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An Autobiography.
The Story of the Lord's Dealings with Mrs. Amanda Smith
the Colored Evangelist;
Containing an Account of Her Life Work of Faith, and Her Travels
in America, England, Ireland, Scotland, India, and
Africa, as an Independent Missionary:
Electronic Edition.

Amanda Smith, 1837-1915

Funding from the National Endowment for the Humanities
supported the electronic publication of this title.

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First edition, 1999
ca. 1.5MB
Academic Affairs Library, UNC-CH
University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill,
1999.

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Source Description:
(title page) An Autobiography The Story of the Lord's Dealings with Mrs. Amanda Smith the Colored Evangelist; Containing an Account of Her Life Work of Faith, and Her Travels in America, England, Ireland, Scotland, India, and Africa, as an Independent Missionary
Smith, Amanda
iii-xvi, 17-506
Chicago:
Meyer & Brother, Publishers,
108 Washington Street,
1893

Call number Travel E185.97 .S6 (Rare Book Collection, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill)

        The electronic edition is a part of the UNC-CH digitization project, Documenting the American South.
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Library of Congress Subject Headings

LC Subject Headings:

Cover

Spine

Frontispiece

Title Page

Verso

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY
THE STORY OF THE LORD'S DEALINGS WITH
MRS. AMANDA SMITH
THE COLORED EVANGELIST
CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT OF HER LIFE WORK OF FAITH, AND HER TRAVELS
IN AMERICA, ENGLAND, IRELAND, SCOTLAND, INDIA AND
AFRICA, AS AN INDEPENDENT MISSIONARY.

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
BISHOP THOBURN, OF INDIA.

"Hitherto the Lord hath helped me."

CHICAGO:
MEYER & BROTHER, PUBLISHERS,
108 WASHINGTON STREET,
1893.

Page verso

Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1893, by
AMANDA SMITH
in the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.

Page iii

PREFACE.

        For a number of years many of my friends have said to me, "You ought to write out an account of your life, and let it he known how God has led you out into His work."

        Some time before that wonderful man of God, John S. Inskip, passed away, he said, "Amanda, you ought to write," and he kindly offered to assist me in getting the items together.

        Many other friends in America, have said the same, and I have replied, "I could not do it, for I don't know how to go about it," and so would not entertain the thought.

        Time passed on, and after I was in England a while, the friends there began to say the same thing, and as an inducement to commence, told me that it might be done much cheaper there than in America.

        As I was constantly on the go, and had no time to think about it, and certainly none to write, things remained thus until after my return from Africa. Then friends in different places again urged me to do this, and being broken down in health, and so unable to labor as much as formerly, I began to think of it more seriously and prayed much over it, asking the Lord, if it was His will, to make it clear and settle me in it, and give me something from His Word that I may have as an anchor.

        Asking thus for light and guidance, I opened my Bible while in prayer, and my eye lighted on these words: "Now, therefore, perform the doing of it, and as there was a readiness to will, so there may be a performance also out of that which ye have." (2nd Cor. viii: 11.)

        I said, "Lord, I thank Thee, for this is Thy Word to me, for what I have asked of Thee. Praised be Thy name."

Page iv

        And from that moment, my heart was settled to do it. But as the time has gone, and so much has seemed to come if) to hinder, and several persons who had kindly offered to assist me, were called away in one direction or another, and I was so wearied and the task looked so big, my heart began to fail me, and I thought I could not do it.

        Again I went to the Lord in prayer, and told Him all about it, and asked Him what I should do, for His glory alone was all I sought. He whispered to my heart, clearly and plainly, these words, "Fear thou not, I will help thee." (Isa. xli: 13.) Again I praised Him; so now I go forward with full faith and trust that He will fulfill His own promise.

        My friends who know me best, will make allowances for all defects in this autobiographical sketch; and I believe strangers also will be charitable, when they know that my opportunities for an education have been very limited indeed.

        Three months of schooling was all I ever had. That was at a school for whites; though a few colored children were permitted to attend. To this school my brother and I walked five and a half miles each day, in going and returning, and the attention we received while there was only such as the teacher could give after the requirements of the more favored pupils had been met.

        In view of the deficiency in my early education, and other disadvantages in this respect, under which I have labored, I crave the indulgence of all who may read this simple and unvarnished story of my life.

AMANDA SMITH.

Page v

INTRODUCTION.

        During the summer of 1876, while attending a camp meeting Epworth Heights, near Cincinnati, my attention was drawn to a colored lady dressed in a very plain garb, which reminded me somewhat of that worn by the Friends in former days, who was engaged in expounding a Bible lesson to a small audience.

        I was told that the speaker was Mrs. Amanda Smith, and that she was a woman of remarkable gifts, who had been greatly blessed in various parts of the country.

        Having spent nearly all my adult years on the other side of the globe, my acquaintance in America was by no means an extensive one, and this will explain the fact that I had never heard of this devout lady until I met her at this camp meeting.

        Her remarks on the Bible lesson did not particularly impress me, and it was not until the evening of the same day, when I chanced to be kneeling near her at a prayer meeting, that I became impressed that she was a person of more than ordinary power.

        The meetings of the day had not been very successful, and a spirit of depression rested upon many of the leaders. A heavy rain had fallen, and we were kneeling somewhat uncomfortably in the straw which surrounded the preacher's stand.

        A number had prayed, and I was myself sharing the general feeling of depression, when I was suddenly startled by the voice of song. I lifted my head, and at a short distance, probably not more than two yards from me, I saw the colored sister of the morning kneeling in an upright position, with her hands spread out and her face all aglow.

        She had suddenly broken out with a triumphant song, and while I was startled by the change in the order of the meeting, I was at once absorbed with interest in the song and the singer.

Page vi

        Something like a hallowed glow seemed to rest upon the dark face before me, and I felt in a second that she was possessed of a rare degree of spiritual power.

        That invisible something which we are accustomed to call power, and which is never possessed by any Christian believer except as one of the fruits of the indwelling Spirit of God, was hers in a marked degree.

        From that time onward I regarded her as a gifted worker in the Lord's vineyard, but I had still to learn that the enduement of the Spirit had given her more than the one gift of spiritual power.

        A week later I met her at Lakeside, Ohio, and was again impressed in the same way, but I then began to discover that she was not only a woman of faith, but that she possessed a clearness of vision which I have seldom found equaled.

        Her homely illustrations, her quaint expressions, her warmhearted appeals, all possess the supreme merit of being so many vehicles for conveying the living truths of the Gospel of Jesus Christ to the hearts of those who are fortunate enough to hear her.

        A few years after my return to India, in 1876, I was delighted to hear that this chosen and approved worker of the Master had decided to visit this country. She arrived in 1879, and after a short stay in Bombay, came over to the eastern side of the empire, and assisted us for some time in Calcutta. She also returned two years later, and again rendered us valuable assistance.

        The novelty of a colored woman from America, who had in her childhood been a slave, appearing before an audience in Calcutta, was sufficient to attract attention, but this alone would not account for the popularity which she enjoyed throughout her whole stay in our city.

        She was fiercely attacked by narrow minded persons in the daily papers, and elsewhere, but opposition only seemed to add to her power.

        During the seventeen years that I have lived in Calcutta, I have known many famous strangers to visit the city, some of whom attracted large audiences, but I have never known anyone who could draw and hold so large an audience as Mrs. Smith.

        She assisted me both in the church and in open-air meetings, and never failed to display the peculiar tact for which she is remarkable.

        I shall never forget one meeting which we were holding in an

Page vii

open square, in the very heart of the city. It was at a time of no little excitement, and some Christian preachers had been roughly handled in the same square a few evenings before. I had just spoken myself, when I noticed a great crowd of men and boys, who had succeeded in breaking up a missionary's audience on the other side of the square, rushing towards us with loud cries and threatening gestures.

        If left to myself I should have tried to gain the box on which the speakers stood, in order to command the crowd, but at the critical moment, our good Sister Smith knelt on the grass and began to pray. As the crowd rushed up to the spot, and saw her with her beaming face upturned to the evening sky, pouring out her soul in prayer, they became perfectly still, and stood as if transfixed to the spot! Not even a whisper disturbed the solemn silence, and when she had finished we had as orderly a meeting as if we had been within the four walls of a church!

        In those days a well known theatrical manager, much given to popular buffoonery, wrote to me inviting me to arrange to have Mrs. Smith preach in his theatre on a certain Sunday evening. I was much surprised on receiving the letter, and taking it to her told her I did not know what it meant. Several friends, who chanced to be present, at once began to dissuade her:

        "Do not go, Sister Amanda," said several, speaking at once, "the man merely wishes to have a good opportunity of seeing you, so that he can take you off in his theatre. He has no good purpose in view. Do not trust yourself to him under any circumstances."

        After a moment's hesitation Mrs. Smith replied in language which I shall never forget:

        "I am forbidden," she said, "to judge any man. You would not wish me to judge you, and would think it wrong if any of us should judge a brother or sister in the church. What right have I to judge this man? I have no more right to judge him than if he were a Christian."

        She said she would pray over it and give her decision. She did so, and decided to accept the invitation.

        When Sunday evening came the theatre was packed like a herring box, while hundreds were unable to gain admission. I took charge of the meeting, and after singing and prayer introduced our strange friend from America.

Page viii

        She spoke simply and pointedly, alluding to the kindness of the manager who had opened the doors of his theatre to her, in very courteous terms, and evidently made a deep and favorable impression upon the audience. There was no laughing, and no attempt was ever made subsequently to ridicule her. As she was walking off the stage the manager said to me;

        "If you want the theatre for her again do not fail to let me know. I would do anything for that inspired woman."

        During Mrs. Smith's stay in Calcutta she had opportunities for seeing a good deal of the native community. Here, again, I was struck with her extraordinary power of discernment. We have in Calcutta a class of reformed Hindus called Brahmos. They are, as a class, a very worthy body of men, and at that time were led by the distinguished Keshub Chunder Sen.

        Every distinguished visitor who comes to Calcutta is sure to seek the acquaintance of some of these Brahmos, and to study, more or less, the reformed system which they profess and teach. I have often wondered that so few, even of our ablest visitors, seem able to comprehend the real character either of the men or of their new system. Mrs. Smith very quickly found access to some of them, and beyond any other stranger whom I have ever known to visit Calcutta, she formed a wonderfully accurate estimate of the character, both of the men and of their religious teaching.

        She saw almost at a glance all that was strange and all that was weak in the men and in their system.

        This penetrating power of discernment which she possesses in so large a degree impressed me more and more the longer I knew her. Profound scholars and religious teachers of philosophical bent seemed positively inferior to her in the task of discovering the practical value of men and systems which had attracted the attention of the world!

        I have already spoken of her clearness of perception and power of stating the undimmed truth of the Gospel of Christ. Through association with her, I learned many valuable lessons from her lips, and once before an American audience, when Dr. W. F. Warren was exhorting young preachers to be willing to learn from their own hearers, even though many of the hearers might be comparatively illiterate, I ventured to second his exhortation by telling the audience that I had learned more that had been of

Page ix

actual value to me as a preacher of Christian truth from Amanda Smith than from any other one person I had ever met.

        Throughout Mrs. Smith's stay in India she was always cheerful and hopeful. In this respect, too, she differed from most visitors to our great empire. Some adopt gloomy views as they look at the weakness of Christianity, and observe the stupendous fortifications which have been reared by the followers of the various false religions of the people.

        Some even yield to despair, and refuse to believe that India ever can be saved or even benefited, while only a very few are able to believe not only that India will yet become a Christian empire, but that Christ will yet lift up the people of this land, and so revolutionize or transform society as it exists to-day, as to make the people practically a new people.

        Our good Sister Amanda Smith never belonged to any of these despondent classes.

        She sometimes was touched by the pictures of misery which she saw around her, but never became hopeless. She was of cheerful temperament, it is true, but aside from personal feeling, she always possessed a buoyant hope and an overcoming faith, which made it easy for her to believe. that the Saviour, whom she loved and served, really intended to save and transform India.

        Soon after Mrs. Smith's visit to India, another Virginian visited Calcutta on his way around the globe. This was Mr. Moncure D. Conway.

        These two persons, Mrs. Smith and Mr. Conway, were representative Virginians. They had been born in the same section of the country, brought up as Methodists, and were thoroughly acquainted, one by observation and the other by experience, with the terrible character of the American slave system.

        Mr. Conway in early life was for several years a Methodist preacher, but by his own published confession he never comprehended what the true spirit of Methodism was. He was at one time a well known and somewhat popular Unitarian minister, but finding the Unitarians too narrow and orthodox for a man of his liberal mind, he set up an independent church or organization of some kind, in London, and preached to an obscure little congregation for a number of years, until his last experiment ended in confessed failure.

        His recorded impressions received in India were of the most

Page x

gloomy kind. He saw nothing to hope for in the condition of the people, and looked at them in their helpless state with blank bewilderment, if not despair. He passed through the empire without leaving a single trace of light behind him, without making an impression for good upon any heart or life, without finding an open door by which to make any man or woman happier or better, without, in short, seeing even a single ray of hope shining upon what he regarded as a dark and benighted land.

        Mrs. Smith, the other Virginian, without a tittle of Mr. Conway's learning, and deprived of nearly every advantage which he had enjoyed, not only retained the faith of her childhood, but matured and developed it until it attained a standard of purity and strength rarely witnessed in our world.

        She also came to India, but unlike the other Virginian, she cherished hope where he felt only despair, she saw light where he perceived only darkness, she found opportunities everywhere for doing good which wholly escaped his observation, and during her two years' stay in the country where she went, she traced out a pathway of light in the midst of the darkness!

        As she left the country she could look back upon a hundred homes which were brighter and better because of her coming, upon hundreds of hearts whose burdens had been lightened and whose sorrows had been sweetened by reason of her public and private ministry.

        She is gratefully remembered to this day by thousands in the land.

        Her life affords a striking comment at once upon the value of the New Testament to those who receive it, both in letter and in spirit, and upon the hopelessness of the Gospel of unbelief which obtains so wide a hearing at the present day.

        A thousand Virginians of the Conway stripe might come and go for a thousand years without making India any better, but a thousand Amanda Smiths would suffice to revolutionize an empire!

        I am very glad to learn that Mrs. Smith has at last been induced to yield to the importunities of friends and prepare a sketch of her eventful life. I trust that the story will be told without reserve in all its simplicity, as well as in all its strength, and I doubt not that God will crown this last of her many labors with abundant blessings.

J. M. THOBURN.

CALCUTTA, October 22, 1891

Page xi

CONTENTS.

Page xvi

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

Page 17

AUTOBIOGRAPHY
OF
AMANDA SMITH.

CHAPTER I.

BIRTH, PARENTAGE AND DELIVERANCE FROM SLAVERY THROUGH THE CONVERSION OF MY MOTHER'S YOUNG MISTRESS—MY PIOUS GRANDMOTHER.

        I was born at Long Green, Md., Jan. 23rd, 1837. My father's name was Samuel Berry. My mother's name, Mariam. Matthews was her maiden name. My father's master's name was Darby Insor. My mother's master's name, Shadrach Green. They lived on adjoining, farms. They did not own as large a number of black people, as some who lived in the neighborhood. My father and mother had each a good master and mistress, as was said. After my father's master died, his young master, Mr. E., and himself, had all the charge of the place. They had been boys together, but as father was the older of the two, and was a trustworthy servant, his mistress depended on him, and much was entrusted to his care. As the distance to Baltimore was only about twenty miles, more or less, my father went there with the farm produce once or twice a week, and would sell or buy, and bring the money home to his mistress. She was very kind, and was proud of him for his faithfulness, so she gave him a chance to buy himself. She

Page 18

allowed him so much for his work and a chance to what extra he could for himself. So he used to make brooms and husk mats and take them to market with the produce. This work he would do nights after his day's work was done for his mistress. He was a great lime burner. Then in harvest time, after working for his mistress all day, he would walk three and four miles, and work in the harvest field till one and two o'clock in the morning, then go home and lie down and sleep for an hour or two, then up and at it again. He had an important and definite object before him, and was willing to sacrifice sleep and rest in order to accomplish it. It was not his own liberty alone, but the freedom of his wife and five children. For this he toiled day and night. He was a strong man, with an excellent constitution, and God wonderfully helped him in his struggle. After he had finished paying for himself, the next was to buy my mother and us children. There were thirteen children in all, of whom only three girls are now living. Five were born in slavery. I was the oldest girl, and my brother, William Talbart, the oldest boy. He was named after a gentleman named Talbart Gossage, who was well known all through that part of the country. I think he was some relation of Mr. Ned Gossage, who lost his life at Carlisle, Pa., some time before the war, in trying to capture two of his black boys who had run away for their freedom. I remember distinctly. the great excitement at the time. The law then was that a master could take his slave anywhere he caught him. These boys had been gone for a year or more, and. were in Carlisle when he heard of their whereabouts. He determined to go after them. So he took with him the constable and one or two others. Many of his friends did not want him to go, but he would not hear them. I used to think how strange it was, he being a professed Christian, and a class leader in the Methodist Church, and at the time a leader of the colored people's class, that he should be so blinded by selfishness and greed that he should risk his own life to put into slavery again those who sought only for freedom. How selfishness, when allowed to rule us, will drive us on, and make us act in spirit like the great enemy of our soul, who ever seeks to recapture those who have escaped from the bondage of sin. How we need to watch and pray, and on our God rely.

        He did not capture the boys, but in the struggle he lost his own life, and was brought home dead.

Page 19

        But I turn again to my story. As I have said, my father having paid for himself was anxious to purchase his wife and children; and to show how the Lord helped in this, I must here tell of the wonderful conversion of my mother's young mistress and of her subsequent death, and the marvelous answer to my grandmother's prayers.

        There was a Methodist Camp Meeting held at what was at that time called Cockey's Camp Ground. It was, I think, about twenty miles away, and the young mistress, with a number of other young people, went to this meeting. My mother went along to assist and wait on Miss Celie, as she had always done. It was an old-fashioned, red-hot Camp Meeting. These young people went just as a kind of picnic, and to have a good time looking on. They were staunch Presbyterians, and had no affinity with anything of that kind. They went more out of curiosity, to see the Methodists shout and hollow, than anything else; because they did shout and hollow in those days, tremendously. Of course they were respectful. They went in to the morning meeting and sat down quietly to hear the sermon; then they purposed walking about the other part of the day, looking around, and having a pleasant time. As they sat in the congregation, the minister preached in demonstration of the Power and of the Holy Ghost. My mother said it was a wonderful time. The spirit of the Lord got hold of my young mistress, and she was mightily convicted and converted right there before she left the ground; wonderfully converted in the old-fashioned way; the shouting, hallelujah way. Of course it disgusted those who were with her. They were terribly put out. Everything was spoiled, and they did Dot know how to get her home. They coaxed her, but thank the Lord, she got struck through. Then they laughed at her a little. Then they scolded her, and ridiculed her; but they could not do anything with her. Then they begged her to be quiet; told her if she would just be quiet, and wait till they got home, and wait till morning, they would be satisfied. My mother was awfully glad that the Lord had answered her and grandmother's prayer. As I have heard my mother tell this story she has wept as though it had just been a few days ago. Mother had only been converted about two years before this, and had always prayed for Miss Celie, so her heart was bounding with gladness when Miss Celie was converted. But of course she must hold on and keep as quiet as possible; they had

Page 20

enough to contend with, with Miss Celie. Mother said she sat in the back part of the carriage and prayed all the time. Alter coaxing her awhile she said she would try and keep quiet, and wait till morning. But when she got home she could not keep quiet, but began first thing to praise the Lord and shout. It aroused the whole house, and of course they were frightened, and thought she had lost her mind. But nay, verily, she had received the King, and there was great joy in the city. They got up and wondered what was the matter. They thought she was dreadfully excited at this meeting. They did all they could to quiet her, but they could not do much with her. But finally they did get her quiet and she went to bed. But her heart was so stirred and filled. She wanted to go then to where they would have lively meetings. She wanted to go to the Methodist church. Oh my! That was intolerable. They could not allow that. Then she wanted to go to the colored people's church. No, they would not have that. So they kept her from going. Then they separated my mother and her. They thought maybe mother might talk to her, and keep up the excitement. So they never let them be together at all, if possible. About a quarter of a mile away was the great dairy, and Miss Celie used to slip over there when she got a chance and have a good time praying with mother and grandmother. Finally they found they could do nothing with Miss Celie. So the young people decided they would get together and have a ball and get the notion out of her head. So they planned for a ball, and got all ready. The gentlemen would call on Miss Celie; she was very much admired, anyhow; and they would talk, and they did everything they could. She did not seem to take to it. But finally she said to mother one day, "Well, Mary, it's no use; they won't let me go to meeting anywhere I want to go, and I might as well give up and go to this ball." But my mother said, "Hold on, my dear, the Lord will deliver you." She used to put on her sunbonnet and slip down through the orchard and go down to the dairy and tell mother and grandmother; mother used to assist grandmother in the dairy. One day mother said she came down and said:

        "Oh! Mary, I can't hold out any longer; they insist on my going to that ball, and I have decided to go. It's no use." So they had a good cry together, went off and prayed, and that was the last prayer about the ball. How strange! And yet God had that all in his infinite mercy—opening the prison to them

Page 21

that were bound. Just a week before the ball came off, Miss Celie taken down with typhoid fever. They didn't think she was going to die when she was taken down, but they sent for the doctors, the best in the land. Four of them watched over her night and day. Everything was done for her that could be done. She always wanted mother with her, to sit up in the bed and hold her; she seemed only to rest comfortably then. She seemed to have sinking spells. The skill of the doctors was baffled, and they said they could not do any more. So one day after one of these sinking spells, she called them all around her bed and said: "I want to speak to you. I have one request I want to make."

