A schoolmate of hers, now residing in Providence, Rhode Island, says Mary was a very amiable girl, and a good student. They for a time attended a select colored school taught by a colored woman. Afterward they attended a colored school taught by white teachers. The last teacher was Mr. Nuthall, an Englishman. He taught till a law of Congress enacted that the law of Virginia in relation to free colored people should prevail in the District of Columbia. This was several years before Alexandria was retroceded to Virginia. This law closed all colored schools in the city. Mary was compelled to leave the school in consequence of being informed of as having come from Virginia. While at school, Mary acquired a good English education, and, in addition to this, a knowledge of various kinds of needlework, and also dress-making. Her aunt was a devoted Christian, and no doubt had a very happy influence on Mary. Her mother also was converted when Mary was two or three years old. Under these influences she was early the subject of serious impressions. Though fond of general reading and study, there was no book she loved so well as the Bible. This was her companion and text book, and she committed large portions of it to memory. When sixteen years old, having finished her education, she returned to her mother, at Norfolk. Soon afterward, those religious elements which had existed from early childhood--grown with her growth and strengthened with her strength--became dominant by the grace of God, and asserted their power over her. Near her residence was a garden, connected with a large old mansion, between Fenchurch and Church Streets. In this garden was a dilapidated family tomb. It was impressed on her mind that she must go into this tomb to pray. At the dead hour of night she sought this gloomy abode of moldering coffins and scattered bones. As she entered and knelt in the death cell, she trembled with a fear which her prayers could not dissipate. Quickly and stealthily she retraced her steps, and hurried back to her home. Yet the next night, this girl of sixteen had the courage to seek the dismal place again, and the next night yet again, with similar results. But at length light broke upon the darkness of the tomb, and it became a place of delightful communion with her Lord; whence it was afterward called "Mary's parlor." At the midnight hour, she left the tomb, and broke the silence of the night with a jubilant song, fearless of the patrol. The song was this strain of Watts, in which many a saint has poured forth his soul:-- "Stand up, my soul, shake off thy fears, And gird the gospel armor on; March to the gates of endless joy, Where Jesus, thy great Captain, 's gone. "Hell and thy sins resist thy course, But hell and sin are vanquished foes; Thy Jesus nailed them to the cross, And sung the triumph when he rose.