Be to their virtues very kind, Be to their faults a little blind. If in heaven there be one seat higher than another, it must be reserved for those true Southern matrons, who performed conscientiously their part assigned them by God--civilizing and instructing this race. I have searched missionary records of all ages, but find no results in Africa or elsewhere at all comparing with the grand work accomplished for the African race in our Southern homes. Closing the last chapter of "Explorations in the Dark Continent," the thought came to me that it would be well if our African friends in America would set apart another anniversary to celebrate "the landing of their fathers on the shores of America," when they were bought and domiciled in American homes. This must have been God's own plan for helping them, although a severe ordeal for our ancestors. In God's own time and way the shackles have been removed from this people, who are now sufficiently civilized to take an independent position in the great family of man. However we may differ in the opinion, there is no greater compliment to Southern slave-owners than the idea prevailing in many places that the negro is already sufficiently elevated to hold the highest positions in the gift of our government. I once met in traveling an English gentleman who asked me: "How can you bear those miserable black negroes about your houses and about your persons? To me they are horribly repulsive, and I would not endure one about me." "Neither would they have been my choice," I replied. "But God sent them to us. I was born to this inheritance and could not avert it. What would you English have done," I asked, "if God had sent them to you?" "Thrown them to the bottom of the sea!" he replied. Fortunately for the poor negro this sentiment did not prevail among us. I believe God endowed our people with qualities peculiarly adapted to taking charge of this race, and that no other nation could have kept them. Our people did not demand as much work as in other countries is required of servants, and I think had more affection for them than is elsewhere felt for menials. In this connection I remember an incident during the war which deserves to be recorded as showing the affection entertained for negro dependents. When our soldiers were nearly starved, and only allowed daily a small handful of parched corn, the colonel of a Virginia regiment[1] by accident got some coffee, a small portion of which was daily distributed to each soldier. In the regiment was a cousin of mine,--a young man endowed with the noblest attributes God can give,--who, although famishing and needing it, denied himself his portion every day that he might bring it to his black mammy. He made a small bag in which he deposited and carefully saved it. [1] Robert Logan, of Roanoke, Va. When he arrived at home on furlough, his mother wept to see his tattered clothes, his shoeless feet, and his starved appearance.