On the first Sabbath about thirty or forty children were assembled of all ages and sizes, with wondering eyes; and in a few moments I found myself seated in a chair before six boys, whom I at once recognized as some of the worst village urchins, always to be seen at the "depôt," or on the "hotel steps," laden with baskets of apples and pea-nuts, their own best customers. I was about to ask for more hopeful subjects, but our earnest superintendent only held out to me the class-book and pencil--and I was alone with my destiny. Among the names, I registered Andrew Jackson, Andrew Jackson, Jr., Marquis Lafayette, George Washington, and Byron Clarke. When about to inquire the cognomen of the last, I was forestalled by his calling out, in a stentorian voice, "My name a'n't nothing but _Bill Jones_; but I guess you have heard of the boy who sings nigger songs and dances Jim Crow at the 'Harrison House.'" He was unfortunately not mistaken in his notoriety, and the task before me assumed a new magnitude. None of them could read, and after half an hour of A B C, I proceeded to ask some simple questions of Bible history, of which I soon found that they knew absolutely nothing: their ideas of God, even, were as wild as those of the little Hindoos. So I began at the beginning. I spoke of the six days of creation; then of the deluge. When in my account of the ark and its wondrous freight, I was interrupted by one. "Did they have bears?" "Yes," I answered. "And lions?" "Yes." "Elephants?" "Yes." "Monkeys?" "Yes." And finally Billy Jones, all eagerness, "Did they have a _clown_?" And I found to my utter dismay that my youthful auditors, certainly not incapable of association of ideas, had conceived of Noah merely as the proprietor of a menagerie travelling in that wild waste of waters. Truly this was fallow ground. But our superintendent only smiled encouragement, and bade me go forward.