Stay at Cincinnati (continued)—The Orphan Asylum—A Coloured Man and a
White Fop treated as each deserved—A Trip across to Covington—Mr.
Gilmore and the School for Coloured Children—"The Fugitive Slave to
the Christian"—Sabbath—Mr. Boynton—Dr. Beecher—Lane
Seminary—Departure from Cincinnati.

In the afternoon we went with Mrs. Judge B—— to see an Orphan Asylum, in which she took a deep interest. Requested to address the children, I took the opportunity of delivering an anti-slavery and anti-colour-hating speech. The building, large and substantial, is capable of accommodating 300 children; but the number of inmates was at that time not more than 70. While the lady was showing us from one apartment to another, and pointing out to us the comforts and conveniences of the institution, the following colloquy took place.

Myself.—"Now, Mrs. B, this place is very beautiful: I admire it exceedingly. Would you refuse a little coloured orphan admission into this asylum?"

The Lady. (stretching herself up to her full height, and with a look of horror and indignation),—"Indeed, we would!"

Myself.—"Oh, shocking! shocking!"

The Lady.—"Oh! there is another asylum for the coloured children; they are not neglected."

Myself.—"Ay, but why should they not be together?—why should there be such a distinction between the children of our common Father?"

The Lady. (in a tone of triumph).—"Why has God made such a distinction between them?"

Myself.—"And why has he made such a distinction between me and Tom Thumb? Or (for I am not very tall) why has he made me a man of 5 feet 6 inches instead of 6 feet high? A man may as well be excluded from society on account of his stature as his colour."

At this moment my wife, seeing I was waxing warm, pulled me by the coat-tail, and I said no more. The lady, however, went on to say that she was opposed to slavery—was a colonizationist, and heartily wished all the coloured people were back again in their own country. "In their own country, indeed!" I was going to say,—"why, this is their country as much as it is yours;" but I remembered my wife's admonition, and held my peace. These were the sentiments of a lady first and foremost in the charitable movements of the day, and regarded by those around her as a pattern of piety and benevolence. She was shocked at the notion of the poor coloured orphan mingling with fellow-orphans of a fairer hue.

In the evening we went to take tea at the house of an English Quaker. About half-a-dozen friends had been invited to meet us. These were kindred spirits, anti-slavery out-and-out, and we spent the evening very pleasantly. One of the company, in speaking of the American prejudice against colour, mentioned a remarkable circumstance. Some time ago, at an hotel in one of the Eastern States, a highly respectable coloured gentleman, well known to the host and to his guests, was about to sit down at the dinner table. A military officer—a conceited puppy—asked the landlord if that "nigger" was going to sit down? The landlord replied in the affirmative. "Then," said the fop, "I cannot sit down with a nigger." The rest of the company, understanding what was going forward, rose as one man from their seats, ordered another table to be spread, and presented a respectful invitation to the coloured gentleman to take a seat with them. The military dandy was left at the first table, "alone in his glory." When thus humbled, and when he also understood who the coloured man was, he went up to him to apologize in the best way he could, and to beg that the offence might be forgotten. The coloured gentleman's reply was beautiful and touching,—"Favours I write on marble, insults on sand."

On the morning of the 5th of March, the sun shining pleasantly, we were tempted to cross over to Covington, on the Kentucky or slave side of the river. Ferry-steamers ran every five or ten minutes, and the fare was only 5 cents. At this place the Baptists have a large and important college. Why did they erect it on the slave rather than on the free side of the Ohio? This institution I was anxious to see; but I found it too far off, and the roads too bad. Feeling weary and faint, we called at a house of refreshment, where we had a genuine specimen of American inquisitiveness.

In five minutes the daughter of the house had asked us where we came from—what sort of a place it was—how long we had been in the United States—how long it took us to come—how far we were going—how long we should stay—and if we did not like that part of America so well that we would come and settle in it altogether! and in five minutes more our answers to all these important questions had been duly reported to the rest of the family in an adjoining room. This inquisitiveness prevails more in the slave than in the free States, and originates, I believe, in the fidgetty anxiety they feel about their slaves. The stranger must be well catechised, lest he should prove to be an Abolitionist come to give the slaves a sly lesson in geography.