        They said, "Anything, my dear."

        "I want you to promise me that you will let Samuel have Mariam and the children." Then they had my mother get up out of the bed at once. Of course they didn't want her to hear that; and they said:

        "Now, my dear, if you will keep quiet, you may be a little better." And then she went off in a kind of sinking spell. When she said this, and they sent my mother out, she ran with all her might and told grandmother, and grandmother's faith saw the door open for the freedom of her grandchildren; and she ran out into the bush and told Jesus. Of course my mother had to hurry back so as not to be missed in the house. Miss Celie went on that way for three days, and they would quiet her down. When the second day came, and she made the request, and they sent my mother out, she ran and told grandmother that Miss Celie had made the same request; then she ran back to the house again, and grandmother went out and told Jesus. At last it came to the third and last day, and the doctor said: "She can only last such a length of time without there is a change; so what you do, you must do quickly."

        Mother was in the bed behind her, holding her up. She called them all again, and said, "I want you to make me one promise; that is, that you will let Samuel have Mariam and the children."

        "Oh! yes, my dear," they said, "we will do anything."

        My mother was a great singer. When Miss Celie got the promise, she folded her hands together, and leaning her head upon my mother's breast she said, "Now, Mary, sing."

        And as best she could, she did sing. It was hard work, for her heart was almost broken, for she loved her as one of her own

Page 22

children. While she sang, Miss Celie's sweet spirit swept through the gate, washed in the blood of the lamb. Hallelujah! what a Saviour. How marvelous that God should lead in this mysterious way to accomplish this end.

        I often say to people that I have a right to shout more than some folks; I have been bought twice, and set free twice, and so I feel I have a good right to shout. Hallelujah!

        I was quite small when my father bought us, so know nothing about the experience of slavery, because I was too young to have any trials of it. How well I remember my old mistress. She dressed very much after the Friends' style. She was very kind to me, and I was a good deal spoiled, for a little darkey. If I wanted a piece of bread, and if it was not buttered and sugared on both sides, I wouldn't have it; and when mother would get out of patience with me, and go for a switch, I would run to my old mistress and wrap myself up in her apron, and I was safe. And oh! how I loved her for that. They were getting me ready for market, but I didn't know it. I suppose that is why they allowed me to do many things that otherwise I should not have been allowed to do. They used to take me in the carriage with them to church on Sunday. How well I remember my pretty little green satin hood, lined inside with pink. How delighted I was when they used to take me. Then the young ladies would often make pretty little things and give to my mother for me. Mother was a good seamstress; she used to make all of our clothes, and all of father's every day clothes—coats, pants and vests. She had a wonderful faculty in this; she had but to see a thing of any style of dress or coat, or what-not, and she would come home and cut it out. People used to wonder at it. There were no Butterick's patterns then that she could get hold of. So one had to have a good head on them if they kept nearly in sight of things. But somehow mother was always equal to any emergency. My dear old mistress used to knit. I would follow her around. Sometimes she would walk out into the yard and sit under the trees, and I would drag the chair after her; I was too small to carry it. She would sit down awhile, and I would gather pretty flowers. When she got tired she would walk to another spot, and I would drag the chair again. So we would spend several hours in this way. My father had proposed buying us some time before, but could not be very urgent. He had to ask, and then wait a long interval before he could ask again.

Page 23

Two of the young ladies of our family were to be married, and as my brother and myself were the oldest of the children, one of us would have gone to one, and one to the other, as a dowry. But how God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform. My grandmother was a woman of deep piety and great faith. I have often heard my mother say that it was to the prayers and mighty faith of my grandmother that we owed our freedom. How I do praise the Lord for a Godly grandmother, as well as mother. She had often prayed that God would open a way so that her grandchildren might be free. The families into which these young ladies were to marry, were not considered by the black folks as good masters and mistresses as we had; and that was one of my grandmother's anxieties. And so she prayed and believed that somehow God would open a way for our deliverance. She had often tried and proved Him, and found Him to be a present help in trouble. And so in the way I have already related, the Lord did provide, and my father was permitted to purchase our freedom.


                         "In some way or other
                         The Lord will provide;
                         It may not be my way,
                         It may not be thy way,
                         And yet in His own way,
                         The Lord will provide."

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CHAPTER II.

REMOVAL TO PENNSYLVANIA—GOING TO SCHOOL—FIRST RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCES—PERNICIOUS READING.

        After my father had got us all free and settled, he wanted to go and see his brother, who had run away for his freedom several years before my father bought himself. The laws of Maryland at that time were, that if a free man went out of the state and stayed over ten days, he lost his residence, and could be taken up and sold, unless some prominent white person interposed; and then sometimes with difficulty they might get him off. But many times poor black men were kidnapped, and would be got out of the way quick. For men who did that sort of business generally looked out for good opportunities. My mother's people all lived in Maryland. She hated to leave her mother, my dear grandmother, and so never would consent to go North. But when my father went away to see his brother, and stayed over the ten days, she thought best to go. Poor mother! How well I remember her. After a week how anxious she was. She used to sit by the fire nearly all night. It was in the fall of the year I know, but I am not able to tell just what year it was. After my father's death, my sister, not knowing the value of the free papers, allowed them all to be destroyed. We were all recorded in the Baltimore court house. Many times I had seen my father show the papers to people. They had a large red seal—the county seal—and my father, or any of us traveling, would have to show our free papers. But those I have not got, so cannot tell the, year or date. But, by and by, the ninth day came. I saw my mother walk the floor, look out of the window, and sigh. I used to get up out of my bed and sit in the corner by the fire and watch her, and see the great tears as she would wipe them away with her apron. She would say; "Amanda, why don't you stay in bed?"

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        I would make an excuse to stay with her. Sometimes I would cry and say I was sick. Then she would call me to her and let me lay my head in her lap; and there is no place on earth so sweet to a child as a mother's lap. I can almost feel the tender, warm, downy lap of my mother now as I write, for so it seemed to me. I loved my father, and thought he was the grandest man that ever lived. I was always the favorite of my father, and I was sorry enough when he was away, and when I saw my mother cry, I would cry, too. Ten days had passed, and father had not come yet.

        Every day some of the good farmers around would call to see if "Sam" had got home yet. My father was much respected by all the best white people in that neighborhood, and many of them would not have said anything to him; but, "If nothing was said to Insor's Sam about going out of the state and staying over ten days, why all the niggers in the county would be doing the same thing!"

        So this was the cause or the inquiry. Oh! no one knows the sadness and agony of my poor mother's heart. Finally the day came when father returned. Then the friends, white and black, who wished him well, advised him to leave as quickly as possible. And now the breaking up. We were doing well, and father and mother had all the work they could do. The white people in the neighborhood were kind, and gave my mother a good many things, so that we children always had plenty to eat and wear. We had a house, a good large lot, and a good garden, pigs, chickens, and turkeys. And then my mother was a great economist. She could make a little go a great ways. She was a beautiful washer and ironer, and a better cook never lifted a pot. I get my ability in that (if I have any) from my dear mother. Then withal she was an earnest Christian, and had strong faith in God, as did also my grandmother. She was deeply pious, and a woman of marvelous faith and prayer. For the reason stated my parents determined to move from Maryland, and so went to live on a farm owned by John Lowe, and situated on the Baltimore and York turnpike in the State of Pennsylvania.

        My father and mother both could read. But I never remember hearing them tell how they were taught. Father was the better reader of the two. Always on Sunday morning after breakfast he would call us children around and read the Bible to us. I

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never knew him to sit down to a meal, no matter how scant, but what he would ask God's blessing before eating. Mother was very thoughtful and scrupulously economical. She could get up the best dinner out of almost nothing of anybody I ever saw in my life. She often cheered my father's heart when he came home at night and said: "Well, mother, how have you got on to-day?"

        "Very well," she would say. It was hard planning sometimes; yet we children never had to go to bed hungry. After our evening meal, so often of nice milk and mush, she would call us children and make us all say our prayers before we went to bed. I never remember a time when I went to bed without saying the Lord's Prayer as it was taught me by my mother. Even before we were free I was taught to say my prayers.

        I first went to school at the age of eight years, to the daughter of an old Methodist minister named Henry Dull; my teacher's name was Isabel Dull. She taught a little private school opposite where my mother lived, in a private house belonging to Isaac Hendricks (Bishop Hendricks' grandfather). She was a great friend of my mother's, and was very pretty, and very kind to us children. She taught me my first spelling lesson. There was school only in the summer time. I had about six weeks of it. I first taught myself to read by cutting out large letters from the newspapers my father would bring home. Then I would lay them on the window and ask mother to put them together for me to make words, so that I could read. I shall never forget how delighted I was when I first read: "The house, the tree, the dog, the cow." I thought I knew it all. I would call the other children about me and show them how I could read. I did not get to go to school any more till I was about thirteen years old. Then we had to go about five miles, my brother and myself. There were but few colored people in that part of the country at that time, to go to school (white school), only about five and they were not regular; but father and mother were so anxious for us to go that they urged us on, and I was anxious also. I shall never forget one cold winter morning. The sun was bright, the snow very deep, and it was bitterly cold. My brother did not go that day, but I wanted to go. Mother thought it was too cold; she was afraid I would freeze; but I told her I could go, and after a little discussion she told me I might go. She told me I could put on my brother's heavy boots. I had on a good thick pair of stockings,

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a warm linsey-woolsey dress, and was well wrapped up. Off I started to my two and a half mile school house,—John Rule's school house on the Turnpike. The first half mile I got on pretty well, a good deal up hill, but O how cold I began to get, and being so wrapped up I couldn't get on so well as I thought I could. I was near freezing to death. My first thought was to go back, but I was too plucky, I was afraid if I told mother she wouldn't let me go again, so I kept still and went. When I got to the school house door, I found I couldn't open it and couldn't speak, and a white boy came up and said, "Why don't you go in?" Then I found I couldn't speak, as I tried and couldn't. He opened the door and I went in and some one came to me and took off my things and they worked with me, I can't tell how long, before I recovered from my stupor. There were a great many farmers' daughters, large girls, and boys, in the winter time, so that the school would be full, so that after coming two and a half miles, many a day I would get but one lesson, and that would be while the other scholars were taking down their dinner kettles and putting their wraps on. All the white children had to have their full lessons, and if time was left the colored children had a chance. I received in all about three months' schooling.

        At thirteen years of age I lived in Strausburg, sometimes it was called Shrewsbury, about thirteen miles from York, on the Baltimore and York turnpike. I lived with a Mrs. Latimer. She was a Southern lady, was born in Savannah, Georgia. She was a widow, with five children. It was a good place, Mrs. Latimer was very kind to me and I got on nicely. It was in the spring I went there to live, and sometime in the winter a great revival broke out and went on for weeks at the Allbright Church. I was deeply interested and impressed by the spirit of the meeting. It was an old-fashioned revival, scores were converted. No colored persons went up to be prayed for; there were but few anywhere in the neighborhood. One old man named Moses Rainbow, and his two sons, Samuel and James, were the only colored people that lived anywhere within three or four miles of the town. This meeting went on for four or five weeks. When it closed a series of meetings commenced at the Methodist Church.

        One of the members was Miss Mary Bloser, daughter of George Bloser, well known through all that region of country for his deep piety and Christian character, as was Miss Mary, also. She was

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powerful in prayer. I never heard a young person who knew how to so take hold of God for souls. She was a power for good everywhere she went. How many souls I have seen her lead to the Cross!

        One night as she was speaking to persons in the congregation, she came to me, a poor colored girl sitting away back by the door, and with entreaties and tears, which I really felt, she asked me to go forward. I was the only colored girl there, but I went. She knelt beside me with her arm around me and prayed for me. O, how she prayed! I was ignorant, but prayed as best I could. The meeting closed. I went to get up, but found I could not stand. They took hold of me and stood me on my feet. My strength seemed to come to me, but I was frightened. I was afraid to step. I seemed to be so light. In my heart was peace, but I did not know how to exercise faith as I should. I went home and resolved I would be the Lord's and live for him. All the days were happy and bright. I sang and worked and thought that was all I needed to do. Then I joined the Church. I don't remember the name of the minister, but I well remember the name of my class leader was Joshua Ludrick. I liked him for his lung power, for I thought then there was a good deal of religion in loud prayers and shouts. You could hear him pray half a mile when he would get properly stirred. He was leader of the Sunday morning class, which convened after the morning preaching. My father and mother, to encourage me in my new life, joined the Church and the same class, so as to save me from going out at night. Mrs. Latimer's children, three of them, went to the Sunday School, and I must get home so as to have dinner in time for the children to get off, but I was black, so could not be led in class before a white person, must wait till the white ones were through, and I would get such a scolding when I got home, the children would all be so vexed with me, and Mrs. Latimer, and my troubles had begun. I prayed and thought it was my cross. I thought I will change my seat in the class, maybe that will help me, and sat in the first end of the pew, as the leader would always commence on the first end and go down. When I sat in the first end, then he would commence at the lower end and come up and leave me last. Then I sat between two, thinking he would lead the two above me and then lead me in turn, but he would lead the two and then jump across me and lead all the others and lead me last. I told my

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father I got scolded for getting home so late and making the children late for school. Father said he would speak to Mr. Ludrick about it, but if he did, it made no change, and it came to where I must decide either to give up my class or my service place. We were a large family, and father and mother thought I must keep my situation, so I had to give up my class. It did not do me much good, anyhow, to be scolded every time I went, so I became careless and lost all the grace I had, if I really had any at all. I was light hearted and gay, but I always would say my prayers and read my Bible and good books and meant to get religion when I knew I could keep it. I wouldn't be a hypocrite, no, not I, so I went on, wrapped up in myself. Then I began to watch defects in professors, which is a poor business for any one. That is not the way to get near to God. I saw many things and heard many things said and done by professors that I would not do, I was much better than they were, so I went on in my own way for awhile.

        It has been years ago. While living at Black's hotel, in Columbia, I remember reading a book. I forget the title of it, but it was an argument between an infidel and a Christian minister. As I went on reading I became very much interested. "Oh," I thought to myself, "I know the Christian minister will win." It starts with the infidel asking a question. The minister's answer took two pages, while the question asked only took one page and a half. As they went on the minister gained three pages with his answer; and the infidel seemed to lose. And then it went on, and by and by the minister began to lose, and the infidel gained. So it went on till the infidel seemed to gain all the ground. His questions and argument were so pretty and put in such a way that before I knew it I was captured; and by the time I had got through the book I had the whole of the infidel's article stamped on my memory and spirit, and the Christian's argument was lost; I could scarcely remember any of it. Well, I was afraid to tell any one. Oh, if any one should find out that I did not believe in the existence of God. I longed for some one to talk to that I might empty my crop of the load of folly that I had gathered. And I read everything I could get my hands on, so as to strengthen me in my new light, as I thought. Yet I wanted to forget it, and get out of it. But it was like a snare; I could not. A year had gone. I talked big and let out a little bit now and then. How beautiful the old hymn:

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                         "When Jesus saw me from on high,
                         Beheld my soul in ruin lie,
                         He looked at me with pitying eye,
                         And said to me as he passed by,
                         'With God you have no union.' "

        Oh, how true! I longed for deliverance, but how to get free. The Lord sent help in this way: My aunt, my mother's half sister, who now lives in Baltimore, and whom I loved very much, came up to York, and then to Wrightsville, to visit father and us children. I lived in Columbia; and I went over to see her and had her come over with me. "Now," I thought, "this will be my chance to unburden my heart. Aunt lives away down in the country in Quaker Bottom, or in the neighborhood of Hereford, Md., and I know no one there, and no one knows me; I shall never be there; and just so that no one knows around here, that is all I care for."

        My aunt was very religiously inclined, naturally. She was much like my mother in spirit. So as we walked along, crossing the long bridge, at that time a mile and a quarter long, we stopped, and were looking off in the water. Aunt said, "How wonderfully God has created everything, the sky, and the great waters, etc."

        Then I let out with my biggest gun; I said, "How do you know there is a God?" and went on with just such an air as a poor, blind, ignorant infidel is capable of putting on. My aunt turned and looked at me with a look that went through me like an arrow; then stamping her foot, she said:

        "Don't you ever speak to me again. Anybody that had as good a Christian mother as you had, and was raised as you have been, to speak so to me. I don't want to talk to you." And God broke the snare. I felt it. I felt deliverance from that hour. How many times I have thanked God for my aunt's help. If she had argued with me I don't believe I should ever have got out of that snare of the devil. And I would say to my readers, "Beware how you read books tainted with error." There are enough of the orthodox kind that will help you if you will be content with them, and the Book of books. Amen.

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CHAPTER III.

SOME OF THE REMEMBRANCES OF MY GIRLHOOD DAYS— HELPING RUNAWAYS—MY MOTHER AROUSED—A NARROW ESCAPE—A TOUCHING STORY.

        The name of my father's landlord was John Lowe, he was a wealthy farmer, lived between New Market and Shrewsburg, Pa. Pretty much all the farmers round about in those days were antislavery men; Joseph Hendricks, Clark Lowe, and a number of others. My father worked a great deal for Isaac Hendricks, who used to keep the Blueball Tavern. I and the children have gathered many a basket of apples out of the orchard, and many a pail of milk I have helped to carry to the house, and often at John Lowe's as well; I used to help them churn often. And then old Thomas Wantlen, who used to keep the store; how well I remember him. John Lowe would allow my father to do what he could in secreting the poor slaves that would get away and come to him for protection. At one time he was Magistrate, and of course did not hunt down poor slaves, and would support the law whenever things were brought before him in a proper way, but my father and mother were level headed and had good broad common sense, so they never brought him into any trouble. Our house was one of the main stations of the Under Ground Railroad. My father took the "Baltimore Weekly Sun" newspaper; that always had advertisements of runaway slaves. After giving the cut of the poor fugitive, with a little bundle on his back, going with his face northward, the advertisement would read something like this: Three thousand dollars reward! Ran away from Anerandell County, Maryland, such a date, so many feet high, scar on the right side of the forehead or some other part of the body,—belonging to Mr. A. or B. So sometimes the excitement was so high we

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had to be very discreet in order not to attract suspicion. My father was watched closely.

        I have known him to lead in the harvest field from fifteen to twenty men—he was a great cradler and mower in those days —and after working all day in the harvest field, he would come home at night, sleep about two hours, then start at midnight and walk fifteen or twenty miles and carry a poor slave to a place of security; sometimes a mother and child, sometimes a man and wife, other times a man or more, then get home just before day. Perhaps he could sleep an hour then go to work, and so many times baffled suspicion. Never but once was there a poor slave taken that my father ever got his hand on, and if that man had told the truth he would have been saved, but he was afraid.

        There was a beautiful woods a mile from New Market on the Baltimore and York Turnpike; it was called Lowe's Camp Ground. It was about three quarters of a mile from our house. My mother was a splendid cook, so we arranged to keep a boarding house during the camp meeting time. We had melons, and pies and cakes and such like, as well. Father was very busy and had not noticed the papers for a week or two, so did not know there was any advertisement of runaways. There were living in New Market certain white men that made their living by catching runaway slaves and getting the reward. A man named Turner, who kept the post office at New Market, Ben Crout, who kept a regular Southern blood-hound for that purpose, and John Hunt. These men all lived in New Market. Then there was a Luther Amos, Jake Hedrick, Abe Samson and Luther Samson, his son. I knew them all well. Samson had a number of grey-hounds. So these fellows used to watch our house closely, trying every way to catch my father. One night during camp meeting, between twelve and one o'clock, we children were all on the pallet on the floor. It was warm weather, and father and mother slept in the bed. A man came and knocked at the door. Father asked who was there? He said "A friend. I hear you keep a boarding house and I want to get something to eat."

        Father told him to come in. He had everything but hot coffee—so he went to work and got the coffee ready. Father talked with him. The man was well dressed. He had changed his clothes, he said, as he had been traveling, and it was dusty, and he was on his way to the camp meeting. This is what he said

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to my father. So by and by the coffee was ready, and father set him down to his supper. This man had come through New Market, and Ben Crout and John Hunt, who had read the advertisement, saw this man answered the description and hoping to catch my father, told him to come to our house and all about my father having a boarding house and all about the camp meeting. It was white people's camp meeting, but colored people went as well; it used to be the old Baltimore camp, so called, and so that was the way the poor man knew so well what to say. He had come away from Louisiana, and had been two weeks lying by in the day time and traveling at night, but had got so hungry he ventured into this town, and these men were looking for him, but he did not know it. When they saw him they knew he answered the advertisement given in the paper, for it was always explicitly given; the color, the height and scars on any part of his body. Well, just about the time the man got through with his supper, some one shouted, "Halloo!" Father went to the door. There were six or seven white men, and they said, "We want that nigger you are harboring, he is a runaway nigger."

