But I must hasten. There is this demand of the nation upon us. It is said that Robert Peel was riding with his daughter on her birthday—he had given her a splendid riding habit, and the two were admired by all who saw them, and the father looked with pride upon his daughter—and in less than a week the daughter was beneath the sod. The seamstress had sewed the habit while sitting by the side of the bed of her husband groaning under the delirium of the typhus; and in the chill that came upon him she had cast the garment over him. The typhus of the garret became the typhus of that celebrated house. And we are concerned with the swamps, with the morasses, with these debased and poor colored people. We cannot afford to be other. I would, if there were time, enlarge upon this in connection with the report so admirably given; but I must pass on. It is said that the Puritan captain Hodgdon was riding one day at the head of his company near the mountains when he heard the sound of a bugle. As he heard it he said to his soldiers: “Halt!” and every man leaned on his arms. “List! I love to hear the sound of the bugle: there is so much of God in it.” Yesterday came the report from the counties of Kentucky. It was a bugle-blast to this assembly. Was God in it? 500,000 people who could not read their names, though written in characters that might be read 100 rods off—500,000 illiterate, ten years of age and above, in Kentucky, Tennessee and West Virginia! From the mountains there comes the sound of the bugle that has stirred us. Did it wake us up? Was God in it? I heard a voice in that sound. We are told in our press and from our platforms that the A. M. A. is not doing full work in the South, and other helpers must come. Wait. Don’t hurry. The bugle has sounded; it was God that was sounding it. I ask for no vote of this assembly. I call for no show of hands. Yet, if you wait before God, you must answer in the name of this world to his call: “I ordain you to go and devote $50,000 to the mountain work, in Kentucky, Tennessee and West Virginia.” It must be done. There is no drawing back. It is said that when Robert Bruce was marching to meet Edward, and came within sight of the glittering sheen, he said to his soldiers, “Kneel down, every one”; and the army of Robert Bruce, with their eyes to the earth and their lips moving, offered their prayers to God, then rose up—a little army—and defeated the English. It was God’s voice that sounded like a bugle. It is for the soldiers to pray, and to fall where the bugle calls.