In the afternoon I went to see the school of the coloured children in Cincinnati. This was established about four years ago by a Mr. Gilmore, a white gentleman, who is also a minister of the Gospel. He is a man of some property, and all connected with this school has been done at his own risk and responsibility. On my venturing to inquire what sacrifice of property he had made in the undertaking, he seemed hurt at the question, and replied, "No sacrifice whatever, sir." "But what, may I ask, have these operations cost beyond what you have received in the way of school-fees?" I continued. "About 7,000 dollars," (1,500_l._) said he. Including two or three branches, there are about 300 coloured children thus educated. Mr. Gilmore was at first much opposed and ridiculed; but that state of feeling was beginning to wear away. Several of the children were so fair that, accustomed as I am to shades of colour, I could not distinguish them from the Anglo-Saxon race; and yet Mr. Gilmore told me even they would not have been admitted to the other public schools! How discerning the Americans are! How proud of their skin-deep aristocracy! And the author of "Cincinnati in 1841," in speaking of those very schools from which these fair children were excluded, says, "These schools are founded not merely on the principle that all men are free and equal, but that all men's children are so likewise; and that, as it is our duty to love our neighbour as ourselves, it is our duty to provide the same benefits and blessings to his children as to our own. These establishments result from the recognition of the fact also, that we have all a common interest—moral, political, and pecuniary—in the education of the whole community." Those gloriously exclusive schools I had no wish to visit. But I felt a peculiar pleasure in visiting this humbler yet well-conducted institution, for the benefit of those who are despised and degraded on account of their colour. As I entered, a music-master was teaching them, with the aid of a piano, to sing some select pieces for an approaching examination, both the instrument and the master having been provided by the generous Gilmore. Even the music-master, notwithstanding his first-rate ability, suffers considerable loss of patronage on account of his services in this branded school. Among the pieces sung, and sung exceedingly well, was the following touching appeal, headed "The Fugitive Slave to the Christian"—Air, "Cracovienne."

"The fetters galled my weary soul,—
A soul that seemed but thrown away:
I spurned the tyrant's base control,
Resolved at last the man to play:
The hounds are haying on my track;
O Christian! will you send me back?

"I felt the stripes,—the lash I saw,
Red dripping with a father's gore;
And, worst of all their lawless law,
The insults that my mother bore!
The hounds are baying on my track;
O Christian! will you send me back?

"Where human law o'errules Divine,
Beneath the sheriff's hammer fell
My wife and babes,—I call them mine,—
And where they suffer who can tell?
The hounds are baying on my track;
O Christian! will you send me back?

"I seek a home where man is man,
If such there be upon this earth,—
To draw my kindred, if I can,
Around its free though humble hearth.
The hounds are baying on my track;
O Christian! will you send me back?"

March 7.—This being the Sabbath, we went in the morning to worship at Mr. Boynton's church. The day was very wet, and the congregation small. His text was, "Go ye into all the world, and preach the Gospel to every creature. He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved; but he that believeth not shall be damned." The sermon, though read, and composed too much in the essay style, indicated considerable powers of mind and fidelity of ministerial character. Although from incessant rain the day was very dark, the Venetian blinds were down over all the windows! The Americans, I have since observed, are particularly fond of the "dim religious light." Among the announcements from the pulpit were several funerals, which it is there customary thus to advertise.

In the afternoon I heard Dr. Beecher. Here, again, I found the blinds down. The Doctor's text was, "Let me first go and bury my father," &c. Without at all noticing the context,—an omission which I regretted,—he proceeded at once to state the doctrine of the text to be, that nothing can excuse the putting off of religion—that it is every man's duty to follow Christ immediately. This subject, notwithstanding the heaviness of the day, the infirmities of more than threescore years and ten (74), and the frequent necessity of adjusting his spectacles to consult his notes, he handled with much vigour and zeal. Some of his pronunciations were rather antiquated; but they were the elegant New England pronunciations of his youthful days. The sermon was marked by that close and faithful dealing with the conscience in which so many American ministers excel.

Professor Allen called to take me up to Lane Seminary, where I was to address the students in the evening. The service was public, and held in the chapel of the institution; but the evening being wet, the congregation was small. I had, however, before me the future pastors of about fifty churches, and two of the professors. I was domiciled at Mr. Allen's. Both he and his intelligent wife are sound on the subject of slavery. They are also quite above the contemptible prejudice against colour. But I was sorry to hear Mrs. Allen say, that, in her domestic arrangements, she had often had a great deal of trouble with her European servants, who would refuse to take their meals with black ones, though the latter were in every respect superior to the former! I have heard similar remarks in other parts of America. Mr. Allen's system of domestic training appeared excellent. His children, of whom he has as many as the patriarch Jacob, were among the loveliest I had ever seen.

At 8 o'clock in the morning of the 8th of March I left Lane Seminary, with a heavy heart at the thought that in all probability I should never see it again. There was a sharp frost. Dr. Stowe accompanied me to the omnibus. "All right!"—"Pax vobiscum!"—the vehicle moved on, and directly the Doctor was at a distance of a hundred yards waving a farewell. It was the last look.

At 11 A.M. myself, wife, baggage,—all were setting off from the "Queen City" for Pittsburgh, a distance of 496 miles, in the Clipper No. 2, a fine boat, and in good hands.