        "I am not harboring anybody," father said. Then they began to curse and swear and rushed upon him. The man jumped and ran up stairs. My mother had a small baby. Of course she was frightened and jumped up, and they were beating father and tramping all over us children on the floor. We were screaming. There stood in the middle of the floor an old fashioned ten plate stove. There was no fire in it, of course, and as my poor frightened mother ran by it trying to defend father, she caught her wrapper in the door, just as a man cut at her with a spring dirk knife; it glanced on the door instead of on mother. I have thanked God many a time for that stove door. But for it my poor mother would have been killed that night. The poor man jumped out of the window up stairs and ran about two hundred yards, when Ben Crout's blood-hound caught him and held him till they came. When they found the man was gone, they left off beating father and went for the man. That was the first and last darkey they ever got out of Sam Berry's clutches. It put a new spirit in my mother. She cried bitterly, but O, when it was all over how she had gathered courage and strength. The good white people all over the neighborhood were aroused, but he was so close to the Maryland line they had him in Baltimore a few hours from then. And, poor fellow, we never heard of him afterwards.

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        Some time, about three or four months after this, along in the fall, we were sleeping upstairs. One night about twelve o'clock a knock came on the fence. My father answered and went down and opened the door. Mother listened and heard them say "runaway nigger." She sprang up, and as she ran downstairs she snatched down father's cane, which had a small dirk in it; she went up and threw open the door, pushed father aside, but he got hold of her, but O, when she got through with those men! They fell back and tried to apologize, but she would hear nothing.

        "I can't go to my bed and sleep at night without being hounded by you devils," she said.

        Next morning father went off to work, but mother dressed her self and went to New Market; as she went she told everybody she met how she had been hounded by these men. Told all their names right out, and all the rich respectable people cried shame, and backed her up. Dr. Bell, the leading doctor in New Market, who himself owned three or four slaves, stood by my mother and told her to speak of it publicly; so she stood on the stepping stone at Dr. Bell's, right in front of the largest Tavern in the place. There were a lot of these men sitting out reading the news. The morning was a beautiful Fall morning, and she opened her mouth and for one hour declared unto them all the words in her heart. Not a word was said against her, but as the spectators and others looked on and listened the cry of "Shame! Shame!" could be heard; and the men skulked away here and there. By the time she got through there was not one to be seen of this tribe. That morning, as mother went to New Market, this same blood-hound of Bell Crout's was lying on the sidewalk, and as mother went on a lady she used to work for, a Mrs. Rutlidge, saw the dog and saw mother coming. She threw up her hand to indicate to her the dangerous animal. They generally kept her fastened up, but this morning she was not. Mother paid no attention but went on. Mrs. R. clasped her hands and turned her back expecting every moment to hear mother scream out. She looked around and mother was close by the dog and stepped right over her. She was so frightened she said: "O, Mary, how did you get by that dreadful dog of Ben Crout's?"

        Mother was wrothy, and said, "I didn't stop to think about that dog," and passed on. And this was the wonder to everybody around. It was the great talk of the day all about the country,

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how that Sam Berry's wife had passed Ben Crout's blood-hound and was not hurt. Then they began to say she must have had some kind of a charm, and they were shy of her. Ever after that nobody, black or white, troubled Sam Berry's wife. It was no charm, but was God's wonderful deliverance.

        About two years or more after this, the papers were full of notices of a very valuable slave who had run away. A heavy reward was offered. He had by God's mercy got to us, and by moving the poor fellow from place to place he had been kept safe for about two weeks, as there was no possible chance for father or any one to get him away, so closely were we watched. My father was a very early riser, always up and out about day dawn. Our house stood in the valley between two hills, so that the moment you struck the top of the hill, either way coming or going, you could see every move around our house. Just on the opposite side of the road there used to stand two large chestnut trees, but these had been blown down by a great storm some time before, so there was no screen to hide the house from full view. This morning, while out in the yard feeding the pigs, he saw four men coming on horseback. He knew they were strangers. He could not get in the house to tell mother, so he called to her and said: "Mother, I see four men coming; do the best you can."

        She must act in a moment without being able to say a word more to father. The poor slave man was upstairs. She brought him down and put him between the cords and straw tick. As it was early in the morning her bed was not made up. In the old-fashioned houses in the country we did not have parlors. The front room downstairs was often used as the bed-room. My little brother, two years old, slept in the foot of the bed. The men rode up and spoke to my father. He was a very polite man. "Good morning, gentlemen, good morning, you are out quite early this morning."

        "Yes, we are looking for a runaway nigger." Just then my father recognized the high sheriff as Mr. E., who was formerly his young master. "Why, is this is not Mr. E.?"

        "Yes, Sam, didn't you know me?"

        My father made a wonderful time over him, laughed heartily and said: "What in the world is up?"

        "Do you know anything about this runaway?"

        Another spoke up and said: "We have a search warrant and

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we mean to have that nigger. We want to know if you have him hid away."

        "Well," father said, "if I tell you I have not, you won't believe me; if I tell you I have, it will not satisfy you, so come in and look."

        He didn't know a bit what mother had done, but he knew she had a head on her, and he could trust her in an emergency. The men hesitated and said: "It is no use for us to go in, if you will just tell us if you have him or know anything about him." And father said: "You come in, gentlemen, and look."

        They said, "We have heard your wife is the devil," and then, speaking very nicely, "You know, Sam, we don't want any trouble with her, you can tell us just as well."

        "No, gentlemen, you will be better satisfied if you go in and see for yourselves."

        Just then mother, in the most dignified and polite manner, threw open the door and said: "Good morning, gentlemen, come right in." So they laughed heartily. Two dismounted and came in, went upstairs, looked all about while one looked in the kitchen behind the chimney, in the pot closet; and my mother went to the bed and threw back the cover (she knew what cover to throw back, of course,) there lay my little brother. She said: "Look everywhere, maybe this is he?"

        "My! Sam," one of them said, "here is a darkey, what will you take for him?"

        "No, you have not money enough to buy him," father said. Then mother said: "Now, gentlemen, look under the bed as well; you haven't examined every thing here," and they laughed and ran out and said: "Well, Sam, we see you haven't got him."

        And father said: "Well, now you are better satisfied after you have looked yourselves." So he didn't tell any lie, but he had the darkey hid just the same!

        They mounted their horses and went off full tilt to York. We children were sharp enough never to show any sign of alarm. Poor me, my eyes felt like young moons. The man was safe. After they had got away, mother got the poor fellow out, and he was so weak he could scarcely stand. He trembled from head to foot, and cried like a child. Poor fellow, he thought he was gone, and but for my noble mother he would have been. We soon got him off to Canada, where, I trust, he lived to thank and praise God, who delivered him from the hand of his masters.

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I can't tell just how long it was after this occurrence, but it was in harvest time. My father had got home from work and was sitting out in the front yard resting himself; it was just beginning to get dusk. We children were all around playing. A tall, well-built man came up to the fence. Father said: "Good evening, my friend." The poor man trembled, and said: "I don't know if you are a friend or a foe, but I am at your mercy."

        "Don't fear," said father, "you are safe." Then he sat on the fence a while and began to tell his sad story. His feet had become so sore he could not travel. He had come away from New Orleans. He said his master owned a large sugar plantation and he was one of the head molasses boilers. His master was a very passionate man, and had threatened several times to sell him because he was a Christian and would pray, but he was a valuable man and so he held on; but he had committed a great offense this time. He said he was very tired, and, something he never did in his life before, he fell asleep from sheer weariness, and so burnt many. hogsheads of molasses, and this so enraged his master that he determined to sell him. He had a wife and three children, if I remember correctly. His master had him handcuffed and put in the cellar under the house, till the Georgia traders came. When the money was paid they generally had a great time drinking and gambling. He said he could not get to see his wife. O, how he prayed all day and all night. His young mistress, whom he had often nursed when she was a little child and whom he used often to carry about from place to place, was very much attached to him, as was frequently the case. She had been away North to school and was a Christian, and that may explain what followed. She was home from school just at this time, and like Queen Esther, when pleading for her people, she was made queen just in time. The evening before the morning he was to be taken away they were having a good jollification time. She waited till they were all full of excitement, and being a great favorite of her father's she managed to get the keys of the cellar and went in and unlocked his handcuffs and made him swear to her on his knees that if they ever caught him he would never betray her. Then she told him which way to go, to follow the North Star, which most of the slaves seemed to understand and travel by. She gave him a little money and something to eat. He prayed for God's blessing on her, and told her he would die if he was taken, but would never

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betray her; so he would. I shall never forget how he cried as he told this story to my father. He said he had traveled for three weeks, and after his food was all gone he lived on berries, blackberries were just ripe. He would lie by in the day and travel at night; kept in the woods, never traveled in day time, only when it would rain. We soon took him in and got water and bathed his feet. Mother got him a good supper. O, how the poor man ate; he was nearly starved. We kept him about two weeks, and then succeeded in getting him off to dear old Canada. O, how much this poor slave man went through for only the liberty of his body, and yet how few there are that are willing to make any sacrifice to secure the freedom of souls that Jesus so freely offers, for if the Son shall make you free then are ye free, indeed. Thank God, these days of sadness are past, never to be repeated, I trust. The poor man, I suppose, never heard of his wife and children, for this was years before the war and it was not likely they ever met on earth again, but I trust they will meet beyond the river where the surges cease to roll.

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CHAPTER IV.

MOVING FROM LOWE'S FARM.—MARRIAGE.—CONVERSION.

        After twelve years on John Lowe's farm, my father had an offer from a man named John Bear; it was between five and six miles from where we were. It was a small farm and my father had a better chance to help himself. He used to work a good deal in Strausburg then. Dr. Bull and his brother, Rev. Wesley Bull, lived in Strausburg. My oldest brother lived with the doctor a long time and took care of his horses. The doctor married a Miss Jane Berry, daughter of old Colonel Berry, of Baltimore. They first settled in Strausburg. I lived with them some time. How well I remember the old Colonel; he used to come to visit them, and was very kind to me. Would often speak to me about my soul's interest, but I was young and did not pay much attention at the time, but I never forgot it. After a time Dr. Bull moved to Baltimore, and Dr. Turner, who married Miss Julia Berry, Mrs. Bull's sister, lived in Strausburg, then I lived with Dr. Turner. How well I remember Dr. and Mrs. Turner. They were very fond of Maryland biscuit, and though I was young, I had the reputation of making the best Maryland biscuit and frying the nicest chicken of anyone around there, and the doctor used to say "Amanda can beat them all making Maryland biscuit and frying chicken." My! how it did please me! Somehow it is very encouraging to servants to tell them once in a while that they do things nicely; it did me good. I would almost kill myself to please them, and Doctor Turner's mother, dear Mrs. Flynn, what a good woman she was! She gave me the first Testament I ever had and used to come into the kitchen and read to me sometimes. She came several times on a visit to see Dr. and Mrs. Turner. After a time Dr. Turner moved back to Baltimore again, I went with them. It was my first time in Baltimore. We got in at night and I remember how I had never seen fine lights glittering in drug stores before, and as

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we drove along I thought I never saw such pretty houses in my life. O, I was thoroughly captivated. We had a long way to drive from the station then. Col. Berry lived at Poplar Grove, just a little out of Baltimore. Dear old Mrs. Berry, Mrs. Turner and the Doctor, and the old Colonel met us at the station. How well I remember the old home in the grove; it was the fall of the year; it was not late, but the fires were lighted and all was so cheery. I remember Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, the three children, Miss Petty and Missie, and little Berry and Mr. Somerfield, Miss Emily and Miss Eliza. Dr. Turner took a house in town on the corner of Franklin and Pearl streets, Baltimore. I remained till Christmas, then my mother came to see me and I went home with her. Some time after I that Dr. Waugh moved to Strausburg; Bishop Waugh's son. I remember the Bishop and Mrs. Waugh well. I always admired Mrs. Dr. Waugh so much; she never seemed to be cross about anything, nor at any time. The Doctor, too, was very gentle and quiet, but Mrs. Bishop was not so much so, though she was very nice. Mrs. Doctor did not like Strausburg, so they did not stay very long, but returned to Baltimore again. In the course of time Rev. Isaac Collis was appointed to the First Methodist Church, and I went to live with them a few months. My father used to do all their gardening. When their time was out they moved away. O, what changes have been since then; the most of these have gone to their reward, but some of their children and grandchildren still live. Dear Mrs. Turner's daughter, Mrs. Wilson now, whose husband is pastor of Wesley Chapel in Washington, is her mother right over again in kindness and amiableness of disposition. Mr. Wilson, her husband, is a noble man of God. I shall never forget their kindness to me last October, the time of the great Ecumenical conference. Mrs. Burres asked me to lead the holiness meeting that is held at the Wesley chapel every Wednesday at 11 o'clock, and when the meeting closed who should come and speak to me but dear Mrs. Wilson and her husband. Then she told me who she was, Mrs. Turner's daughter. She was married and had two lovely children. Mr. Wilson and she invited me to their home to lunch with them. Well, I thought that is a big thing to be invited to lunch, for I had walked about for two days and there was not a restaurant in the great capital of Washington where a colored Christian lady or gentleman could go and sit down and get a cup of tea or a dinner: and now to be

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invited here to lunch, I thought what does it really mean? Of course I accepted the invitation. I had thought Washington was like Boston or London. I had no such difficulty there. Thank God for real, practical, inright, outright, downright common sense; that is all I think people need on the color line. May the Lord give it to us quick. Amen. Dear Mr. and Mrs. Wilson lacked nothing in that line. God bless them! When I went I was shown into the parlor; my wraps were taken, and in a little while Mrs. Wilson came in. We had a pleasant little chat, then came her sister; I was introduced. She was so nice, then the dear little children. In a little while then Mr. Wilson came with a gentleman from the conference, then a lady and gentleman who were their guests. I was introduced to all as easily and naturally and common sense-like as possible. Then we went to lunch. The little girl took me by the hand and she and I led the way. The little thing was so nice she said, "Are you going to sit at the table with me?"

        "Would you like me to do so?"

        "Yes."

        I don't suppose this was an everyday occurrence; it is not necessary that it should be so, but when occasions do come, all that is really needed is simple, real, manly, broad, Christian common sense. Mr. Wilson sat at the head of the table, I at the right, and the dear little girl next, and her little brother next and the others in order. We had an elegant lunch, and a very pleasant and profitable time together. We talked about India, Africa, Paris, Rome, Egypt, Scotland, Ireland, and the Isles of the Sea, and ended, I believe, with the Hero of the Congo, Bishop Taylor. We went upstairs, and after a little further chat Mr. Wilson asked me to sing and pray with them. I sang several songs. One was:—"The very same Jesus."


                         "The very same Jesus,
                         The very same Jesus,
                         O praise His name;
                         He is just the same,
                         The very same Jesus."

        The other one was:—


                         "God is able to deliver thee
                         Though by sin oppressed;
                         Go to Him for rest,
                         Our God is able to deliver thee."

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        The Lord blest the singing to them, and our hearts were melted, then we knelt to pray. O, how the Lord helped me to pray. My own heart was overflowing with gratitude for the kindness shown me, for I recognized the hand of God in it all, and so praised Him. Amen.

        In September, 1854, I was married to my first husband, C. Devine, by the Rev. Nicholas Pleasant, a Baptist minister in Columbia. My father did not object to my marrying, only on the ground that I was rather young, and I thought so, too, but still, like so many young people, I said, "But well, I know I can get on." Then there was the fellow saying all the nice things he would do for me, and I believed it all, of course. But it was not long before I wished I had not believed half he said, though in many things he was good. He believed in religion for his mother's sake. She was a good woman, he said, though I never saw her. He had two sisters who lived in Columbia. He could talk on the subject of religion very sensibly at times; but when strong drink would get the better of him, which I am very sorry to say was quite often, then be was very profane and unreasonable. We had two children. The first died; the other, my daughter Maze, is now married and living in Baltimore.

        In 1855 I was very ill. Everything was done for me that could be done. My father lived in Wrightsville, Pa., and was very anxious about my soul. But I did not feel a bit concerned.

        I wanted to be let alone. How I wished that no one would speak to me. One day my father said to me, "Amanda, my child, you know the doctors say you must die; they can do no more for you, and now my child you must pray."

        O, I did not want to pray, I was so tired I wanted to sleep. The doctors said they must keep me aroused. In the afternoon of the next day after the doctor had given me up, I fell asleep about two o'clock, or I seemed to go into a kind of trance or vision, and I saw on the foot of my bed a most beautiful angel. It stood on one foot, with wings spread, looking me in the face and motioning me with the hand; it said "Go back," three times, "Go back. Go back, Go back."

        Then, it seemed, I went to a great Camp Meeting and there seemed to be thousands of people, and I was to preach and the platform I had to stand on was up high above the people. It seemed it was erected between two trees, but near the tops. How

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I got on it I don't know, but I was on this platform with a large Bible opened and I was preaching from these words:—"And I if I be lifted up will draw all men unto me." O, how I preached, and the people were slain right and left. I suppose I was in this vision about two hours. When I came out of it I was decidedly better. When the doctor called in and looked at me he was astonished, but so glad. In a few days I was able to sit up, and in about a week or ten days to walk about. Then I made up my mind to pray and lead a Christian life. I thought God had spared me for a purpose, so I meant to be converted, but in my own way quietly. I thought if I was really sincere it would be all right.

        I cannot remember the time from my earliest childhood that I did not want to be a Christian, and would often pray alone. Sometimes I would kneel in the fence corner when I went for the cows to bring them home. Sometimes upstairs, or wherever I could be alone. I had planned just about how I was going to be converted. I had a strong will and was full of pride. When I said I would not do anything, I was proud of my word, and people would say, "Well, you know if Amanda says she won't do anything, you might as well try to move the everlasting hills." And that inflated me and I thought, "O, how nice to have a reputation like that." I would stick to it; I would not give in; my pride held me. I went on in this course till 1856.

        In a watch meeting one night at the Baptist Church in Columbia, Pennsylvania, a revival started. I lived with Mrs. Morris, not far away, and I could hear the singing, but I did not mean to go forward to the altar to pray: I didn't believe in making a great noise. I said, "If you are sincere the Lord will bless you anywhere, and I don't mean to ever go forward to the altar; that I will never do." So I prayed and struggled day after day, week after week, trying to find light and peace, but I constantly came up against my will. God showed me I was a dreadful sinner, but still I wanted to have my own way about it. I said, "I am not so bad as Bob Loney, Meil Snievely, and a lot of others. I am not like them, I have always lived in first-class families and have always kept company with first-class servant girls, and I don't need to go there and pray like those people do." All this went on in my mind.

        At last one night they were singing so beautifully in this

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Church, I felt drawn to go in, and went and sat away back by the door and they were inviting persons forward for prayers. O, so many of them were going, the altar was filled in a little while, and though I went in with no intention of going myself, as I sat there all at once,—I can't tell how,—I don't know how,—I never did know how, but when I found myself I was down the aisle and half way up to the altar. All at once it came to me, "There, now, you have always said you would never go forward to an altar, and there you are going."

        I thought I would turn around and go back, but as I went to turn facing all the congregation, it was so far to go back, so I rushed forward to the altar, threw myself down and began to pray with all my might: "O, Lord, have mercy on me! O, Lord, have mercy on me! O, Lord, save me," I shouted at the top of my voice, till I was hoarse. Finally I quieted down. There came a stillness over me so quiet. I didn't understand it. The meeting closed. I went home.

        If I had known how to exercise faith, I would have found peace that night, but they did not instruct us intelligently, so I was left in the dark. A few days after this I took a service place about a mile and it half from Columbia, with a Quaker family named Robert Mifflins. This was in January. I prayed incessantly, night and day, for light and peace.

        After I had got out to Mr. Mifflins', I began to plan for my spring suit; I meant to be converted, though I had not given up at all, but I began to save my money up now. There were some pretty styles, and I liked them. A white straw bonnet, with very pretty, broad pink tie-strings; pink or white muslin dress, tucked to the waist; black silk mantilla; and light gaiter boots, with black tips; I had it all picked out in my mind, my nice spring and summer suit. I can see the little box now where I had put my money, saving up for this special purpose. Then I would pray; O, how I prayed, fasted and prayed, read my Bible and prayed, prayed to the moon, prayed to the sun, prayed to the stars. I was so ignorant. O, I wonder how God ever did save me, anyhow. The Devil told me I was such a sinner God would not convert me. When I would kneel down to pray at night, he would say, "You had better give it up; God won't hear you, you are such a sinner."

        Then I thought if I could only think of somebody that had not sinned, and my idea of great sin was disobedience, and I

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thought if I could only think of somebody that had always been obedient. I never thought about Jesus in that sense, and yet I was looking to Him for pardon and salvation.

        All at once it came to me, "Why, the sun has always obeyed God, and kept its place in the heavens, and the moon and stars have always obeyed God, and kept their place in the heavens, the wind has always obeyed God, they all have obeyed."

