We all thought it likely; and as the company left her, they shook hands with her, and thanked her for her very original sermon; and one of the ministers was overheard to say to another, "There's more of the gospel in that story than in most sermons." Sojourner stayed several days with us, a welcome guest. Her conversation was so strong, simple, shrewd, and with such a droll flavoring of humor, that the Professor was wont to say of an evening, "Come, I am dull, can't you get Sojourner up here to talk a little?" She would come up into the parlor, and sit among pictures and ornaments, in her simple stuff gown, with her heavy travelling-shoes, the central object of attention both to parents and children, always ready to talk or to sing, and putting into the common flow of conversation the keen edge of some shrewd remark. "Sojourner, what do you think of Women's Rights?" "Well, honey, I's ben to der meetins, an' harked a good deal. Dey wanted me for to speak. So I got up. Says I,--'Sisters, I a'n't clear what you'd be after. Ef women want any rights more 'n dey's got, why don't dey jes' TAKE 'EM, an' not be talkin' about it?' Some on 'em came round me, an' asked why I didn't wear Bloomers. An' I told 'em I had Bloomers enough when I was in bondage. You see," she said, "dey used to weave what dey called nigger-cloth, an' each one of us got jes' sech a strip, an' had to wear it width-wise. Them that was short got along pretty well, but as for me"--She gave an indescribably droll glance at her long limbs and then at us, and added,--"Tell YOU, I had enough of Bloomers in them days." Sojourner then proceeded to give her views of the relative capacity of the sexes, in her own way. "S'pose a man's mind holds a quart, an' a woman's don't hold but a pint; ef her pint is FULL, it's as good as his quart." Sojourner was fond of singing an extraordinary lyric, commencing,-- "I'm on my way to Canada, That cold, but happy land; The dire effects of Slavery I can no longer stand. O righteous Father, Do look down on me, And help me on to Canada, Where colored folks are free!" The lyric ran on to state, that, when the fugitive crosses the Canada line, "The Queen comes down unto the shore, With arms extended wide, To welcome the poor fugitive Safe onto Freedom's side." In the truth thus set forth she seemed to have the most simple faith. But her chief delight was to talk of "glory," and to sing hymns whose burden was,-- "O glory, glory, glory, Won't you come along with me?" and when left to herself, she would often hum these with great delight, nodding her head. On one occasion, I remember her sitting at a window singing and fervently keeping time with her head, the little black Puck of a grandson meanwhile amusing himself with ornamenting her red-and-yellow turban with green dandelion-curls, which shook and trembled with her emotions, causing him perfect convulsions of delight.