heard in Georgia and Carolina, the children of Africa, burst forth into songs of praise of their Redeemer!
But here, in the beautiful southern land of the Mississippi Valley, it was worse than heathenism! Mississippi, thou great Noah's flood, now do I know thy history to the end!
But in the midst of its darkest career, I have seen the conscience of the South glance brightly upwards in a pure eye, directed towards heaven, in a warm and honest heart; and this is my consolation and my hope. The sunshine on the Mississippi is no mere lie. “Darkness was upon the face of the deep, but the spirit of God moved over the waters——.”
On the Mississippi.
We have passed Baton Rouge, as the political capital of Louisiana is called, situated upon a high bluff, upon the lofty shore of the Mississippi. A fine capitol commands the little city, and a magnificent State prison, just completed, stands with its foundations in the waters of the Noah's flood.
The Mississippi is at this point very broad. There are in the river sand-banks and verdant islands. Its waters are now clearer; the sun shines; the scenery of the shores is pleasing and quiet: plantations, orange groves, white slave-villages, amid the green fields; extensive views beneath the mild heavens of summer. The river is full of vessels, steamers, boats, and barges. We are approaching the gay city of New Orleans.
I had some conversation to-day with our stewardess, a pretty, well-disposed mulatto-girl. I found her in her little cabin busily studying a large alphabet. I had seen her twice before so employed. “The steward,” she said, “had promised to teach her to read in secret. He could read, that he could!” She longed so much to be able to read. I found her one day in our saloon, standing before the open Bible, which always lies upon the table there. I
