The errin’ ones, them from whom the robes of Pharisees are drawed away, and at whom noses are upturned, these find in my boy Thomas Jefferson and his wife true helpers and friends. They find somebody that meets ’em on their own ground—not a reachin’ down a finger to ’em from a steeple or a platform, but a standin’ on the ground with ’em, a reachin’ out their hands in brotherly and sisterly helpfulness, pity, and affection. Dear little Snow, do you see it? As the tears of gratitude moisten your Pa’s and Ma’s hands, do you bend down and see it all? Is it your sweet little voice that whispers to ’em to do thus and so? Blessed baby, I sometimes think it is. Mebby you turn away from all the ineffable glories that surround the pathway of the ransomed throng, to hover near the sad old earth you dwelt in once and the hearts that held you nearer than their own lives. Mebby it is so; I can’t help thinkin’ it is sometimes. I said that the relation on Josiah’s side is still in the world, and I believe it, because we had a letter from him no longer ago than last night. I got it jest before sundown, and after Josiah handed it to me he went to the barn to onharness—he had been to Jonesville. I sot out on the stoop under the clear, soft twilight sky of June, and the last red rays of the sinkin’ sun lay on the letter like a benediction. And under that golden and rosy light I read these words: “MY DEAR COUSIN: Here in this distant land, where my last days will be spent, my human heart yearns over my far-off kindred. “And I send you this greeting and memorial to testify that the Lord has been gracious to me. He has permitted me to see the desire of my heart. He has blessed my failing vision with the blessed light of this Land of Promise. [Illustration: “I SOT OUT ON THE STOOP.”] “I sit here as I write on the banks of a clear river that runs towards the South land. “My little cabin stands on its banks, and I sit literally under my own vine and fig-tree, and I can say of my home as the prophet of old said of a fair city: ‘It is planted in a pleasant place.’ “As my eyes grow dim to earthly things I catch more vividly the meaning of immortal things hidden from me in my more eager and impetuous days. “I am now willing to abide God’s will. “I see, in looking back to those old days, that I was impatient, trying to mould humanity according to my poor crude conception. “I am now willing to wait God’s will. “I see it plainly working out the great problem which vexed me so sorely. “How slowly, how surely has this plan been unfolding, even in those long days of slavery, when the eager and impetuous ones distrusted God’s mercy and scouted at His wisdom. “But how else was it possible to have taken these ignorant ones from the jungles of Africa and made of them teachers and missionaries of Christianity and civilization to their own people?