My readers will therefore perceive, that the formation of our little school arose from a circumstance entirely accidental, I having at first offered simply to teach two or three colored children their Sunday school lessons; they being members of Christ’s Church Sunday school; and from the very books given to them by the ladies and gentlemen engaged in that school. Finding those children obedient and well behaved, as well as anxious to be taught, I became deeply interested in their welfare, and continued from time to time to receive all who offered themselves as pupils. Living a life so retired, I needed an occupation involving some care, and was glad to be engaged in a duty so benevolent. We attended strictly to their moral and religious instruction, and, when they were sick, we promptly visited them, and administered to their wants, and, I am indeed happy to say, although I was afterwards cruelly cast into prison and otherwise unjustly dealt with, I have the satisfaction of knowing that I suffered in a good and righteous cause. I was totally ignorant of any existing law prohibiting the instruction of free colored children, but, at the same time, I was careful to have no slaves among our scholars. Every thing passed on quietly for several months, in the ordinary routine of a child’s school, with nothing to interest my readers particularly, unless it be one incident which will never be forgotten by us, viz: the death of one of our little scholars, the circumstances of which I will here take the liberty to relate. She was about fourteen years of age, and, while at school, she was mild, humble and obedient, and studied very hard. Her form was slender and her constitution very delicate. I frequently thought that her close application to her books would injure her health, though she seemed predestined to an early grave. She was at length taken seriously ill, and we visited her as frequently as our engagements would permit. Will my readers go with me into a tottering negro hovel, situated in the very heart of the city of Norfolk? It is a miserable apology for a human habitation, containing but two apartments, one above the other. On one side of the first, or ground floor, is a wretched bed, supported by some boards and broken chairs, and on it lies one of Mrs. Douglass’s sable scholars, her young life fast ebbing away under the ravages of a rapid consumption. Her mother, poor woman, is little better off, and her hollow cough tells too truly that her own days are numbered. With a constitution naturally delicate, and almost worn out by constant watching, she is unable to earn anything to add to her little stores, or even to obtain the slightest necessary nourishment for her dying child. Here is a scene of suffering, and no one to administer to the wants of the dying or the living. Common humanity calls loudly for the exercise of simple charity, but the cry is unheard.