of them—manifested much enthusiasm. Young Fountain, a new voice lifted, said: “We boys are going to stand by you, just as we propose to stand by Dr. Flipper later on.” Bishop Turner was “on the giving hand.” He first asked me to take the afternoon service. That was not the best for me, tho, any service was good. I wanted to get before the people in general, and my special friends in particular. It was Saturday afternoon, Bishop Turner called me to him, and said: “I want you to take my appointment and preach tomorrow morning.” I somehow felt that the suggestion was from above, and at once I left the Conference, and went to my room at the home of my friend Bishop Gaines, and asked for grace to enable me to fill that appointment, to the glory of God, and the edification of the people. What a glorious presence of the Divine Spirit!

When all was over and the service dismissed, Dr. Flipper extended his hand with a word of congratulation, and requested to see me privately in the lecture room: ominous request! The tete-a-tete between us is still unwritten history. Suffice it to say the conversation proceded with frankness, and was pleasant, and “Joe Flipper” and I are still the old friends that we were when I first visited Georgia taking subscriptions for the Review, preaching, lecturing and singing: “The Church is moving on.”

A few months later the General Conference met at Columbus, Ohio. I led my delegation from the old Philadelphia Conference. There were two candidates from the same Conference, Dr. C. T. Shaffer, secretary of the Church Extension Society and myself. Such a condition sometimes insures the defeat of both aspirants. But, in this case, both were elected, together with Drs. E. Tyree: M. M. Moore, and C. S. Smith.

When the votes were counted, it was found that Drs. Tyree, Moore and Smith had the required numbers, and Dr. Shaffer and I were some votes short. There were two Shaffer brothers present and some votes just read “Shaffer” and were thrown out, they were neither for “Cornelius,” nor “George” Shaffer: but, by counting the rejected ballots for C. T. Shaffer, he would have the required number. His friend, Bishop Grant, who was presiding, suggested that the thrown out ballots be counted for “Cornelius” Shaffer; but my friend, Bishop Gaines who was on guard, objected to such an unusual course of procedure, and only yielded upon the condition, that if the Conference agree that the rejected ballots be counted, the chairman would entertain a motion, that the rules be suspended, and L. J. Coppin elected by acclamation. This being agreed to, the motion was put to count the thrown out ballots for Dr. C. T. Shaffer. Immediately Dr. W. D. Chappelle obtained the floor, and moved for the suspension of the rules, and the election of L. J. Coppin by acclamation: the motion was carried unamiously. But some one raised the point the next morning that the discipline provides that such an election should be by ballot. So, notwithstanding the vote was unanimous, it was decided, that to remove any question of legality, the Secretary of the Conference be authorized to cast the vote of the Conference for L. J. Coppin. This was agreed to also without any objecting voice. So, I was elected twice, which seemed to all quite sufficient.

The question is often discussed, what makes one a Bishop, the election or the ordination. I think it is quite correct to say, it requires both performances to complete the work. Surely no one wound be consecrated,—or ordained— to an office for which he had not been elected. On the other hand, to neglect the induction into the office without the spiritual “setting apart,” would rob the whole procedure of its sanctity, and make it unbiblical. There may be a difference, even if only what might be called a technical difference between ordination, and consecration. Any consecration is an ordination, but, every ordination may not be technically a consecration. Certain disciples at Corinth had believed, and been baptized, or, set apart by baptism. But when Paul passed through he inquired as to whether or not they had received the Holy Ghost, and found that they had not! They had been baptized unto John's baptism, but there is a Holy Ghost Baptism. The former is legal, the latter spiritual. The former is by man—the election if you will—the latter of God. The former may or may not have divine approval; the latter is necessary even when the former is approved of God.