        So I began, "O, Sun, you never sinned like me, you have always obeyed God and kept your place in the heavens; tell Jesus I am a poor sinner." Then when I would see the trees move by the wind, I would say "O, Wind, you never sinned like me, you have always obeyed God, and blown at His command; tell Jesus I am a poor sinner."

        When I set my people down to tea in the house I would slip out and get under the trees in the yard and look up to the moon and stars and pray, "O, Moon and Stars, you never sinned like me, you have always obeyed God, and kept your place in the heavens; tell Jesus I am a poor sinner." One day while I was praying I got desperate, and here came my spring suit up constantly before me, so I told the Lord if he would take away the burden that was on my heart that I would never get one of those things. I wouldn't get the bonnet, I wouldn't get the dress, I wouldn't get the mantilla, I wouldn't get the shoes. O, I wanted relief from the burden and then all at once there came a quiet peace in my heart, and that suit never came before me again; but still there was darkness in my soul. On Tuesday, the 17th day of March. 1856, I was sitting in the kitchen by my ironing table, thinking it all over. The Devil seemed to say to me (I know now it was he), "You have prayed to be converted."

        I said, "Yes."

        "You have been sincere."

        "Yes."

        "You have been in earnest."

        "Yes."

        "You have read your Bible, and you have fasted, and you really want to be converted."

        "Yes, Lord, Thou knowest it; Thou knowest my heart, I really want to be converted."

        Then Satan said, "Well, if God were going to convert you He would have done it long ago; He does His work quick, and with all your sincerity God has not converted you."

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        "Yes, that is so."

        "You might as well give it up, then," said he, "it is no use, He won't hear you."

        "Well, I guess I will just give it up. I suppose I will be damned and I might as well submit to my fate." Just then a voice whispered to me clearly, and said, "Pray once more." And in an instant I said, "I will." Then another voice seemed like a person speaking to me, and it said, "Don't you do it."

        "Yes, I will."

        And when I said, "Yes, I will," it seeemed to me the emphasis was on the "will," and I felt it from the crown of my head clear through me, "I WILL," and I got on my feet and said, "I will pray once more, and if there is any such thing as salvation, I am determined to have it this afternoon or die."

        I got up, put the kettle on, set the table and went into the cellar and got on my knees to pray and die, for I thought I had made a vow to God and that He would certainly kill me, and I didn't care, I was so miserable, and I was just at the verge of desperation. I had put everything on the table but the bread and butter, and I said, "If any one calls me I won't get up, and if the bread and butter is all that is to go on the table, Miss Sue (the daughter) can finish the supper, and that will save them calling for me, and when they come down cellar after it they will find me dead!"

        I set the tea pot on the table, put the tea cady down by it, so that everything would be ready, and I was going to die; and O, Hallelujah, what a dying that was! I went down into the cellar and got on my knees, as I had done so many times before, and I began my prayer. "O Lord, have mercy on my soul, I don't know how else to pray." A voice said to me, "That is just what you said before."

        "O, Lord, if Thou wilt only please to have mercy on my soul I will serve Thee the longest day I live."

        The Devil said, "You might just as well stop, you said that before."

        "O, Lord if Thou wilt only convert my soul and make me truly sensible of it, for I want to know surely that I am converted, I will serve Thee the longest day I live."

        "Yes," the Devil says, "you said that before and God has not done it, and you might as well stop."

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        O, what a conflict. How the darkness seemed to gather around me, and in my desperation I looked up and said, "O, Lord, I have come down here to die. and I must have salvation this afternoon or death. If you send me to hell I will go, but convert my soul." Then I looked up and said, "O, Lord, if thou wilt only please to help me if ever I backslide don't ever let me see thy face in peace." And I waited, and I did not hear the old suggestion that had been following me, "That is just what you said before," so I said it again, "O, Lord, if Thou wilt only please to convert my soul and make me truly sensible of it, if I backslide don't ever let me see Thy face in peace."

        I prayed the third time, using these same words. Then somehow I seemed to get to the end of everything. I did not know what else to say or do. Then in my desperation I looked up and said, "O, Lord, if Thou wilt help me I will believe Thee," and in the act of telling God I would, I did. O, the peace and joy that flooded my soul! The burden rolled away; I felt it when it left me, and a flood of light and joy swept through my soul such as I had never known before. I said, "Why, Lord, I do believe this is just what I have been asking for," and down came another flood of light and peace. And I said again, "Why, Lord, I do believe this is what I have asked Thee for." Then I sprang to my feet, all around was light, I was new. I looked at my hands, they looked new; I took hold of myself and said, "Why, I am new, I am new all over." I clapped my hands; I ran up out of the cellar, I walked up and down the kitchen floor. Praise the Lord! There seemed to be a halo of light all over me; the change was so real and so thorough that I have often said that if I had been as black as ink or as green as grass or as white as snow, I would not have been frightened. I went into the dining room; we had a large mirror that went from the floor to the ceiling, and I went and looked in it to see if anything had transpired in my color, because there was something wonderful had taken place inside of me, and it really seemed to me it was outside too, and as I looked in the glass I cried out, "Hallelujah, I have got religion; glory to God, I have got religion!" I was wild with delight and joy; it seemed to me as if I would split! I went out into the kitchen and I thought what will I do, I have got to wait till Sunday before I can tell anybody. This was on Tuesday; Sunday was my day in town, so I began to count the days, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday,

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Friday, Saturday, Sunday. O, it seemed to me the days were weeks long. My! can I possibly stand it till Sunday? I must tell somebody, and as I passed by the ironing table it seemed as if it had a halo of light all around it, and I ran up to the table and smote it with my hand and shouted, "Glory to God, I have got religion!" The Lord kept me level-headed and didn't make me so excited I didn't know what I was doing. Mrs. Mifflin was very delicate; she had asthma, and I knew if I said anything to excite her it might kill her, and the Lord kept me so I didn't make any noise to excite her at all. I didn't tell her; didn't feel led to tell her. There was no one in the house at the time, not a soul. She was on the front veranda and I had it all to myself in the kitchen. O, what a day! I never shall forget it; it was a day of joy and gladness to my soul. After I had been converted about a week I was very happy. One morning it seemed to me I didn't know what to do with myself, I was so happy. I was singing an old hymn,—


                         "O how happy are they, who their Saviour obey,
                         And have laid up their treasures above;
                         Tongue can never express the sweet comfort and peace,
                         Of a soul in its earliest love."

        When I got to the verse:—


                         "When my heart, it believed, what a joy I received,
                         What a heaven in Jesus' name;
                         'Twas a heaven below, my Redeemer to know,
                         And the angels could do nothing more
                         Than to fall at His feet, and the story repeat,
                         And the Lover of sinners adore."

        O, how my soul was filled. Just then the enemy whispered to me, "There, you are singing just as if you had religion."

        "Well, I have. I asked the Lord to convert me and He has done it."

        "How do you know?"

        "Well I know He did it, because it was just what I asked the Lord to do, and He did, and I know He did, for I never felt as I do now, and I know I am converted."

        "You have a great blessing," the Devil said, "But how do you know that is conversion?"

        "Well," I said, "That is what I asked the Lord to do and I believe He did it."

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        "You know, you don't want to be a hypocrite?"

        "No, and I will not be, either."

        "But you have no evidence."

        "Evidence, evidence, what is that?" Then I thought, I wonder if that is not what the old people used to call the witness of the Spirit. "Well," I said, "I won't sing, I won't pray until I get the witness." So I began and I held this point; God helped me to hold this point. I said, "Lord I believe Thou hast converted my soul, but the Devil says I have no evidence. Now Lord give me the evidence," and I prayed a whole week. Every now and then the joy would spring up in my heart, the burden was all gone, I had no sadness, I could not cry as I had before, and I did not understand it and so I kept on pleading, "Lord, I believe Thou hast converted me, but give me the evidence, so clear and definite that the Devil will never trouble me on that line again."

        Praise the Lord, He did, and though I have passed through many sorrows, many trials, Satan has buffeted me, but never from that day have I had a question in regard to my conversion. God helped me and He settled it once for all.

        This witness of God's spirit to my conversion has been what has held me amid all the storms of temptation and trial that I have passed through. O what an anchor it has been at time of storm. Hallelujah, for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth. Ye shall know if ye follow on to know the Lord. Amen. Amen.

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CHAPTER V.

HOW I BOUGHT MY SISTER FRANCES AND HOW THE LORD PAID THE DEBT.

        It was in September, 1862. The Union soldiers were stationed all along the line, from Havre de Gras and Monkton, Md. My aunt, my mother's sister, lived about a mile and a half from Hereford, on the old homestead, where my grandmother lived and died. After the death of my mother there were six of us children at home with father. My aunt, who had been married about two years, wanted my father to let one of my sisters go with her to Maryland. She had but one child of her own at that time, and she wanted my sister to be company for her little child, and to look after him, as she worked out by the day very often. So my father gave her my sister Frances, who was then about ten years old. It was not very safe for colored people to pass up and down, but sometimes they could do it without being molested at all. My aunt used to come back and forth once a year to the camp meeting, as many of the colored people, round about did. The camp meeting was then called the old Baltimore Camp. It was held on Lowe's camp-ground. My sister was very anxious to go with my aunt. She promised to take very good care of her, so father was quite willing to have her go. She had been there about three years, I think; my aunt then had two children; and my sister took care of them while she would be away at work every day; of course things didn't always go on with children as they should, and then my aunt was very severe on Frances; several times she whipped her very severely, so that the neighbors interfered, and that made unpleasant feelings between the neighbors and my aunt. Word came to my father about it, but he could not go very well, nor did any of the rest feel that we could go; there was so much excitement about the war we did not like to risk it.

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After the war had begun, these soldiers were stationed, as I have said, and I had made up my mind that I would risk it, and go and see about my sister. Prior to this my aunt had written father that Frances had got very unruly, and when she would whip her she would run away, and that she had gone off somewhere, and he must come and see after her. I was living in Lancaster, Pa., with Col. H. S. McGraw's family. I got six dollars a month. I told Mrs. McGraw about my sister, and told her I thought it was safe for me to go now; that I would be safer under the protection of the Union soldiers. I got her to advance me fifty dollars and I started on my journey down to Monkton. I went to Little York, Pa., and from York to Monkton, Md. I got to my aunt's house about one o'clock in the afternoon. She was not at home. The children were there, and they told me Frances was living with Mr. Hutchinson. Well, I didn't know where Mr. Hutchinson lived, but by inquiring got on the right road. Finally I came to the man who had been magistrate in that part of the country; I wanted to see him, for I had heard in that time my sister had been sold, so I went in to inquire what could be done. My sister was born free—born in Pennsylvania—and my father and mother were free, and I wanted to see what could be done. He told me that Frances had run off from my aunt and come to their house, and as he saw she had been very badly treated, and as she was very kind to the children, his wife thought they would keep her. She came to him for protection. Well, just at that time they were selling black people; every one they could pick up anywhere that could not prove they were free born, were sold for so much. My aunt was a little vexed, so she did not bother about Frances, and my father could not go and swear for her, consequently she was sold to Mr. Hutchinson for a term of ten years. He told me that all I could do was to see Mr. Hutchinson, and if he would consent to give her up, I could get her by paying him what he paid for her, He said there was nobody to come forward and swear for her, and he saw she was not kindly treated, but that was all he could do about it. He did not take much pains to give me satisfaction. Oh! those were times! However, after he told me what he did, I started for Mr. Hutchinson's. My! how I cried. How I thought of my dear mother. I was all alone. I walked and prayed. I had had nothing to eat all day. I was very hungry. I had passed several farm-houses, and wanted to go in and ask for a

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drink of water, but I was afraid. Finally I came to a very fine house, standing back from the road; beautiful grounds, green grass and trees, a beautiful white veranda, and an old lady in a white cap, sitting out on the veranda; there was a pump in the yard, with a nice bright tin cup hanging on it; but there was a large dog lying on the stoop, so I stood at the gate a moment; the old lady got up and walked to the end of the veranda, and I called out to her, "Madame, I'm very thirsty; will you please let me come in and get a drink of water?" She said "No, no; go on, go on." I nearly fainted for a moment, and I lifted my heart and said, "Now, Lord, help me, and take away the thirst;" and in an instant every bit of thirst and hunger left me; I had not a bit, no more than if I never had been thirsty. I walked on about a mile further in the sun; I got to Mr. Hutchinson's and saw my poor sister. I don't think I ever saw a heathen in Africa, that looked so much like a heathen as she did. I could hardly speak to her. She was busy at work, and seemed to be happy, but I was not. I told her I had come after her, and to see Mr. Hutchinson. Poor thing, she was so glad to see me!

        I don't know how many black people Mr. Hutchinson owned; he was excited over the war; and while he was considered to be a very good man to his black people, yet he was rough when I told him what my errand was. When I told him my sister was freeborn, was not a slave and never had been, he simply said he had nothing to do with that; he had paid forty dollars for her, and he was not going to let her go for less. Well, I didn't know what to do. I cried, but he raved; he swore, and said Frances had not been of any use anyhow. At first he said he would not let her go at all. Then he went into the house. His wife was a very nice woman. How well I remember her. I cried, and cried, and could not stop. I was foolish, but I could not help it. She said something to him. He went into the house, and by and by he came back and said he was not going to let her go for less than forty dollars. Then my sister told me if I would go over to Mrs. Hutchinson's father's (I think his name was Matthews, and he was a Quaker), and see him, she thought he might help me. They were very nice people, and had always been kind to her. It was about a quarter of a mile across the fields. So I went over then and old Mr. Matthews told me I was to go on back, and next morning he would ride over. So, sure enough; next morning the

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old man came over. He pitied me, I saw, but he could not help me much. Mr. Hutchinson walked up and down and swore. I told Mr. Matthews that I had no money scarcely, and I did not know how to get back if I paid out the forty dollars. I would only have enough to get back to York, and how was I going to get from York to Lancaster, where I lived, and get my sister there besides? Well, Mr. Hutchinson said, he had nothing to do with that. So he told my sister she could get ready and go. I paid him the money. Then she got ready. She went to get her shawl, and he said to her she should not have anything but what she had on. They had given her a shawl, a dress and a pair of great big brogan shoes; and they let her take the dress (a blue cotton striped) she had on; madame had given her a gingham apron; that she was to leave. So we started; just what she stood up in, with one domestic dress under her arm, was all she had. He flourished the horse-whip around so I didn't know but we were both going to get a flogging before we left; but we got out without the flogging. But oh! wasn't he mad! I thanked the Lord for the old Quaker gentleman. But for him it would have been much worse. Then how I prayed the Lord would bless Mrs. Hutchinson. I believe she was good. There were a number of little black children around there, and Mr. Hutchinson was kind to them, and played with them, and put them on the horse and held them on to ride, and they seemed to be very fond of him. But then they were slaves. What a difference it made in his feelings toward them. My sister was free. He had not any business with her, and I had no right to pay him any money; and if I had had as much sense then as I have now, I would not have paid him a cent; I would have just waited till he went to bed, and taken the underground railroad plan. But it is all over now, and my poor sister has long since gone to her reward.

        When I came back to Lancaster, to Mrs. McGraw's, she allowed me to bring my sister there, and she helped around with the work till I got her trained somewhat; for she had always worked in the field, and had very little idea about housework. Now I worked, as it were, for a dead horse; for I was in debt to Mrs. McGraw fifty dollars. She paid me my wages regularly, but there was this debt; and with Frances on my hands, I was not able to pay a cent of the fifty dollars. Oh! how it worried me. I hated to think of it; I hated so to have debt. But then I could not help it,

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and I had no one to help me. My sisters were all poor, and worked hard for themselves. Father was not able to help me. One day Mr. Robert McGraw, Col. McGraw's brother, came to spend some time with them in Lancaster. He was a man that had plenty of means, and was very generous. I was always very glad when Mr. Robert came to see them. I was always sure of two dollars and fifty cents or five dollars when he went away. We dined at three o'clock in the afternoon; had breakfast at nine. Mr. Robert had had his breakfast and gone down town. He went into a bank to get a bill changed. He had four one hundred dollar bills rolled together. He went into the bank and got one bill changed as he went down in the morning. He came back at three o'clock to dinner. After dinner was over he always came out in the kitchen to light his cigar. Mrs. McGraw's son, Henry, a boy of about ten years of age, had a very fine dog, and thought a great deal of him. I was very particular about my kitchen, and they would come out into the kitchen and get to playing, and would sometimes make my kitchen look pretty well upset. Of course I didn't say anything, for Mr. Robert was kind; but I did not like it. Now when he got the bill changed and went to put the three hundred dollars back in his pocket, instead of putting the money into his pocket, he slipped it inside his pants; and strange as it may seem, he had come all the way home and it was not lost on the street. But while he was playing in the kitchen with little Henry after dinner it slipped down and dropped on the floor. It just looked like a piece of paper he had twisted up to light his cigar. I saw it lying there, but did not bother to pick it up at first. He had gone away down street. It was a little rainy. After awhile the dog came running in to go upstairs after Henry. The middle door was shut and he could not got upstairs. As he came back past me I went to give him a send off with my foot, and kicked this roll of paper that lay there. Something seemed to whisper to me, "You had better pick that up and look at it. It might be a twenty dollar bank note." So I picked it up; and Oh, my! In all my born days did I ever have such a surprise. Three hundred dollars! Three one hundred dollar bills on the Baltimore bank! My! But I said, "This is Mr. Robert McGraw's." Mrs. McGraw was very kind, but I knew if I gave it to her that I would not get more than a dollar; but if I kept it and gave it to Mr. Robert I was sure he would give me five dollars. There was no one in the kitchen but

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myself. The other two servants were upstairs. So I said to myself, "Mr. Robert will be here in a few minutes." This was between half past four and five o'clock in the afternoon. I said nothing to any one. Mr. Robert did not come till along about six or seven o'clock in the evening. I had not said a word to anybody. The suggestion came to me, "Now this is a good chance for you to get out of debt to Mrs. McGraw. None of these bills are marked, and you can take it to the bank and give it to somebody and you can get that money." I let all these thoughts play through my mind, and then I said, "Now, Mr. Devil, you lie, I don't mean to get into any trouble about that money at all." After awhile I heard some one coming, talking, and I saw two or three persons. Mr. Robert did not come in at the front door; he came around through the yard and came in at the side door. Two boys were with him, and they had lanterns, and they had looked all along the street for this money.

        This is the way he missed it. He went into a barber shop to get shaved. After he was shaved he put his hand into his pocket to get the money to pay for it, and found that he had only the money that he had got changed. The other bills were gone. He was very jolly, and said, "I have lost three or four hundred dollars; I don't know which. I will give fifty dollars if I can find it." And of course they were all out looking for it. So he came into the yard.

        "What is the matter, Mr. Robert?"

        "Amanda," he replied, "I have lost three or four hundred dollars," and then saying a word with two d's in it, he said he didn't know which, and continued looking about with the boys. I said, "My, Mr. Robert, three hundred dollars?"

        "Yes, three or four, I don't know which. I will give fifty dollars if I can find it."

        As soon as he said, "I will give fifty dollars if I can find it," I said "Mr. Robert, what did you say?"

        "I said I will give fifty dollars if I can find it." Then he looked up at me through his glasses, and I said, "I wonder if I can find it," and at the same time reached way down in my pocket.

        "Amanda," he said, "did you find it?"

        "Hold on; wait till I see." And making a desperate effort I hauled it out. There were the three one hundred dollar bills, My! weren't the boys surprised! He turned right around to the

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flour chest that stood in the kitchen and counted me out fifty dollars in ten dollar bills.

        I got down on my knees right there and then and thanked the Lord, and Mr. Robert said, "Oh, Amanda, it's all right, it's all right; you are welcome to it."

        And that is the way the Lord got me out of that debt. "In someway or other the Lord will provide." Amen. Amen.

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CHAPTER VI.

MARRIAGE AND DISAPPOINTED HOPES—RETURN TO PHILADELPHIA—A STRANGER IN NEW YORK—MOTHER JONES' HELP—DEATH OF MY FATHER.

        After my conversion I continued to live in Columbia, Pa., a year or two; then went to live at Colonel McGraw's in Lancaster, about ten miles from Columbia, where I remained some four or five years. In the meantime the civil war had broken out, and my husband, in common with so many others, enlisted and went South with the army, from which he never returned. From Lancaster I went to Philadelphia, where I remained at service with different families for several years. There I became acquainted with James Smith, a local preacher, to whom I was subsequently married.

        When the first few months after my marriage to James Smith had passed, things began to get very unsatisfactory. My husband had one grown daughter, eighteen years of age, by a former marriage, and I had one daughter, about nine years old, by my first marriage. At times, things in the house were very unpleasant. I was greatly disappointed, perhaps I had expected too much of my husband. He was a local preacher and an ordained deacon in the A. M. E. Church. My first husband was not a professing Christian at all, neither was I when I married him. During the years of my widowhood I boarded my little girl, here a while and then there. Sometimes she was well taken care of and at other times was not; for I found that often people do things just for the little money they get out of it; and when I would go and see the condition of my poor child, and then had to turn away and leave her and go to my work I often cried and prayed; but what could I do more? I had not yet learned to trust God fully for all things.

