"I understand that this colored Presbyterian minister from Danville preached on baptism last Sunday, and that he has made the whole matter entirely clear and satisfactory to you all." They assured him that that was true. "Now," said the Doctor, "that seems very strange to me. You all profess to like my preaching, and are generally full of compliments and thanks for my sermons. I have done my very best for you on this subject of baptism. I have told you all I know--all I have learned from Hebrew and Greek--and it did not do one bit of good. And now this colored minister from Danville preaches to you, and beats me entirely. He makes the whole subject plain and satisfactory to you. Can you tell me what he said?" "Oh, yes, yes, yes!" they responded. "His tex' was, 'My sheep hears my voice, and I knows them, and dey follows me.' Den he said, 'In de Bible de Christians is de sheep.' He had a heap of Bible on dat p'int, and he preached a mighty long time and make dat so strong, no nigger can't 'spute it. And den he said, mighty strong, 'Now, my bruddren and sisters, you all knows you can't get a sheep into de water nohow, 'less you cotch him and carries him in.' And, preacher, you knows dat is so yourself." I give these truthful sketches of old-time slave preachers and preaching in the hope that others may follow my example, and preserve as many as possible of these illustrations of a state of things now rapidly passing away, through the labors of an educated ministry. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 4: I do not know that I need to say that these slave preachers were not regularly licensed and ordained by any ecclesiastical body. They simply assumed the profession, and were recognized as preachers among their own people.] CHAPTER XV. "ORTONVILLE"; OR, THE UNIVERSAL POWER OF SACRED SONG. I have a distinct recollection of the circumstances of my first acquaintance with "Ortonville," a piece of sacred music by the late Professor Thomas Hastings. It was more than forty years ago. The church choir in my native place, a small country village in western New York, had gone down to that sad pass, that for several Sabbaths the alternative was either to have no singing at all, or a maiden lady, a veteran member of the choir, must "pitch the tune." This, even in the estimation of the most staid and least nervous of the congregation, was quite too bad; and the matter was taken up and talked over in earnest at the village store, where all matters public and private pertaining to the neighborhood and town were discussed, and public sentiment on all questions was regulated, like the price of stocks at a board of brokers. The result of this discussion was, that a subscription-paper was started, and a singing-master employed for one evening each week during the winter, who, according to immemorial custom, was paid three dollars an evening for his services, and the school was free to all who were disposed to attend.