As for me, I was anxious about my consecration. The building of the Temple was by divine plan and arrangement; but, when Solomon dedicated it, a cloud filled the house! God accepted it. It was about this “acceptance” that I was anxious. A good deal of the “human” had entered into the election; of this I was well aware: all of which may have been necessary. It seemed to have required prejudice, jealousy and spite, to get Joseph down into Egypt, but God wanted him there. We all have our choice of persons to perform certain rites, as baptism, and marriage; even burial of dead. And when it comes to being set apart to a holy office or function, all the more one might have a preference of person to perform the service. But, it is a rule with us, that our Bishops act according to seniority in ordaining Bishops. So I, like the rest, simply took my turn and was ordained by the next Bishop in order. This did not altogether satisfy the longing of my soul, tho I made myself satisfied. Perhaps it was better to be that way, for the selecting of some one, could have been construed as the rejecting of some others.

But that Godly woman; veritable saint, Amanda Smith was on the ground. O, how I did wish that she might bow with me in prayer, and offer me to Him whom she knew so well, and who had so wonderfully answered her prayers, and blessed her work. But, how could this be brought about? So, I finally banished the thought from my mind, and went to my wife and informed her that I was now ready to go home for dinner; when to my surprise, but delight, she said: “would you object to my inviting sister Amanda Smith home to dinner with us?“ We had at our boarding house a suite of rooms, for the purpose of privacy. There, in that “calm retreat,” we three, away from the crowd and noise, and “congratulations:” there with God; alone with God, bowed in prayer. Amanda Smith prayed. I still feel to be under the influence of that prayer. It was indeed a prayer of consecration, and it seemed to me, “that heaven came down our souls to greet.” I then felt satisfied, and especially so, because, what I desired had seemingly come by divine interposition.

For a long time I had desired to see Africa, our “Mother Land.” I say Mother Land, because, the amalgamations Americana that slave conditions brought about gave us so many American fathers, that should such offsprings go to Africa, it certainly would not be going to Father Land. But be this as it may, I wanted to see Africa, the land of Ham. But it was far away. Much farther a few years ago than it now is. If one would go to Africa simply on a visit, it would prove to be rather expensive, requiring much time and money, neither of which I had at my command to spare in amounts so large. So, like many other desires that possessed me from time to time, I had about decided to abandon the hope of ever standing upon African soil.

At this Conference, five Bishops were elected a larger number than at any previous election. The object was, to extend our work to South Africa. We had for some time been on the West Coast; but now, by a visit by Bishop H. M. Turner to South Africa, the “Ethiopian” Church had been brought into the African Methodist fold. How peculiarly some things work out! Call it chance, call it providence; or, say, it just happened. Prophecy said the Christ would be born in Bethlehem: Caesar Augustus who knew nothing about the prophecy, and cared less, issued a decree, levying a tax upon his subjects which sent Joseph and Mary to Bethlehem. A comet that had been wandering, world without end, as comets will, got back into our solar system just in time to send some superstitious star gazers to Jerusalem to search prophecy to find out if it at all pointed to any thing that might be connected with what they thought a phenomenon. If they looked for the Christ, the records at Jerusalem said “Bethlehem,” and to Bethlehem they went. And so, it “happened,” that the “stork,” the taxation; the royal decree as to time for collecting; the return of the comet; the decision of the “wise men” to go just at that time to Jerusalem, all converged to this centre. What a remarkable coincidence! But that is just the way that things do sometimes so strangely happen! Well, it so happened, that I was elected at a time that the Church was about to extend its work in Africa. This was the opportunity for me to realize my fondest dream. Five Bishops were elected, but who will go to Africa? As quick and as earnestly as Isaiah, I said: “here am I, send me.” I hastened to make the request, and the Episcopal Committee was not slow to grant it. That Committee was only too glad to find one who wanted to go, and that one was only too glad of the chance. So here again was a coincidence.

I asked to be sent to South Africa. This field has both its advantages and disadvantages compared with our work on the West Coast. First, the climate is temperate compared with that of the West Coast, at Liberia and Sierra Leeone, which are under a torrid sun. But here, in South Africa is the language difficulty. True Cape Town, the headquarters of our work, has been so long under English rule, that the courts and schools are principally carried on in English; the trading the same. But even in Cape Town: “little London,” we are obliged to hold Church services in the Dutch and native languages. But when you go out of Cape Town, “up the country” you are among either Dutch or native people altogether, and unless you can speak their language, you must have an interpreter.