        One reason for my marrying a second time was that I might have

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a Christian home and serve God more perfectly. I thought to marry a preacher would be the very thing, though notwithstanding, I prayed earnestly for light and guidance from the Lord, and I believe, now, he gave it me, but I did not walk in it. How sorry I have been many times since. I told my husband how, since my conversion, I felt it my duty to be an Evangelist. He quite agreed to it all, and told me he was preparing himself to join the Conference and so go into the itinerant work. He explained and reasoned it all so well, and, of course, I had learned to love him, and that went a good ways towards making everything look very plausible, notwithstanding the light the Lord had given me. I said the Lord knows the deep desire of my heart is to work for Him, and I could help my husband so much in his work. I had seen and known the influence of a minister's wife, and how much she could help her husband or hinder him to a great extent in his work. Mr. Smith said that was just the kind of a wife he wanted. I remembered Rev. Joshua Woodland and his wife, how they used to go about among the people and make them feel they were of them, and all who know them loved them; and so with my pastor, Rev. L. Patterson and his wife. She would lead prayer meeting and pray with the sick and dying, and was a beautiful housekeeper with all, and all these just suited me, and I thought how nice it will be to be able to do so much good, and beside to be spoken of as "Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Smith." I thought I saw it clearly, and I said, yet after all, this looks like the Lord's will. At that very hour Satan had gained the victory over me and yet I did not know it was he. After I had given my consent I went to the Lord to have it ratified, but not a ray of light came. I felt sad, but what could I do? I said when the Conference comes and Mr. Smith gets his appointment I will begin work at once with the people, and I will then get light and liberty of soul and will be all right, so this cheered me; but O, the subtilty of Satan, how he can transform himself into an angel of light to deceive even to this day.

        The marriage was over and the Conference came. For several weeks prior to the session of the Conference I saw that my husband did not seem to be interested and studious as he had been, and when I would speak to him about it he would be cold and indifferent. O, how indescribably sad I felt; I was frightened. Now I thought if he changes his mind and does not join the Conference,

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what will I do? I felt I could not stand the disappointment. My heart was sad, yet I tried to hope all through. I watched my husband, but he was still indifferent. One day he came home from the Conference quite out of sorts with the Bishop and all the brethren, and I knew from the way he expressed himself all was up for my good work as a pastor's wife; but I prayed with what spirit was left in me and hoped that at the last things would come out all right. Finally, the Conference closed and the appointments were read. I said to my husband: "Are you not going to-night to hear the appointments?"

        "No, I don't want to hear them;" so I went out alone. It seemed to me I could scarcely walk to the church—old Bethel Church, on Sixth street, Philadelphia. I went in, sat down and listened to the long list of appointments read. James Smith's name was not there. I said, can it be I have heard rightly. I saw my mistake, Satan had deceived me. "O, Lord," I said, "what shall I do?" I went home and asked my husband all about it.

        I shall never forget how he took me on his lap and kindly put his arm around me and said, tenderly, "My dear, I was afraid to tell you what was really in my heart, I was afraid you would not marry me."

        "But how could you deceive me so?"

        "I knew it was wrong," he said, "but you will forgive me?"

        Of course, I would, and did, but the remembrance was grievous. The Lord sustained me and gave me His grace.

        After a year Mrs. Colonel McGraw, with whom I had lived in Lancaster for some four years, came for me to go a few months to Wheatland, Md., where they had moved. They found it difficult to get a cook, and they thought I might go for a few months to get the house settled. After getting the consent of my husband, I took my baby, little Nell, six months old, and my daughter Mazie, and we went for the summer. O, what I went through during those three months! I had to do all the cooking for the house, and eight farm hands, beside helping with the washing and doing up all the shirts and fine clothes and looking after my children. How I did it I don't know. There were but two other servants in the house, chambermaid and waiter, so I had no help only as they were kind enough, at times, to lend a hand. My baby seemed to get along nicely for the first three weeks, then she was

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taken sick with summer complaint, and in six weeks I had to lay her away in the grave to a wait the morning of the Resurrection. Mrs. McGraw had gone to Lancaster, so was not there. Mr. McGraw was just as kind as he could be to make things as pleasant as possible. He made all the arrangements for the funeral, and bore all the expenses, but, in spite of all, my mother heart was sore and sad. My husband was at Bethlehem Springs and could not get there. Nevertheless, the Lord stood by me. Praise His name for ever and ever. Amen.

        In the fall I returned home to Philadelphia, and went out to days' work and took washing, in every way to help my husband. In the course of time the Lord gave me another dear little boy, and I named him after Thomas Henry, whom I loved for his Christian, manly bravery in the dark days of slavery.

        He was a member of the M. E. Church, and was a licensed preacher for a number of years at Hagerstown, Md., and left that church and joined the A. M. E. Church in 1834. The stewards and sometimes the preachers, in those days owned slaves, and as one of the stewards of the church he belonged to, sold a poor colored girl away from her child, he was sad about it, knowing them all as he did; so he went to the Presiding Elder and asked him about the clause in the discipline about buying and selling slaves. He told him that he had nothing to do with the Steward's property; and after still further inquiry the same answer was given. Then with Tom Henry forbearance ceased to be a virtue and he said no man whose hand is red with innocent blood shall ever put, the Sacrament in my mouth. He remained a worthy member of the A. M. E. Church, which he served nobly till he fell asleep in Jesus, about ten years ago.

        I speak of him because he was a father to me, and so often comforted my heart when I would be almost overwhelmed.

        The story of his life ought to be read by every Methodist preacher of to-day, for many of them have forgotten what the fathers had to go through in preparing a church for them to carry forward. What wonderful changes have been since then! Surely, God hath been good to Israel.

        In 1865 my husband took it position at Leland's Hotel, and we moved from Philadelphia to New York. We were strangers, I, especially. My husband, James Smith, was a Mason and an Odd Fellow, so in that way knew many more persons than I. The New

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York people, both white and colored, seemed so different from the Philadelphia people. I could not seem to get into their ways. In Philadelphia my church relations were so congenial and spiritual, but here I was very lonesome. We found it difficult to get rooms. In Philadelphia, you could get a small house to yourself, but rents in New York were high, and there were many things in the way. I hoped my husband would go back again; but no, I must make the best of things till we got started and acquainted. That means something when one goes to New York a stranger, as I did, and with but little money. I took a situation as cook up town, Twenty-fourth street and Lexington avenue, with a Mrs. L. It was a very nice place; there I stayed about two months. My husband got a room in York street, and then I only went out to day's work, still finding the people with whom I met cool and unsocial compared with what they were in Philadelphia. I told my husband I did not like New York. Then he advised me to join some societies, then I would get better acquainted. All the leading high-toned church people were in society; so it was then, and is to-day. Well, I was high-toned in spirit,—always had been; I think I took after the white folks I lived with; they were aristocratic. So I thought that is a good idea and I will get to know all the nice people; so I joined three different societies.

        I was greatly disappointed in the spirit that I saw manifested among the members, but I said I will have to get used to things, then it will be better, so I went on for a year. Then there was a new society started called the "Heroines of Jericho." None but Master Masons' wives and daughters could join it, and this society was very high-toned, and as my husband was a Master Mason, he was anxious for me to join. He came home one night and told me all about it. Nothing would do but I must join this if I let some of the others go.

        Well, after some weeks I did, and we had flashy times, all the tinsel regalia and turn out and money spending and show; it took all I could gather to keep up with it, and I had no chance to draw anything, for I had good health and was never sick; but still I must go on paying my dues regularly, as I had begun; and so I did till '68, then after God had sanctified my soul He opened my eyes to see the folly of all this and taught me how to trust in Him, and I came out of every one of them.

        The more I prayed about it the clearer God made it to me that

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all these secret societies are the mothers of selfishness, pride and worldliness. I shall praise God forever that when I asked Him for light on these things He gave it to me, and as I walked in it He led me out into a place of broad rivers. Some of the sisters and brethren visited me and tried to persuade me. They said, "you were just come to where you would be in office, and you have paid so much money in, and you should not leave it now." When I did not yield they turned on me and treated me coolly, and said many unkind things about me. But thank God, I was out to go in no more. I treated everybody very kindly, and did pray for them all, for I knew God would give them light if they only would receive it.

        After this I had my trials. My husband could not understand why I should take such a position, but I could not explain, I could only sing,


                         "He leadeth me! Oh! blessed thought.
                         Oh! words with heav'nly comfort fraught;
                         Whate'er I do, where'er I be,
                         Still 'tis God's hand that leadeth me."

        One morning as I was over the wash-tub my heart was sore. Oh! what a night I had had. I felt I could not bear any more, and I said, O, Lord, is there no way out of this? And as I wept and prayed the Lord sent Mother Jones. I did not want her to catch me crying; I did not believe in telling all my little troubles, but there she was, and I was so full and had suppressed so long that I could hold in no longer. "Well, Smith," she said, "how do you do?"

        "O, Mother Jones, I am nearly heart-broken; James is so unkind," and I began to tell all my good works; how I did this and how I did that, and all I could to make things pleasant, and yet he was unkind.

        "Well," she said, "that is just the way Jones used to do me, but when God sanctified my soul He gave me enduring grace, and that is what you need; get sanctified, and then you have enduring grace."

        "My," I thought, "is that what sanctification means? Enduring grace? That is just what I need; I have always been planning to get out of trials, instead of asking God for grace to endure;" and as she talked on, down deep in my heart I prayed the Lord to make her go so I could get sanctified and get enduring grace,

Illustration

MR. SAMUEL BERRY, FATHER OF AMANDA SMITH.

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before James came home. O, how I did want her to go! After a while she went.

        The minute she shut the door I turned the key and ran into the bed-room and got on my knees and prayed, "O, Lord, sanctify my soul and give me enduring grace. O, Lord, sanctify my soul and give me enduring grace."

        Oh! how I struggled and wept and prayed. I threw myself on the floor, on my face, then I got up and walked up and down the room, wrung my hands, pulled my hair and cried, "O, Lord, sanctify my soul and give me enduring grace."

        I thought if I could only get it before James came home at night, for I could never go through another night like last night, then I would cry, "O, Lord, sanctify my soul and give me enduring grace." So I went on for an hour, and when I got through I did not have the great blessing; God had prepared a better way. I was in such distress that I never thought about faith; I was taken up with my desire and distress when seeking the blessing. Well, I did not get it then, of course, for faith without works is dead, so works, without real faith in God, are dead also.


                         "I struggled and wrestled to win it,
                         The blessing that setteth me free,
                         But when I had ceased all my struggle,
                         This peace Jesus gave unto me."

        In this connection I will give a brief account of the closing years of my father's life, as doubtless some may desire to know how he who had fought the battle of life so bravely met the last great enemy—death.

        After my mother's death my father married again, but his second marriage was not as congenial as the first, and father had got older, and was not patient and forbearing as he ought to have been; and mother's people and children and grandchildren all lived in Baltimore, so that she would be away often for months at a time. Father was old-fashioned, and did not like some of the new methods in church, such as fairs and festivals and the like; so that in speaking against these things, and not in the mildest spirit, I fear, he offended the pastor of the church he belonged to; it was the African Zion Church, called Big Wesley, in Philadelphia, on Lombard street, below Sixth. He was a class leader, but he had incurred the displeasure of the pastor and the people mostly; so

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things got to be very unpleasant, and his spirit got sour and he left the church.

        The Quakers had a mission on St. Mary's street, for the colored people, and they did a great deal of good, and father used to go there regularly; he seemed to enjoy it; they were plain and very kind; they manifested such a kind spirit towards all the colored people, and looked after the poor so nicely in the whiter time. There were large and good Bible classes, and they had excellent teachers. But notwithstanding all this, my father had lost his spiritual life. Oh! how it grieved me to think of it. I wept and prayed for him, and would talk to him sometimes when he would let me; but the old-time people did not want much talk from the children; so I had to be very careful.

        After the Lord had sanctified by soul, my burden for my poor father increased! Oh, how sad! I wept, and it seemed that the Lord must save him anyhow, whether or no. But, oh! how I learned that we cannot do anything by trying to drive God. He cannot be driven. "But, oh!" I said, "It is my dear father I want saved, and the Lord can and must save him."

        He was working at that time on a large and high building, and I was so afraid if he were to fall and be crippled, or killed; I could not bear to think of it. So I prayed more fervently. One day I had an awful test while I was praying for him in New York; he was in Philadelphia; and it came to me, "Would you be willing for your father to be lost?" Oh! my blood seemed to curdle at the thought; how I did cry to God. Then it came, "Suppose it was God's will, could you submit?"

        "Oh! Lord," I cried, "You made him, and he is yours, and you have a right to do with your own what you please; but oh! save my father."

        Then it came, "Suppose you were to hear that he had fallen off that building and was injured for life?" Just then it seemed I saw him fall, and saw the men bring him home, all mangled and bleeding. Oh! what horror! I held my breath, for it seemed it was really so.

        "I cannot bear the thought of seeing him suffer," I said. "But, oh, Lord, if there is no other way, then let Thy will be done." And I let go of father and took hold of God; and though I cannot tell how, I rested so sweetly in God. His justice is right. His love is right. Two years after this passed away before my father

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died; but, oh! how sweetly the Lord seemed to bring him to Himself; took all the harshness out of him; sweetened him down so beautifully. I shall never forget.

        I had been home to Philadelphia on it visit, and I had father come around one night to tea before I left; he seemed so changed and different from what he had been; he had been sick for several days, but not in bed. I was not there when he died. The morning he died; he got up as usual, was very weak, but dressed himself, put on all his Sunday clothes, went out and took a walk, came back and read his Bible, and then said to my sister, "I feel so weak, I think I will go upstairs and lie down." And they went up a little while after, and she saw he was dying; not a struggle or a groan. I never had an anxious thought about him from the time I sank down into the will of God. What else ought we to do, when we bring our friends, but to sink into the will of God, and put them into His hands, and trust Him? Amen. Amen.

        I had three brothers in the late war. My youngest brother came home sick, and died in the hospital at Harrisburg, in September, '62. I did not hear of his sickness until it was too late. I went at once, but when I got there he was dead and buried two days or more. Oh, what a blow it was to me! He was my favorite brother. He was home on a furlough with his captain, and came to see me. He and I had talked of trying to buy a little home for father. He was rather wild and I wanted him to save his money and send it to me, and I would put mine with it. Poor boy! I wondered why he didn't write after he went away. But he was taken with smallpox and died, and I never saw him again. I saw the men that were with him while he was sick and dying, and his grave; that is all, till the morning of the Resurrection.

        My next brother, Samuel Grafton, served three years. He lived at Towanda, Pa., and about a year ago he was drowned.

        My oldest brother, William Talbert, served two years in the war, and died about eight or nine months ago at York, Pa. How glad I was that I went to see them all before I went to Africa, and talked and prayed with them, and helped them all I could. Out of a large family of thirteen children, two sisters and myself are all that are living. One of my sisters lives in Brooklyn, N. Y., and the other in San Francisco, Cal.

        But I return to the story of my experiences in New York.

        The rent in York street was high. We got a room on Broom

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street. I went out house cleaning then, but my condition was such that I could not get on very well, and after a few months the woman that I had the room with said I would have to move, she was afraid I would be sick, and she could not attend to me, and she was afraid I was not able to get any one. That was true. It took about all I could earn to pay rent and keep up our societies, so I heard that persons in my state were well cared for at the Colored Home. I told my husband I would go there until after my confinement. He consented, as we could get no suitable rooms, and I went; but oh! when I got there and saw how things were I could not stay longer than a week. My husband went to see a friend, Mrs. Harris, a Philadelphia woman. She lived in Grove street. She was taking care of some one's house uptown and was not home at her own house. Her husband only was in at night, so she told my husband I could come there. I went there from the Home.

        When my baby was three weeks old I took a situation with a person that seemed to be a real lady; she gave me three dollars a week, with my baby. I had not been in the house long before I saw it was the wrong place. Several girls passing back and forth through the kitchen and laughing and behaving so rudely, I saw that they were not straight. Oh! how sad. I had gone for a week until she could get some one. What shall I do, shall I go? I need the money and I said I will stay this week, so I told the madame I would stay only for a week. She said she was sorry, but if I would only stay she would give me more wages. I told her she must get some one, I could not stay, I would go when my week was up; so when the day came she stayed out of the kitchen all day, and sent orders. Then she went out pretending to look for some one; got back very late, sent word if I would stay till the next day she would pay me, some one had promised to come, so she went on for several days. One night I wailed until nine o'clock; I sent up for the money; she wanted me to stay till morning; I said I will not stay in this house another night, I will leave here to-night if it is not till twelve o'clock. She sent the money, not as she promised, but with cursing. I was glad to take what I got and get out. I went to a friend, Mrs. N., on Sullivan street, and stayed all night; I slept but little. She had a house full of washing, but little room, so she made me a bed an all ironing board and two chairs. Next morning while my baby slept,

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I felt led to go around and see my old Philadelphia friend, Mrs. Harris, on Grove street, who had now got home again, to see if she could tell me of a room anywhere. On my way back the Lord seemed to direct me and I came through Amity street. I saw in the rear a furnished room to let. I went in. There, I met old Mrs. Anderson, who was very kind and said when I told her who I was, that she had heard her sons, Gus and Peter, speak of me. I had met them years before at Long Branch. She seemed so pleased; it was she that had the basement to let. She let me have the basement at six dollars per month, and I told my husband when he came in the evening from the hotel, and he said he would pay the rent! Oh! how glad I was. I did thank God; I knew He had led me.

        There was a carpet on the floor, a good sized stove, a bedstead, three chairs, a table and a lamp. I ran away and got my poor baby and was soon back. It was rather damp and I had never lived in a basement before in my life, but I soon had a good fire, and then when my husband came he was glad and sent the things, what few we had, and in a week or two I began to feel quite at home. Persons began to bring in washing to me, a half dozen, then a dozen, etc., and so I went on. After the first two months Sister A. wanted the carpet off the floor; a day or two later she wanted the table. All right, I said, it was rather inconvenient, but still I gave it. Another month's rent paid. Two or three clays after she wanted the mattress off the bed, and I said, "Sister A., you let the basement furnished for six dollars a month."

        "Well," she said, "I can get more than that for it, and I want the mattress."

        "All right," I said, and gave it to her. Then I began to guess what New York sharpers meant. Next thing was a chair, then the next was the stove. She said she had a good chance to sell it. I begged her then to let me have the stove a little longer, and in time the Lord helped me and I got a stove. In the meantime some one moved out from the upstairs. I told James, and we moved upstairs. Four rooms at eight dollars a month. I kept two and rented out the two attic rooms, so that helped to pay my rent. Then I began to get in some families' washing and was getting on very nicely, so much better to be upstairs and out of the damp basement, and I was happy. Then a shadow. Little Tom Henry, my baby, was taken sick, and after several weeks of

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great suffering he died, and we laid him away in Greenwood Cemetery, there to await the glorious Resurrection morn. My poor heart was sad for days, but Oh! how the Lord comforted me and upheld me with all.

        I still went on with my washing. Many nights I have stood at my wash-tub all night, from six in the morning till six the next morning, and so at my ironing table, night and day. I would get so sleepy I could hardly stand on my feet, then I would lean my head on the window ledge and sleep a little till the first deep sleep would pass off, then I would work on till daylight with perfect ease. I had to use all the economy I could, and I knew just how much ironing I could do with a ten cent pail of coal. If I lay down I would oversleep myself, and my fire would burn out, and my coal would be gone. I worked hard day and night, did all I could to help my husband, but he was one of those poor unfortunate dispositions that are hard to satisfy, and many a day and night my poor heart ached as I wept and prayed God to help me.

        In the next rooms to me, on the same floor, a Mrs. J. lived; she was an old Philadelphian. She had known my husband, and I thought as she was an old Philadelphian, and she seemed so nice, I would have a true friend who would sympathize with me and help me. How often when we are passing through deep trials we look for human sympathy, and lean on the human more than on God. In this I have always failed; but still I had to learn by experience. She was a widow. She and her daughter lived together. I was as kind as I could be, and did all I could for her poor daughter when she was ill. Mrs. J. and I had the same landlady, Mrs. Bowen. She lived in the front house just above Sixth avenue on Amity street. She was far from being a Christian woman, but was kind and lenient about her rent.

        We paid her, not always the first day of the month. She would take a dollar at a time just as she could get it and say nothing. Christmas time came. Mrs. B. sent over to ask Mrs. Johnson to come in and cook her Christmas dinner, and she would let it go on the rent, as she was behind, and so it would help her. Mrs. J. said she would do it, but in the evening another party came for Mrs. J. and paid her the cash, notwithstanding she had promised Mrs. B. she would go. She sent her daughter to Mrs. B. and she went where she would get the cash. This displeased Mrs. B. very much, when she considered how lenient she had

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been with her for so long. The girl was young and could not do the work as well as her mother, and Mrs. B. said, "I will not put up with Mrs. J. any longer; she shall move."