Cape Town—the Cape of Good Hope—was settled years ago by Dutchmen, who made wives of the Hotentot women, the Hotentots being the Native people who inhabited the Cape. This Dutch, and Native union produced the “Cape Colored people,” and the Hotentot tribes were crushed out or pushed back: the Dutch, and not the Native language is still spoken by these descendents of mixed blood parentage. Previous to the English occupation, was all Dutch. With the subjugation of the Dutch, it became Dutch and English. The Dutch people, dominant in numbers and in material possessions, forbade the Colored contingent to speak English. So, we have the unusual condition of Colored Dutchmen: “Coloured” as the English people spell it. Those who live right in Cape Town are obliged to be able to make themselves understood in English; but, just a very few miles outside of this City of nearly a hundred thousand population, there are Colored people who cannot speak a word of English.

Between my appointment to the 14th Episcopal District of the A. M. R. Church and the day of sailing, I filled some lecture engagements, as means of collecting some funds to assisting the work over there. Of course the subject of my lectures was: “Africa,” or “South Africa,” or “The Dark Continent.” It is amazing, how much one can say upon a subject that he knows absolutely nothing about. But are there not books upon every imaginable subject? Yes, verily: “of making many books, there is no end.” I soon collected a small library on various phases of Africa, its peoples etc. Those books contained a great deal of information, but most of them contained also many errors. This is such a large, interesting and important subject, that it is difficult for either a white or Colored writer to avoid being influenced by prejudice. The white man sees the African full of faults and deficiencies, which may be true; but certainly not all of the truth: while, the Colored man, in trying to correct the misrepresentations so apparent, may incline to the opposite extreme. In the books I read, I saw much about the Kafirs, and so, supposing that they were the principal tribes among whom I would have to work, I informed myself concerning them, and lectured about them before leaving America.

Now imagine my mortification when I found that there was no such tribe on the continent of Africa. The word originated among the Mohammedans, and meant, something like “infidel:” one outside of the faith: no reference to race at all except for the fact that it was the Native people of a certain place who were thus referred to. It finally came to be used oppropriously, just as in America the word “nigger” is used.

Just imagine my chagrin, when, in conversation with a Wesleyan—white—minister on the boat between Southampton and Cape Town I, informed him, with much confidence and zest, that I was on my way to South Africa, to labor among the “Kafirs,” and he, with a sarcastic retort, replied: “there are no Kafirs to labor among.” It was a “home blow.” I could not reply. I had only “read” about them. From what I afterwards learned about the gentleman and his work among the Natives, I think he must have enjoyed the shot that took my breath. We were accused of “sheep stealing” for, after the advent of our Church, the Native people would leave their former Church relations with the white people, and come to us. It mattered not how vehemently we refused to receive them, and try to explain that our mission was only to such as had no Church home. One old lady at one of the places where we were being importuned to organize, said: “you may bring your Church here, or not, but I will never step my foot inside of another white man's church so long as I live.” The fact was, they felt to be coming to their own, and for more reasons than is necessary for me to here name.

Some time ago I received a letter and before speaking more about things in South Africa, it may be of interest to the reader to have it appear here:

MacCameline Hall, Lower Providence, Pa. Feb. 19, 1916. Rt. Rev. Levi J. Coppin, D.D.:

Dear Bishop:—I've been intending to write to you for a long while my appreciation of the candor, simplicity, force and naive genuineness with which you tell the story of your travels and experiences in South Africa, while in charge of missions of your Church. In your book which Mrs. Ballentine and myself have read with great and unique pleasure, unique pleasure, I say. For it is rarely one can read a book such as yours, and rely implicity on the statement of every detail. The question so often rises: Is that so? Mustn't that be taken with a grain of salt? Isn't he prejudiced in that judgment? Isn't he showing the effect of race prejudice?