        I tried to talk to her as best I could, and told her to see Mrs. J. and not put her out; it might be she would pay up all her back rent. No, she would go to Jefferson Market and have a notice sent her to move.

        "Wait," I said, "till she comes home to-night and hear what she says." So when Mrs. J. came I told her she had better go in and see Mrs. B. and not have her send the notice; but to my surprise Mrs. J. was quite spunky, and said if she wanted to send her a notice she could do so.

        "Well, Johnson," I said, "you know Mrs. B. has been very kind, and I think you ought to go in anyhow and tell her why you did not come;" but she did not; so Mrs. B. had her summoned before the court of Jefferson Market. Saturday morning came. I had a large basket of gentlemen's shirts to iron. Mrs. J. came in and asked me if I would go to court with her. I said, "J., I have to get these shirts home by one, o'clock; the gentleman is going away, and I have promised, and if I go with you I can't do it." A friend of Mrs. J.'s was there, and I said, "Charlotte, can't you go?"

        "Yes," she said, "I am going."

        "O," I said, "then you don't need me; there is no use of so many going." She said, "yes."

        I went to my work, and thought when they came back they would tell me how they came out; but no, neither of them came near. When I met Mrs. J. in the evening I said, "Good evening, Mrs. J., is that you?" She did not speak. I was dumbfounded. I said, "That is Mrs. J., I know; but what is the matter?" A week passed. She went and came, and one evening as I was coming in I walked up to her and took hold of her and said, "But say, Johnson, what is the matter?" She pulled away from me, but never spoke a word.

        O, how vexed I was at myself. I said the idea of my forcing people to speak to me when they don't want to, and I have done nothing to them. "I will never speak to her again while I live," I said. For two years after, God only knows what I had to undergo through that woman.

        She had succeeded in paying up the back rent, and Mrs. Bowen was kind enough to let her stay. She lived next door to

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me on the same floor. Her daughter would speak, but she, never. Sometimes she would act as though she wanted to, but I was afraid to trust her, as she had acted so rudely before. She used to tantalize me by sending messages to me by people. When it would be my Saturday to scrub the long veranda and down the steps, she would wait on Saturday night till it was all done, and then would throw greasy bread crumbs all over the stoop and steps, and you know how grease will spread on soft pine. I would often cry, but said not a word.

        A Sister Brown, to whom I had let my two rooms upstairs, and Mrs. J. got to be very special friends. In the spring I went out house-cleaning, and often when I would come home from work Mrs. B. would come in to talk and have a great story to tell me about what Mrs. Johnson said. I said nothing. I knew if I opened my mouth that both of those dear sisters would wish they were miles away. I prayed God not to let me speak; so one day I got home about four o'clock; a little while after Sister B. came in, so kind, apparently. After talking, she began about what Mrs. Johnson said. I said, "Look here, Sister B., I have no objections if Sister Johnson and you talk about me all you like. I work hard, and though I live beside Mrs. Johnson, I don't live off of her. I I don't owe her a cent"—(and she did owe me, for she had borrowed money from me and never has paid it yet). I said, "You must never tell me anything she says again while you live. I am next door to Mrs. Johnson, and if she wants me to know these things she must tell me herself."

        These sisters were both in my own church. So poor Sister B. took offense at what I said and moved into Mrs. Johnson's. Mrs. Johnson moved into her two attic rooms and let Mrs. Brown have the lower rooms. I said nothing, but went on as if nothing had happened. My! what fine cronies they were; but it was not of long duration. After a few months Mrs. B. and Mrs. J. had a terrible falling out, and I had to take Mrs. B. to keep her from being set out in the street; and so had a chance to return good for evil. This greatly changed Mrs. B.'s spirit. We got on nicely till they were able to suit themselves better. Amid all this my soul cried out after God. I would talk to my husband, but he had no sympathy with holiness. He had had advantages far me, and was far more intelligent. He would always want to on this subject, and I could not keep up on that line and it would

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throw me back, so I told the Lord one day if He would send James away somewhere till I got the blessing he would never get it away again, but that he hindered me from getting it. I knew he would often go away with his people for a month or two at a time. That was in my mind when I prayed; so, sure enough, in about a week after this prayer I looked out one morning and there came James back. When he came in I said, "My! James, what is up, are the folks going away?"

        "No; they have got a young Irishman, just from the old country, a nephew of the cook who has lived in the family for a number of years, and they have taken him at fifteen dollars a month. He has been around me for two weeks, pretending he came to visit his aunt, but I see now he was only taking lessons how to manage the horses."

        James got forty dollars, and a reduction to fifteen was a good deal in the employer's pocket. My heart throbbed. "O," I said, "if he should find out I prayed he would blame me," and I was afraid to talk much. He was like a fish out of water when he had no work. It was two weeks before he got a situation. Being a first-class coachman, he would not take less than forty dollars. Finally he got a situation at fifty dollars a month at New Utrecht, with a Mr. Roberts. He had only to drive twice a day. They had fine English horses, and they wanted them well cared for. They gave a comfortable house, rent free, two tons of coal for the winter, and a barrel of flour. This was the first of September. He went and wanted me to go, but having a right young baby I said, "No, James; I have got some nice families' washing in, and you go and try till spring, and I will save up and in the spring we will take a fresh start and we call have our garden and everything." But no, I must go right away. I reasoned every way I could, but he was determined I should go. At last I said, "James, I am afraid to go; you have done me so bad right here where I have just begun to get used to the people, and know how to turn around, and what will it be if I go there out in the country, no church near, and a stranger, and if I give up my washing what will I do? I can help myself a little now." But this did not please him, and I told him I would wait till spring. The landlady died, and a new landlord raised the rent,—thirteen dollars. He paid the rent, but would do no more. His daughter was married and lived in Philadelphia, so he sent for them to come on and live

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in the house, and he lived with them and would come home every other Sunday and stay till Monday. He came home regularly every fortnight. I said, "Now, Lord, while James is away do please give me the blessing I seek. I will be true, I will never let anything he may say or do get the blessing away from me."

        One day while cleaning up my room I distinctly heard a voice say to me, "On Sunday morning go to Green Street Church and hear John Inskip."

        "Yes," I said, "I will."

        Then came such a quiet hush all over me, and I smiled. This was on Wednesday morning. So I went on thinking it over. Now, I was not definitely seeking the blessing as I had been. I thought when an opportunity offered and I could be baptized and come up to the Bible standard, then the Lord would have to sanctify me. How blind I was!

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CHAPTER VII.

THE BLESSING—ABOUT SEEKING SANCTIFICATION BY WORKS.

        I always got up as early on Sunday mornings as on other mornings. I got my breakfast, and cleaned up my house, and at nine o'clock my little Mazie went to Sunday School. While she was gone I would cook all my dinner and get everything ready. I did I not have time to cook much through the week, as I had often to dry my clothes in the house and I could not have the smell of cooking, so Sunday was the only day I would have a real good dinner, but I never stayed home from church to cook—so I gave my baby his bath and laid him in his cradle, then I got down on my knees and prayed the Lord to keep Will asleep till I went to Green Street Church, and to keep James in a good humor so he would not scold me, for I hated to be scolded, in the worst way. James was peculiar. If he came and I happened to be out, even though I went to carry clothes, he would be vexed. So after Mazie came I said, "Now you read your library book and be a good girl, I am going to Green Street Church this morning; it lets out before our church does, so I will be home in time. You can tell your pa, if he comes before I get back. If Will cries, don't take him up; just rock him."

        She was a good strong girl, thirteen years old, quite able to take care of him and could manage him quite as well as I could, so I went and left them. On my way to Green street, it seemed the Devil overtook me. Just as I turned in Carmine street, I felt a Satanic influence walking by my side and whispering, "Now, you know, if James comes home and finds you are out, you know what you, will catch; you had better go to Bedford Street and hear John Cookman."

        "Well, I will."

        So when I got to the corner and was just going to turn down

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Bleecker street, a voice said, "No, go on." I went on. After I had gone about half a block Satan whispered again, "You are seeking sanctification?"

        "Yes."

        "Well, if James comes home and you are out, he will be very angry, and that will be a sin and you should not make anybody sin."

        "No," I said, "I will not do it."

        Then Satan said, "You had better go and hear that Presbyterian minister on the corner of Houston and Prince streets." I had heard how kind they were to colored people and I had promised several times I would go and hear this minister; the Devil had found that out some way; I can't tell how he knew it, but he did. "You had better go and hear him; then, it is nearer home, three blocks nearer, and you can get home quick."

        "Yes," I said, "that is so."

        When I got to the corner, as I was about to turn down, with a gentle pull a sweet voice whispered, "No, no, go on."

        "Lord, help me!"

        Oh, how will I ever praise God enough for His tender love and faithfulness to me in that awful hour. He gave power to my fainting spirit, and when I had no might, He increased strength. Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!

        I went on a little further and by and by the enemy seemed to approach me again fiercely He said, "Now, you are the biggest fool that ever was. You think you are going to hear John Inskip; he is not there, he is at the Five Points."

        "O, if I thought Brother Inskip was not there, I would not go. I would go back."

        I went on. When I reached the steps I shall never forget the thrill of joy that ran through my heart when I heard Brother Inskip pray. With what strength I had left I said, "Thank God, he is here and not it the Five Points." I seemed to feel the Satanic presence sweep by me and say, "O, she has found it out." Old Satan knew I had caught him in one of his biggest lies. I went into the church and sat down about three seats from the door. I had been to that church but once before and that was Brother Inskip's first Sunday. While I lived in York street I was very sick and could not walk away up to Sullivan Street Bethel Church where I belonged, so I went in there that Sunday. I sat in the

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gallery. The people were so kind; one brother handed me a book and asked me to come again. I thank God for that spirit that was in Green street those days, even to colored people. The Sunday I got the blessing I did not sit upstairs, but O, how tired I was when I got into the church. I leaned my head forward and prayed God to give me strength. When Brother Inskip had finished his prayer he rose and made his announcements; the last hymn was sung, then came the text:— Ephesians, 4th Chapter 24th Verse,—"And that ye put on the new man, which after God is created in righteousness and true holiness." He said, "In preaching from this text this morning the brethren will observe I shall have to make some reference to a sermon that I preached a few Sabbaths ago on sanctification."

        I was struck, for I had never heard a minister say that word in commencing his sermon before, and I said, "O, I have missed my chance; two Sabbaths ago I had such a drawing to come here and I did not do it; O, Lord, I have disobeyed that spirit and I am so sorry; do forgive me and help me, I pray Thee."

        O, how I wept, for I had lost my chance and I am so hungry for the blessing; but, "Lord forgive me and help me to listen now."

        I raised my head and fixed my eyes and thoughts on the speaker and got so interested it seemed he was preaching right to me, and I took every word. By and by I heard my baby scream out,—I heard him scream as distinctly as ever I heard a child scream. "You told Mazie not to take that child up, but she has done it and let him fall," Satan suggested.

        For a moment the actual thing did occur, and it was before my eyes. My heart stood still and a voice said, "Trust the Lord."

        "I will," I said, and fixed my mind again and listened, and as dear Brother Inskip warmed up and I was feasting, my baby screamed out again. I jumped, and it seemed that all the people in the church heard; it was so plain.

        "There," the Devil says, "James has come home and Mazie has not done as you told her, and you will catch it when you get home."

        O, I felt if I had wings I would fly. I wanted to scream out. A sweet voice said, "You said you would trust the Lord."

        "So I did," I said, so I sat back and was listening and drinking

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in and thought all was well now. Again I heard my baby scream.

        "There," said the Devil, "Mazie has let him fall and broken his back," and I got up and walked to the end of the pew.

        "It is no use," I said, "I shall be tormented here; I will go home." And it was as though a person stood before me and said, "Didn't you say that you would trust the Lord with that child?"

        "Yes," I said, "and I will trust the Lord, even if he is dead;" and I sat down. Just as I sat down Brother Inskip said: "There are a great many persons who are troubled about the blessing of sanctification; how they can keep it if they get it."

        "Oh!" I said, "he means me, for that is just what I have said. With my trials and peculiar temperament and all that I have to contend with, if I could get the blessing how could I keep it? Now, some one has told him, for he is looking right at me and I know he means me." And I tried to hide behind the post, and he seemed to look around there. Then I said, "Well, he means me, and I will just take what he says." He used this illustration: "When you work hard all day and are very tired,—"Yes," I said, and in a moment my mind went through my washing and ironing all night,—"When you go to bed at night you don't fix any way for yourself to breathe,"—"No," I said, "I never think about it,"—"You go to bed, you breathe all night you have nothing to do with your breathing, you awake in the morning, you had nothing to do with it."

        "Yes, yes, I see it."

        He continued: "You don't need to fix any way for God to live in you; get God in you in all His fullness and he will live Himself.

        "Oh!" I said, "I see it." And somehow I seemed to sink down out of sight of myself, and then rise; it was all in a moment. I seemed to go two ways at once, down and up. Just then such a wave came over me, and such a welling up in my heart, and these words rang through me like a bell: "God in you, God in you," and I thought doing what? Ruling every ambition and desire, and bringing every thought unto captivity and obedience to His will. How I have lived through it I cannot tell, but the blessedness of the love and the peace and power I can never describe. O, what glory filled my soul! The great vacuum in my soul began to fill up; it was like a pleasant draught of cool water, and I felt

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it. I wanted to shout Glory to Jesus! but Satan said, "Now, if you make a noise they will put you out."

        I was the only colored person there and I had a very keen sense of propriety; I had been taught so, and Satan knew it. I wonder how he ever did know all these little points in me, but in spite of all my Jesus came out best. As we colored folks used to sing in the gone by years:


                         "Jesus is a mighty captain,
                         Jesus is a mighty captain,
                         Jesus is a mighty captain,
                         Soldier of the cross."


                         "Jesus never lost a battle,
                         Jesus never lost a battle,
                         Jesus never lost a battle,
                         Soldier of the cross."

        Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Amen.

        I did not shout, and by-and-by Brother Inskip came to another illustration. He said, speaking on faith: "Now, this blessing of purity like pardon is received by faith, and if by faith why not now?"

        "Yes," I said.

        "It is instantaneous," he continued. "To illustrate, how long is a dark room dark when you take a lighted lamp into it?"

        "O," I said "I see it!" And again a great wave of glory swept over my soul—another cooling draught of water—I seemed to swallow it, and then the welling up at my heart seemed to come still a little fuller. Praise the Lord forever, for that day!

        Speaking of God's power, he went on still with another illustration. He said: "If God in the twinkling of an eye can change these vile bodies of ours and make them look like his own most glorious body, how long will it take God to sanctify a soul?"

        "God can do it," I said, "in the twinkling of an eye," and as quick as the spark from smitten steel I felt the touch of God from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, and the welling up came, and I felt I must shout: but Satan still resisted me like he did Joshua. But the Captain of the Lord's host stood close by and said, "Take off the filthy garments from him," and Satan was mad. again I yielded to the tempter and did not shout. Then I felt the Spirit leave me. I knew He had gone, and I said: "O, Holy Ghost, if Thou wilt only return I will confess Thee." I am so

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glad God put the word confession in my mouth. I thought I would get ready, so when the Spirit came again I would shout; but before I knew it just as though some one threw a basin of water in my face, a great wave came and just as I went to say "Glory to Jesus!" the Devil said, "Look, look at the white people, mind, they will put you out," and I put my hands up to my month and held still, and again I felt the Spirit leave me and pass away.

        Then Satan said: "Now, you have lied to the Holy Ghost, for you said if the Holy Ghost returned you would confess Him, and He did return and you didn't confess, and you have lied to the Holy Ghost."

        O, shall I ever forget the horror of that hour? I thought I had committed an unpardonable sin, so was doomed forever. All hope was gone, and a horror of darkness swept upon my spirit. For about five minutes it seemed to me I was in hell, but somehow, I don't know how, I said, "Well, I know the Lord has sanctified my soul"—I felt so sure of it —"and I will go home to my church and give the witness."

        Just then Satan says: "They will not believe you because you did not get the blessing there."

        Then I knew there was a little jealousy and prejudice among some, so I said: "Well, no matter, I know the Lord has sanctified my soul, anyhow." And I went to get up to go out, but could not stand on my feet. O, I was so weak. My head seemed a river of waters and my eyes a fountain of tears. I put my hand in my pocket to get my handkerchief, but I could not get it out. Just then they arose to sing the closing hymn, that blessed hymn, "My latest sun is sinking fast." I tried to get up, but could not; then the Devil says, "No one knows you here, and they will think you are drunk."

        "Lord, what shall I do," and a voice seemed to whisper in my left I ear, for Satan stood at my right, and would whisper his suggestions: "Pray for strength to stand up." I took hold of the pew in front of me and trembling from head to foot I stood up, but held on to the pew. Just as I got fairly on my feet they struck the last verse of the hymn,


                         "Oh! bear my longing heart to Him,
                         Who bled and died for me.
                         Whose blood now cleanseth from all sin,
                         And gives me victory."

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        And when they sang these words, "Whose blood now cleanseth," O what a wave of glory swept over my soul! I shouted glory to Jesus. Brother Inskip answered, "Amen, Glory to God." O, what a triumph for our King Emmanuel. I don't know just how I looked, but I felt so wonderfully strange, yet I felt glorious. One of the good official brethren at the door said, as I was passing out, "Well, auntie, how did you like that sermon?" but I could not speak; if I had, I should have shouted, but I simply nodded my head. Just as I put my foot on the top step I seemed to feel a hand, the touch of which I cannot describe. It seemed to press me gently on the top of my head, and I felt something part and roll down and cover me like a great cloak! I felt it distinctly; it was done in a moment, and O what a mighty peace and power took possession of me! I started up Green street. The streets were full of people coming from the different churches in all directions. Just ahead of me were three of the leading sisters in our church. I would sooner have met anybody else than them. I was afraid of them. Well, I don't know why, but they were rather the ones who made you feel that wisdom dwelt with them. They were old leading sisters, and I have found that the colored churches were not the only ones that have these leading consequential sisters in them. Well, as I drew near, I saw them say something to each other, and they looked very dignified. Now, the Devil was not so close to me as before; he seemed to be quite behind me, but he shouted after me, "You will not tell them you are sanctified."

        "No," I said, "I will say nothing to them," but when I got up to them I seemed to have special power in my right arm and I was swinging it around, like the boys do sometimes! I don't know why, but O I felt mighty, as I came near those sisters. They said, "Well, Smith, where have you been this morning?"

        "The Lord," I said, "has sanctified my soul." And they were speechless! I said no more, but passed on, swinging my arm! I suppose the people thought I was wild, and I was, for God had set me on fire! "O," I thought, "if there was a platform around the world I would be willing to get on it and walk and tell everybody of this sanctifying power of God!"


                         "Of victory now o'er Satan's power,
                         Let all the ransomed sing,
                         And triumph in the dying hour
                         Through Christ the Lord our King."

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                         "Oh! it was love,
                         'Twas wondrous love,
                         The love of God to me,
                         That brought my Saviour from above,
                         To die on Calvary."

        Somehow I always had a fear of white people—that is, I was not afraid of them in the sense of doing me harm, or anything of that kind— but a kind of fear because they were white, and were there, and I was black and was here! But that morning on Green street, as I stood on my feet trembling, I heard these words distinctly. They seemed to come from the northeast corner of the church, slowly, but clearly: "There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female, for ye are all one in Christ Jesus." (Galatians 3:28.) I never understood that text before. But now the Holy Ghost had made it clear to me. And as I looked at white people that I had always seemed to be afraid of, now they looked so small. The great mountain had become a mole-hill. "Therefore, if the Son shall make you free, then are you free, indeed." All praise to my victorious Christ!


                         "He delivered me when bound,
                         And when wounded, healed my wound.
                         Sought me wandering, set me right,
                         Turned my darkness into light."

        Hallelujahl Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!

        When I got home I opened the door; the baby was still asleep. I said: "Mazie, has Mr. Smith come?"

        "No."

        "Has Will slept all right?"

        "Yes, he has not wakened up at all."

        "Well, the Lord has sanctified my soul this morning," and she said, "Has he, mother?"

        "Yes," I said, "and I want to go around and tell Auntie Scott." She was my good band sister. She lived in Clinton court, off Eighth street. When I got to the door, I knocked and opened at the same time. Brother Scott was lying on the sofa; he was assistant class leader to Brother Henry De Schield's, who was my leader. He believed in the doctrine of holiness, but had not the experience at that time, but, thank God, he believed in it and said

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nothing against it, so that was in my favor. Brother Scott was "on the fence," sometimes he would seem to believe in it and talk as though he had it, at another time he would oppose it bitterly, so you never knew just when he would turn on you. When I went in that morning, I said: "Pop Scott, the Lord has sanctified my soul this morning."

        He raised himself up, and said: "Did—did He?" (He stammered a little.) I did not wait for any more, I began to sing an old hymn that I had often heard sung in our love feasts and class meetings in the gone-by days, which seemed to be the real song of my soul. I had never felt such soul union with Jesus before in my life; so I sang:


                         "I am married to Jesus
                         For more than one year,
                         I am married to Jesus
                         For during the war."

        The old man looked at me and smiled and got ready for an argument. The children all looked astonished. Sister Scott had not come in from church. When I had finished the verse, I said, "Good morning," and as I opened the door to go out, Sister Scott was just coming in. I said; "Oh, Scott! the Lord has sanctified my soul this morning."

        I thought she would be so glad for she told me that years before in Canada, she had got the blessing through Mrs. Dr. Palmer. She never spoke of it definitely and clearly, so I never understood anything about it, but to my great surprise she very coolly said, "Well I hope you will keep it," and passed right in by me, and said not another word. I went out. Oh, what a shock!

        "There," the Devil says, "She don't believe you have got the blessing."

        "O Lord," I said, "Can it be that I am mistaken and will I have to go back and go all over the ground. I would rather die right here in my tracks."

        As I was turning out of Eighth street in Sixth avenue, I cried out, "O Lord, help me, and if this blessing is not sanctification, then what is it?" And the Lord did help me. Quick these words came with power to my heart: "It is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth." "Believeth," seemed to be so powerfully emphasized, and I said, "Lord, I do believe that Thou hast sanctified my soul," and the power of God came upon

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me so that my knees gave way under me and I dropped as though I were shot, right on Sixth avenue. The people were passing and looked at me and said nothing. I suppose they thought I was a little gone in the head, but God had turned my captivity and my mouth was filled with laughter. I scrambled up as best I could, for I did not fall prostrate, my knees gave way and I dropped on my hands, and every time I said the word which the Lord put in my month: "It is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth," another wave of power came upon me. Down I went again, and so three times, before I got home, I fell under the mighty power of God. Hallelujah! It is to-day the same, "The power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth," and I do believe God, and He has kept me saved magnificently. Hallelujah! There is a big triumph in my soul. I don't know where the Devil went, but I heard no more of him for a week, then he called on me and said, "When people get sanctified, everything gets better around them."

        "Yes," said I."

        "Well, you see James is not any better, if anything he is worse."

        That was true, if possible, and I said I did think so too, and didn't understand it, for I thought he would be glad to know that I had got more religion.

        "Then," said he, "You have no witness that you are sanctified."

        "Well," I said, "I will have it, God helping me, right now."

        It was Friday. I was ironing; I set down my iron and went and told Jesus. I said; "Lord, I believe Thou hast sanctified my soul, but Satan says I have no witness. Now, Lord, I don't know what to ask as a direct witness to this blessing, but give me something that shall be so clear and distinct that the Devil will never attack me again on that point while I live."

        After a short prayer I waited a moment in silence, and said, "Now, Lord, I wait till Thou shalt speak to me Thyself," and a moment passed and these words came: "Ask for the conversion of Miss Chapel."

        I said, "Lord, for a real evidence that Thou hast sanctified my soul, I ask that Thou will convert Miss Chapel between now and Sunday morning."

        In a moment these words were flashed through my soul: "If

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thou canst believe all things that are possible to him that believeth." And I said, "Lord, I believe Thou will do it," and a flood of light and joy filled me. Oh, I praise the Lord. I arose from my knees praising God. I went to ironing; after a little while, Satan came again.

        "You ought to go and see if the woman is converted before you are so sure."

        "Well, yes, I would like to go, but then it is two miles away, and I am afraid Will might wake up and cry."

        But the enemy urged me, "You had better not be too sure, you ought to go and see," and I was sorely tempted. I lifted my heart to God in prayer and said, "Lord help me, I believe that Thou wilt do it, and I will trust Thee." Then there came a still hush and quiet all over me and I went on ironing and singing. Praise the Lord!

        Miss Chapel, referred to, was a very nice young woman, though not a Christian. She was a very upright, moral person. She was taken ill, and her sister, a very earnest Christian, was very anxious about her state, and asked me and others to come and pray with her. One day I went, and met Mother Jones and several others. We sang and prayed with her and left her. And now a week had passed and I had not heard from her, and I had thought that was why the enemy attacked me so fiercely on Friday. Sunday morning came and I had persisted in believing and praising God, according to His word: "If thou canst believe all things are possible to him that believeth." I went to church, and as I sat in my pew after the sermon was over, and the collection was being taken up, Sister Jones, who sat in the opposite pew, got up and came over to me, and said "Smith, Chapel has got the blessing." I said, "Praise the Lord, when did she get it?" She said, "Yesterday afternoon." Then these words were spoken to my heart in power: "Now that is your evidence," and I said, "O Lord, I do thank Thee, Thou hast answered my prayer and given me this distinct witness that Thou hast sanctified my soul."

        Many times since then my faith has been tried sorely, and I have had much to contend with, and the fiery darts of Satan at times have been sore, but he has never, from that day, had the impudence to tell me that God had not done this blessed work. Hallelujah! what a Saviour!

        Everybody does not have direct witness to their sanctification

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nor to their justification in that way, but it is their privilege to have the clear, distinct witness of the Spirit to both justification and sanctification, and, as a rule, persons who do not get this distinct witness are unsettled in their Christian life, often waver and falter, and are more easily turned aside to new isms and doctrines; but, thank God, He has kept me in perfect peace while my mind has been stayed on Him and I have trusted in Him. Praise His name forever!

        James did not come home for two weeks. When he came I sat down on his lap and put my arms around his neck and told him all about it. He listened patiently. When I got through he began his old argument. I said, "Now, my dear, you know I can't argue."

        "O well," he said, "If you have got something you can't talk about, I don't believe in it."

        "Well," I said, "I have told you all I can and I cannot argue." O, how he tantalized me in every way, but God kept me so still in my soul, and my poor husband was so annoyed because I would not argue. I knew what it meant, but praise God he saved me. I could only weep and pray.

        Shortly after I was converted, I was deeply convicted for the blessing of heart purity; and if I had had any one to instruct me, I can see how I might have entered into the blessed experience. But not having proper teaching, like Israel of old, I wandered in the wilderness of doubts and fears, and ups and downs, for twelve years; and but for the Rev. John S. Inskip's having the experience himself, and preaching that memorable Sunday morning, September, 1868, in the old Green Street Church, New York, in all probability I might never have got into the blessed light of full salvation.

        I shall ever thank God that the evidence of my acceptance with Him was so definite and clear when I was so deeply convicted for the blessing of heart purity. It was a hard struggle, anyhow; but if this point had not been settled so clearly it would have been much worse—the difference between the two convictions, pardon and purity. When I was convicted for sin I was under condemnation, and felt that I was a lost and wretched sinner. Now, when God in mercy had pardoned all my sins, he took away all condemnation and gave me joy and peace in believing. Hallelujah!

        Now, when I was convicted for purity or sanctification, it was

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a deep conviction of want—an indescribable want; not condemnation. But, oh! that deep heart want. Like, after you have eaten a good hearty breakfast, and have worked hard all day, and get very hungry for your dinner or supper. Well, my heart cried out and longed as one that "Longeth for the morning." And yet I had no means, no words to express just what I wanted. One day a friend came in to see me. I was then living at Col. S. McGraw's, in Lancaster. She was quite a high-toned colored lady, for everyone knew the Porter family, and they were always considered one of the leading families among the colored people. The father was a large farmer in Kent county, and the sons were all fine young men, and pretty well educated, as was also the daughter. She had been a school teacher for many years, but was now married to Rev. Lewis Hood, who was pastor of the Union Church in Lancaster. So I thought I could open my heart to her, and she would be able to help me. So I said to her, "Sister Hood, I don't know what's the matter with me. Somehow I feel like I wanted something, but I can't tell just what. I pray, but I do not get help just as I want."

        "Well," she said, "What's the matter with you? Aren't you converted?"

        "Oh! yes," I said, "It isn't that."

        "Well, haven't you got the witness of the Spirit?"

        "Oh! yes; it isn't that."

        "Well," she said, "If you keep on you will be crazy."

        Then I was frightened, and said, "Oh! she does not understand me; and now if she tells anybody what I said they will not understand it, and will think I have backslidden; and here I am leading class, and the leader of the female prayer meeting."

        So as soon as she was gone I ran down into the cellar and got down on my knees, and asked the Lord to take out of the mind of Sister Hood all that I had said, so she would not repeat it. I was in sore distress.

        Several days after this I was reading my Bible, and I turned to the forty-second Psalm, first verse, "As the heart panteth after the water brook, so panteth my soul after the living God." My heart leaped. "Oh!" I said, "That's what I wanted—God! Now if anyone asked me what I wanted, as Sister Hood did, I could tell them it was God I wanted." The more I read my Bible, and fasted and prayed, the deeper my hunger became. One day I went

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to George James—I generally called him "Father James"—he was a tall, elderly man, very dignified in manner, but was kind. He was very black, his hair was while, and he was a leading local preacher, and deacon of the A. M. E. Church, in Lancaster, at that time, where I belonged. So I went to him, and I said: "Father James, I have been reading the Bible to-day, and I see this: 'Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.' What does that mean?"

        "You know," he said, "That is in the Bible for you to come as near to it as you can. But God knows you never can be 'pure in heart.'"

        Then he went on and explained to me in his way. Of course I did not get much light. And the Devil said to me as I went home thinking it all over, "You are seeking after something that's not for you."

        "Well," I said, "People do have this blessing. There are Job Morris, and Polly Waters, and others, and they say they are sanctified, and everybody believes them."

        "Oh! but they are almost ready to die. But you are young, and you cannot expect to have what they have."

        "Well, perhaps so," I said.

        "Then, you know, Father James said that the Bible did not mean that." But somehow my better judgment said he was wrong. "I believe what the Bible says, and there must be some way that this grace can be obtained, or God never would have left it on record." But how to get hold of it I still did not know. I would read my Bible, and pray, and pray on. No light—only the deep hunger. Of course I had comfort in doing my duty— attending my class meeting and prayer meetings, and I would go about and pray with the sick and dying, and work in revival meetings, and in all ways I could. After working hard all day many times I would be called up at twelve or one o'clock at night to go and pray with somebody that was sick or dying. I never refused to go, rain or shine, cold or warm; I felt it was my duty, and I was always glad to do it. Then I would come home,— sometimes at three o'clock—and have but very little sleep, and up and off to work again next morning, when I did not have work in the house. My meat and drink was to see souls coming to Christ. I had no fear to go into a congregation and speak to men or women, young or old. I hardly ever went for persons in a

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congregation, in time of extra meetings, but what they went forward, and many of them were converted. Praise God forever!

        And yet at times my spirit was vascillating. Sometimes high on the mountain. When I would tell of the rapture and joy I felt, sometimes the older brethren and sisters would say, "Ah, child, I was that way, too, when I first got converted; but you wait till the Devil shoots a few bomb-shells at you and you will not have so much joy." Poor me! I tried to look out for these bomb-shells. Oh! why didn't they tell me of the land of corn and wine and oil, and that the God of Caleb and Joshua was able, and would bring me in if I would only trust in Him? But, dear souls, they did not know it themselves, so could not help me. So one day I felt I must go and talk with Father James, for I had been reading the fourth chapter of second Thessalonians and third verse, "For this is the will of God, even your sanctification." So I said, "Father James, I have been reading the Bible to-day, and I see this." Then I quoted the text.

        "Oh!" he, said, "my child, don't you know when people die very happy?"

        "Yes," I said.

        "Well, you know, God does not sanctify you until just before you are ready to die. Of course you could not go to heaven unless you were holy, and sanctification makes you holy, and you could not live in this sinful world if you were holy. So if you were sanctified you would die."

        "Yes," I said. "Well, if it is going to kill me, I don't want it. I don't want to die. The Lord has done a great deal for me. I can do a little for Him; so I will just go on and do the best I can." So on I went.

        Some time after this I was reading the fifth chapter of Matthew, and when I got to the eleventh and twelfth verses I said, "My experience does not come up to this: 'Blessed are ye when men shall revile you and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely for my sake.' 'Rejoice and be exceeding glad, for great is your reward in heaven.' I cannot rejoice when anyone lies on me; it's no use; I can't do it." Then came up all my good works. "I go to church; I attend to all my duties; I do not go about meddling with other people's affairs; I mind my own business; and when anybody says anything about me that is not true, I must have satisfaction. I am not going to stand it." I

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had not read, "They that love God in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution." But, Oh! haven't I learned it since then. One day one of the dearest friends I had, as I thought, told a real lie on me. It made quite a stir. I wondered where all the coolness came about in different directions but did not know the real cause. So I made up my mind I would go and ask the parties what the matter was. So I got down and prayed that the Lord would give me the right spirit, and not let me get vexed, and not let the parties get vexed, and make them tell me what the matter was. So off I started a little after nine o'clock in the morning. I walked till about two o'clock in the afternoon, and found myself about as near the truth when I stopped as when I started. The first place I called I said to the friend, calling her by name, "I hear so and so; I came to ask you what about it?"

        "All I know," she replied, "is what John B. said that Mary S. said that you said that I said that she said," and so on.

        Well, I went to the next parties. They said the same thing: "Well, all I know about it is Ann So and So said that you said that she said that I said that they said," etc. I went the round, then started home, so ashamed and disgusted. As soon as I got home I took off my wraps, went down into the cellar and got down on my knees, where I always went to settle hard difficulties, and I said, "Oh! Lord, if you will help me, I will never, while I live, go after another lie." And thank God I never have, though sometimes I have been tempted; but the Lord has always delivered me. Praise His dear name! Amen.

        Some months after this I got interested in the subject of baptism, and I thought if I were immersed it would help me to see the way better. So I went to Father James and told him I would like to be immersed. My father and mother had all of us children baptized, as the discipline of the Methodist Church required; but I thought if I could answer for myself it would be better. Then if I camp up to all that the Bible said as far as I knew, the Lord would be obliged to give me the great blessing I sought. Father James did not discourage me in this, but rather was favorable. So this helped me to think that I was on the right track now. There were four or five others who wanted to be immersed also; so I went around to see them, and it was decided to send to Philadelphia for a good brother and local preacher in the African Methodist Church, a sanctified man named Brother

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Jones. Some years before there was a great revival in Columbia, and some six or eight of the converts wanted to be baptized. So they sent to Philadelphia and got Rev. Bob Collins, who was a powerful preacher in his day, and a leading minister in the A. M. E. Church. It was in the dead of winter. The Susquehanna river was frozen over, and they cut the ice, and Brother Collins baptized eight, I think it was. And they shouted and sang. They stood on the shore, and all around on the ice by hundreds. It was six o'clock in the morning. Oh! what a time! Of course all the Baptists believed in that, and they were out, and rejoiced with them that did rejoice. Our minister at that time was Rev. Sanford. His wife's sister, Henney Johnson, had been very sick, and she had got converted. But she leaned toward the Baptists. So to save her to her church, she was baptized that Sunday, and she got well after that, which was a great wonder to many. Sister Harriet N. Baker was one of the strong members in the church. She was baptized the same Sunday morning. Lancaster was only twelve miles from Columbia, so that we in Lancaster got water struck! For most all the colored people in Lancaster would go to Columbia to quarterly meeting. Oh! how I have seen the power of God displayed in the salvation of souls. What men and women they were to pray in those days. How I remember Candes Watson, Sarah Henderson, Chris Stokes, Simon Morris, John Morris, Jake Snively, and a host of others. How they come before me now, as I think it all over. But all these have gone, though it seems but as yesterday.

        But to return to my story. After I had seen the parties I went to Father James and asked him to write to Brother Jones and find out what the cost would be. He replied that we were to pay him twenty dollars and his traveling expenses from Philadelphia and back. I was willing to pay him a month's wages, which was six dollars, if the others would make up the balance. So they were to try. A few weeks passed, then one of the leading ones in the number, Sister Maxwell, was taken sick, and her husband would not let her go into the water. Brother Williams went away. I had got my dress ready, but the others all backed out. Then Father James was taken sick. So he said that March was a bad month to go into the water, so if I would wait until April or May he would perform the ceremony. But alas! Poor man! About the first of April I stood by his bedside and saw him die, and heard his last words.

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        It was Sunday evening, and after I had come from church I went to sit with Sister James, his wife. It was about half past ten or eleven o'clock P. M., and the old man seemed to be sleeping quietly. All at once he roused up and coughed and made a noise as though something was in his throat. I said, "Father James, what is the matter? Do you want a drink of water?"

        "No," he said, "there seemed to be a big black man standing by me running red hot irons down my throat."

        Oh! how disappointed I was. For I wanted him to get sanctified a few minutes before he died, as he had taught me. But now all was over, and I had no one to go and talk to, but must wander on in darkness. Not a ray of light could I see.

        After a year or two I went to Philadelphia. There I was married to my second husband, James Smith. Then I had given up seeking the blessing definitely, and so went on. Several years later on, we moved to New York; and, after many more trials, that I have already referred to, I was deeply convicted again for the need of heart purity. And again I began to seek it by works. I read in the Bible, "If I, your Lord and Master, wash your feet, ye ought also to wash one another's feet," John, 13:15. There were four of us sisters who had united in a band to pray for mutual help to each other; Sister Scott, Sister Bangs, Sister Brown, and myself. I told them what the Bible said about it, and they all agreed. I did not tell them I was seeking the blessing of holiness. I was afraid they might say something to turn me aside, and I was so hungry. So I got ready, and I thought as there were only four of us, and we were trying to help each other, that it would be right for all four of us to be together at this time. But now I praise the Lord that He did not allow this to come to pass, though I did not know then that he was hindering them, as I do now. I was the only one that had a small baby. Sister Bangs and Sister Brown had no families, and Sister Scott's children were all grown. So I had them come and meet at my house every Monday afternoon. Sister Scott always came. Sister Bangs would be there one afternoon, and Sister Brown would not be there. Then when Sister Brown was there, Sister Bangs wouldn't be there. So they were never all there at once. Still I held on and thought it was best not to have this feet-washing done unless we were all together. So I told the sisters and they agreed with me that the four, ought to be together. We did not try get up a society of

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this kind, but just we four united for our own mutual help. After three or four weeks went on, and we were defeated every time, I decided not to do it. I prayed about it, and it seemed to come to me that I was not to do it. So that is how the Lord saved me from the mistake of seeking salvation by works. How I ever praise Him for His loving kindness, and for His tender mercy, and for His great patience and forbearance with me. I see now that if I had not been hindered as I was, that I should have gone about teaching that immersion, and the washing of feet, were necessary in order to be sanctified, which would have been a great mistake, but the Lord saved me from it. Praise His name. Amen.

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CHAPTER VIII.

MY FIRST TEMPTATION, AND OTHER EXPERIENCES—I GO TO NEW UTRECHT TO SEE MY HUSBAND—A LITTLE EXPERIENCE AT BEDFORD STREET CHURCH, NEW YORK—FAITH HEALING.

        For about three weeks after God had sanctified my soul, he seemed to let me walk above the world.


                         "I then rode on the sky,
                         Freely justified I,
                         Nor did envy Elijah his seat.
                         My glad soul mounted higher,
                         In a chariot of fire,
                         And the moon it was under my feet.
                         I could not believe
                         That I ever should grieve,
                         That I ever should suffer again."

        But the Lord knew I must be disciplined for service. He began by degrees to let me down, and the tempter seemed to be let loose upon me. I have said the Devil turned his hose on me, for it was as though a man was washing a sidewalk or carriage, Satan seemed to come at me in various ways, in such power. I settled down in God, I got where I could not make a single effort to pray or do anything. I was helpless—I could not get out of the way. Oh, what temptations! So I said, "Well, fire away, but I will trust in God, though he slay me." It was dark, but it was not long till light broke in and drove the darkness all away.

        Why does God permit these fierce temptations? It is, I believe, first, to develop the strength and muscle of your own soul and so prepare you for greater service, and second, to bring you into sympathy with others, that are often sorely tempted after they are sanctified, so that you call help them. For example:

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After the dreadful temptation I have spoken of I met two persons that were suffering from the assaults of the old Accuser, as I had. One was at Sea Cliff, the other at Chester Heights Camp Meeting. The lady at Sea Cliff was a very interesting, intelligent lady. She was Assistant Superintendent of a Sabbath School, as well as a school teacher. She had a large Bible class of young persons and had great influence with them, and with the church, where she was a member. She came from Greenpoint or Williamsburg. I don't remember which. She had sought and found the great blessing of full salvation, and had walked in the blessed light and comfort of it for over a year, and was very helpful to many of her friends, and, especially, to her large Bible class of young people, a number of whom had been led to consecrate themselves fully to the Lord, and had come out into the clear light of this experience of perfect love through her instrumentality. Of course Satan would hinder her from such a work as that, so he cast a heavy black cloud over her soul, and she was in dreadful darkness for three months. She went over and over her consecration to see if she had taken anything back in any way. No, she knew she had been true up to all the light God had given her, still Satan accused her and told her there was something wrong or she would not have this cloud hanging over her. She was afraid to tell her young believers for fear she would discourage them, so she had to go on with her work testifying definitely to what God hall done for her, but only held on by naked faith. Many times after she would get home from meetings she would spend hours in her room weeping and praying before the Lord, but no help came. The tempter would assail her as being a hypocrite and testifying to what she did not feel in her heart, but God helped her to stick to her facts. She had given herself to the Lord, and she was His, darkness or light, joy or no joy, it did not alter the fact, and she decided to declare it. When she came to Sea Cliff in this state of mind she was obedient. She would testify and tell just her state, then she came forward for help. As she would tell her sad story she would weep bitterly; then different ones would try and tell her what to do, and she said I am willing to do anything; so one and another would say do this or that; then she was asked to come forward. She would be the first one to go and kneel to get help and light. Everybody seemed to be in great sympathy with her and tried to help her. I saw where she was and knew she was under a temptation

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of the Devil, but I was a colored woman, I did not like to push myself forward. I heard this young woman's story for three days, so I used to pray for her, but never got a chance to speak to her. One morning Sister Inskip was leading a young people's meeting in a tent on the upper part of the ground. I slipped in and sat down on one of the outer seats. I see now why the Lord seated me there. The tent filled up, and Sister Inskip talked and then asked others to speak. Again this dear young lady got up, and said she had got what she came for, she had got some help, but she had to go home that day, and she would rather die than go home as she was. Mrs. Inskip said, "Well, just give yourself to the Lord."

        "Oh," I thought, over and over, "why don't she tell her to shout."

        No one ever had intimated that it was a temptation from Satan. When they went to kneel down this young woman knelt right in front of me so that I did not have to move from the seat I had taken, and, while Mrs. Inskip was speaking and helping others, I leaned forward and said to this lady, "That is a temptation of the Devil; you praise the Lord and he will bring you out."

        She looked up, and through her blinding tears, said, "Oh, Amanda Smith, were you ever so since you were sanctified?"

        "Yes, my child, I was. I was shut up in prison for three weeks and only just got out the other day."

        "Oh," she said, "I see it. Now Satan has been telling me that sanctified people never had a cloud."

        "Don't you mind him," I said, "Praise the Lord."

        "Glory to Jesus!" She sprang to her feet and cried, "I have got the victory, I am saved, I can go home, Jesus has set me free, O, Praise the Lord."

        "Whom the Son makes free is free indeed." Hallelujah!

        Then I saw that my experience in the weeks before, had been made a blessing to her, just as Job's experience was intended to be a blessing to men and women through all coming time.

        I went to New Utrecht, to Mr. Roberts', to see my husband, James Smith. His son-in-law, John Bentley, was there when I went. Whatever had gone before, I do not know. I knew this young man. He had been at my house in New York. I had treated him well, and had done my very best for him, and his wife also. But that day he cursed me, and told me I had no business

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there. I thought it was strange he should talk so to me, and I believe he incurred the displeasure of God, as did Elymas, the sorcerer, who withstood Paul and sought to turn away from the faith Sergius Paulus, a prudent man who had called for Barnabas and Saul, and desired to hear the word of God. But this man withstood them. But Paul, being full of the Holy Ghost, set his eyes on him, and said: "Oh! full of all subtilty and mischief, thou child of the Devil, thou enemy of all righteousness, wilt thou not yet cease to pervert the right ways of the Lord? And now, behold! the hand of the Lord is upon thee. Thou shalt be blind, not seeing the sun for a season." "And immediately there fell on him a mist and darkness, and he went about seeking some one to lead him by the hand," (Acts 13:8-12.) So, that day in New Utrecht, John Bentley came in, as I was in the next room talking with James, my husband. I had gone over to see him. My rent was due, and he had not been over for two weeks, and had not sent me any money. I was not well, and my baby was sick, and I was insisting that James should give me some money, at least the sixty cents that it cost me to come over from New York. But he would not. I was crying and talking, for my heart was almost broken. So, when John Bentley cursed and swore at me, I turned to him quietly, and said: "Why, John Bentley, haven't I a right to come where my own husband is?" But he was fierce. I did not know but he was going to strike me. But I went up to him and looked him in the face, and said to him: "When you have been at my house, haven't I always treated you well? I have never laid a straw in your way in my life; and I don't know why you should speak to me in such a way."

        He went on talking and abusing me terribly. There seemed to come an indescribable power over me, and I turned and lifted my hand toward him, and I said to him: "Mind, John Bentley, the God that I serve will make you pay for this before the year is out."

        He said: "Well, I don't care if He does. Let Him do it."

        He had not more than said the words when he seemed to tremble and stagger. There was a chair behind him, and he dropped down into the chair. I never saw him from that day. This was about two weeks before Christmas, and before the New Year came, John Bentley was dead and buried!

        I always feel sad when I think of it, but I believe that God was displeased with that man for cursing me that day.

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        My husband, James Smith, was formerly of Baltimore, Md. He was for many years a leader of the choir of Bethel A. M. E. Church, in that city. Afterward he moved to Philadelphia, and was ordained deacon in the A. M. E. Church. He died in November, 1869, at New Utrecht, N. Y. Since then I have been a widow, and have traveled half way round the world, and God has ever been faithful. He has never left me a moment; but in all these years I have proved the word true, "Lo! I am with you always, even to the end."


                         "Sometimes 'mid scenes of deepest gloom,
                         Sometimes where Eden's bowers bloom,
                         By waters still, or troubled sea,
                         Still, 'tis my God that leadeth me."

        Amen. Amen.

        I had told the Lord I would be obedient and would do all he bade me, so one day while I was busy at work it was whispered to my heart, "You go to Bedford Street on Sunday."

        "Yes," I said, "I will." I always liked to go and hear Rev. John Cookman, who was then pastor. Sunday morning came; it was Easter Sunday. My friend, Sister Scott, and I went. Strange to say, but the usher took us up front, in what is or used to be called "The Amen Corner." I shall never forget John Cookman's text and sermon. The words were: "See that ye make all things after the pattern shown you in the Mount."

        O, what a congregation, and what power the young man seemed to have in those days. He brought out holiness so clear and definite. I had got wonderfully blest as they sang the old Easter Anthem, as only Bedford Street could sing it in those days. O, how it thrills me now as I think it all over! As Brother Cookman went on with his sermon increasing in fervor and power, the Spirit whispered to me distinctly, "Raise up your right hand," and I was just going to do so, when the Devil said, just, as distinctly, "Yes, you look nice lifting up your black hand before all the people"—and I drew back and did not do it.

        Then the Spirit said: "The other day you told the Lord you would do any thing He would tell you to do."

        "O, yes," I said, "I did. O, Lord, forgive me and give me another chance and I will lift my hand for Thee!"

        By-and-by the Spirit said again, "Lift up your right hand,"

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and I did, and the power of the Spirit fell on the people and the whole congregation. There were "Amens," and "Amens," and sobs and weeping and "Praise the Lord," heard all over the house, and many were led out of prison by the simple act of obedience to God. He did not tell me to shout, but to lift my hand for Him, and the people shouted, and my own heart then filled with adoring praise. O, I would God I had always obeyed Him, then would my peace have flowed as the river, but many times I failed. Once on the car coming from New Utrecht, where I had gone to see my husband, I had a tract in my hand with a message for a lad that got in. I saw him look at me, and then turn quickly away as if he was afraid I would hand it to him. My heart was prompted to give it to him, but I kept hesitating. First, I said, "I will wait till some of the people get out." Then, I said, "I will wait till I get out." The car stopped, the lad got out and ran away as though I was after him. I looked after him and wanted to call him, but he was gone. Then these words came to me in such force that I have never forgotten them, "His blood will I require at your hand." I did nothing but pray to God for His pardoning and forgiving mercy from that hour till I got home; at last, I felt He forgave me and gave me peace in my heart.

        Here I desire to record some things the Lord taught me about what is now called faith, or divine healing.

        I think it was in October, 1868, not very long after I had got the blessing of sanctification. It seemed that my faith had increased and strengthened in this short time, so that I did not seem to find it difficult to believe God for anything I really needed. I had never heard of Dr. Cullis, Dr. Bordman, or Dr. Mahan, of Oberlin, Ohio. I had never read a book or paper of any kind. I believed what I read in the Bible about the miracles performed by the Lord Jesus, opening the eyes of the blind, unstopping the ears of the deaf, and healing the sick, but thought it belonged to the days of miracles especially, and it was to prove to the unbelieving Jews the Divinity of our Lord Jesus Christ. I had often prayed for sick people, and asked the Lord to bless means that were used, and so many times He did it, as I believe in answer to prayer; but I never made any time about it, as though it were some especial state of grace, so much higher than entire sanctification or holiness. So I went on claiming promises, quenching the violence of fire, escaping the edge of the sword, out of weakness was made

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strong, waxing valiant in fight, and really turning to flight the armies of the aliens. And so found out that there is no want to them that fear the Lord. But I did not feel led to make a special gospel of the great and deep things God had taught me. The Gospel of Jesus was so full and practical, and with good, common sense it seemed to cover all my need. Praise the Lord for that lesson. For I find, no matter what the state of grace attained to in this life, one may ever learn some new lesson. Learn to know one's own self. Learn to know one's weakness. Learn to know the beauty of love and power and sympathy of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior. And so on.

        It was Saturday. I was very busy, as that is a busy day, especially with a washwoman. After I had swept my room I gave the dustpan to Mazie to carry out to the ash box that stood on the sidewalk. It was when I lived in the rear at 135 Amity street, New York. When she came in, she said, "O, ma, some one has thrown a lot of nice books into the ash box; some of them are almost new." She was very fond of reading, so she said, "May I bring some in?"

        "Oh, no," I said, "Mazie; I have little enough room now, and I do not want any old books or trash brought in." But contrary to my orders, the child slipped three of these books into the house, and hid them in the little closet on the shelf behind the smoothing irons. In the bottom of this closet, on the floor, I kept my coal. I could put in about two pailfuls, which was about a half bushel, at a time. So on Monday morning after prayers, Mazie had gone to school, I went to put some coal in the stove and then was going to gather my clothes. But I noticed that my irons were not back on the shelf in their place properly. So I went to arrange them, and found these books.

        "There," I said, "I told Mazie not to bring any of these books in; she has not obeyed me." But as I looked at them I said, "Perhaps I should not have told her 'no' until I saw them; for they really are almost new." I don't remember what the two were, but the third was a small-sized book, entitled, "Child's Book on Physiology." So I began to read it. I looked through it. As I read on, its explanations, simple and so beautiful, of the human body in all its parts, in a way that any child could understand it, I got so interested that I sat down, though I was in such a hurry. After reading and thinking, I turned to the first page.

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There was a cut of the human frame on the fly leaf. As I looked at it and studied it, I said, "Surely, as the Psalmist says, 'Man is fearfully and wonderfully made.'" Now, in my imagination, I covered that frame with flesh, and skin, and sinew, and blood, and pulse, and life. Then I got a pain, or rheumatism, in the left arm or back; and I said, "Now, there is a man suffering pain in his arm and back. I give him medicine in his mouth, and it must go all this round to reach that spot; when God, who made him, knows how to reach the difficulty direct." Now, all this was as I imagined. There was not a soul in the house but myself. So I said, lifting my eyes to heaven, "Oh! Lord, I will never take another bit of medicine while I live without you tell me to." And I got up and threw out all my medicines—I had a few simple remedies in the house—and for a year and eight months I never touched anything. Oh! what wonderful lessons the Lord taught me in that time. It did seem that He watched as a father would watch his child. Sometimes I would bring in a basket of clothes, and it would be so warm I would sit down between the window and doors so as to get the breeze quickly, and I would hear the Spirit whisper, as distinctly as a man, so gently, but clearly: "You are sitting in the draught." Often I have looked around to see if there was not really a person speaking. If I was prompt and moved, it was all right. But sometimes I would say, when the whisper came, "Oh, yes, but I'm so warm;" and I would forget, until I would feel a pain in my back, or neck, or somewhere. Then I would at once look up to God and say, "Now, Lord, teach me the lesson you want I should learn; and then do please relieve me of this pain." Can you understand the patience and forbearance of God? I cannot. Sometimes He would bless me so; I would be so happy, I would whirl round and round and laugh and say, "Oh! Lord, how beautiful. I will never have to take any more medicine, and I can save the money that I spent for medicine for other purposes." But the Lord knew how to teach me, praised be His name. So at the expiration of a year and eight months, it was in November, I think, I took a severe cold. I never knew how I got that cold, and if the grippe had been known then, as now, I would have said I had it in its severest form. I never thought of medicine. The Lord was my physician, and had done everything I had asked for myself and my child for a year and eight months, so of course He would now. So I prayed as

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aforetime, but still grew worse. Oh! how dreadfully ill I was. But I held on. Oh! how I did cry to God for deliverance. For three days and nights I could not lie down, my cough was so bad. I had a raging fever. My head ached, and every bone in my body ached. I still grew worse, until the morning of the fourth day. I tried to get my clothes on, but could not stand up long enough. "Oh! what shall I do?" I went in my bed room and knelt down by a chair. Oh! how I cried and prayed. "Oh! Lord, what is the matter? What have I done? Thou didst always heal me when I asked Thee; and now Thou seest I can hardly hold my head up, I am so sick. Oh! Lord, show me if I have done anything to displease Thee; make it clear to me, and forgive me, for Jesus' sake. Now, Lord, I will just be quiet till Thou dost speak to me and tell me what I have done, and why Thou dost not heal me as Thou usest to do."

        So I waited a few minutes; I don't know how long; then it seemed as though the Lord Jesus in person stood by me; such a peaceful hush came all over me, and He seemed to say, so tenderly, Oh! so tenderly, "Now, if you knew the Lord wanted you to take medicine would you be willing?"

        "No, Lord, you always have healed me without medicine, and why not now? What have I done?"

        Then it seemed just as though a person spoke and said, "No, no, but if you knew it was God's will, would you be willing?" I said, "No, Lord; you can heal me without medicine, and I don't want to take it." Then the patient, gentle voice said the third time, "No, no," and putting the question a little differently, said, "If you knew it was God's will for you to take medicine would you be willing to do God's will?"

        Oh! how I cried. I saw it, but I said, "No, Lord, I don't like medicine; but Thou canst conquer my will. I do not want to live with my will in opposition to Thy will. Thou must conquer."

        Oh! what a battle. It took me one whole hour before my will went down. I held on to the chair, for I felt I must get up, but I said, "No, I will die right here." But I held right on to the chair. I said, "I will never rise from here until my will dies." And I knew when the death was given and when the victory came. I remained quiet, and thought it all over. And I said, "Lord, I thank Thee. Now tell me what I must do." For I felt if the Lord had said, "Now, you go over there on Sixth avenue to

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the drug store, and take all the medicine, bottles and all," I was willing! Oh! I was willing all through! It seemed wonderfully sweet to die to my own will, and sink into God. So just then it came to me to use a simple remedy that I had used a thousand times before, and in twenty-four hours I was as well as ever. I never got over a cold like that before in my life in so short a time; a cold like that would always be a three weeks' siege. But I seemed to see what it all meant. God showed me. I was worshiping my will.

        Sometimes when I have told this strange experience to some of the good people in these days, they throw up their hands in holy horror and say, "Oh! I don't see how you could dare to say so." But I see the same spirit of will-worship in many of those who profess what they prefer to call "Divine healing;" the same spirit of will-worship that I had. But I do not think they know it. I am at no controversy with anybody on these lines. But, Oh! how I do thank and praise God for opening my eyes to see, and I think, understand His will concerning Amanda Smith. I do not believe in calling the doctor for every little thing, or making a drug store of one's self; but I believe it right when you need medicine or doctor, to use both, prayerfully, and with common-sense, with an eye single. But to say the use of means in sickness is contrary to the will of God, and that all Christians should have faith and trust the Lord to heal them without the use of means at all, even though their common-sense, which is as much God's gift to us as any other blessing, tells them to use the means, but must close their eyes, ignore all symptoms, and by the force of will, which they must call "faith," ride over everything;—now this is where the tug of war comes in, with Amanda Smith. My neighbor prays, and is wonderfully healed; she is a Christian; so am I; we have both been blessed of God; I pray, and am not healed; someone tells me it is a lack of faith on my part, or there is something wrong in my consecration, or there is something wrong in me somewhere, and that is the reason I am not healed. Now comes the question: "How do you know that? Who told you so?" So that I must either stand judged, or else I must judge, and where do I get my authority for so doing? The Lord help me. Amen.

        The days of miracles are not past. God has healed without the use of means of any kind, as well as with; and why He does not now heal every case as He used to do, I do not think I have any

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right to say is because of a lack of faith on the part of some poor, weak child of God; and so consign them to perdition. Then there are some things God would have us do for ourselves. Not long ago I was at the home of a good minister, a man that knew the Lord, and for years had walked in the light and blessedness of full salvation. He had begun to get deaf in his right ear; it came on gradually; sometimes worse than at other times. So he prayed earnestly, and believed God, and held on about a year. Finally he seemed to grow worse. His wife, a good, saved, orthodox, level-headed woman, had often said to him he ought to see a doctor about it. But he had a pretty strong will of his own, and did not yield easily to her persuasions. But she was gentle and patient. One morning as he was sitting in the room talking with me, she came in and said, "Now, my dear, you must really go and see the doctor this morning about your deafness; let him examine it; you are getting worse all the time, and it will never do to have you going around deaf."

        The good man looked at his wife, then he turned to me and said, smilingly, "Sister Smith, my wife is generally pretty clear when she decides upon a thing."

        "Yes, Sister Smith," she said, "it would do no harm to go and see about it, anyhow."

        "Sister M.," I said, "you are quite right; just what I say."

        So off he went. He was gone about two hours. When he returned, I said, "Well, Brother M., what did the doctor say?"

        "Oh! praise the Lord," he said, "I am all right; clear as a bell." So he told the story, and laughed heartily. I said, "What did the doctor do?"

        "Oh," he said, "he told me to sit down and he would examine My ear; he said there was nothing serious the matter; the wax was very dry. So he took his instruments and took out about a thimbleful of wax, and put a little sweet oil or something in it, and it is all right."

        "Yes," I said, "praise the Lord. Some people would have teased the Lord to have Him clean out their ears, when they might do it themselves, or get someone to do it to whom God had given the sense and ability."

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CHAPTER IX.

VARIOUS EXPERIENCES—HIS PRESENCE—OBEDIENCE—MY TEMPTATION TO LEAVE THE CHURCH—WHAT PEOPLE THINK—SATISFIED.

        One day I was busy with my work and thinking and communing with Jesus, for I found out that it was not necessary to be a nun or be isolated away off in some deep retirement to have communion with Jesus; but, though your hands are employed in doing your daily business, it is no bar to the soul's communion with Jesus. Many times over my wash-tub and ironing table, and while making my bed and sweeping my house and washing my dishes I have had some of the richest blessings. Oh, how glad I am to know this, and how many mothers' hearts I have cheered when I told them that the blessing of sanctification did not mean isolation from all the natural and legitimate duties of life, as some seem to think. Not at all. It means God in you, supplying all your needs according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus; our need of grace and patience and long suffering and forbearance, for we have to learn how not only to bear, but also to forbear with infirmities of ourselves and others as well.

        I return to my story. Thus as I thought, I asked again, "I wonder why the Lord did not sanctify me fully when he justified me? He was God, and He could have done it; He could have done it all at once if He had had a mind to." Then the question, "Well, why didn't He do it?" and I was blocked. I believe that question was from Satan; he intended to make me think unkindly of God. "Here you have been struggling all these years; God could have done it all at once; but why didn't He do it?" "Yes," I said, "that is so."

        "Well, why didn't he do it?" And I was so sad I began to cry and said, "Lord, I don't know why you did not sanctify me

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wholly when you justified me freely; but I know you have not done it." Then the blessed Holy Spirit came so sweetly and answered my question by asking me another, "Why didn't Jesus make the blind man see the first time He touched his eyes?" After the first touch Jesus bade him look, and asked him what he saw. He said, "I see men as trees walking."

        Then He touched him again and he said he saw every man clearly.

        He was Christ with the same power in His first touch as He had with the second. He could have made the blind man see clearly the first time, but He did not.

        "Why," I said, "Lord, I see it, and it is none of my business why you didn't sanctify me fully when you converted me; it is enough for me to know that you have done it." I came into light and liberty praising the Trinity. I quit asking God questions about His own work. I think it is impertinence, and yet how many do this very thing, and when they don't get an answer to satisfy themselves they become perplexed and then land in skepticism with regard to the whole doctrine and truth of this great salvation.

        One of the first things I discovered after I came Into the blessed light and experience of full salvation was a steady and appropriating faith that I never realized before. I always believed the Bible and all the promises, but I did not seem to have power to appropriate the promises to my soul's need; but after the light broke in and my darkness had fled, power was given me not only to believe the promises, but to appropriate them.

        "My!" I said, as I would read the promises, "that is mine, and that is mine;" and it was like when the sailors reef their sails; I took hold of them and wrapped them round me and walked up and down in possession of the land. All things are yours, and ye are Christ's, and Christ is God's. I sang:


                         "All things are mine,
                         Since I am His—
                         How can I keep from singing?"

        One day as I was busy about my room I seemed to feel the conscious presence of Jesus. I saw nothing with my eyes, but I seemed to be conscious of the presence of a Holy Being by me and around me, and I talked with Him, and I was saying, "Now, if anyone should ask me to tell the difference between justification

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and sanctification, how could I tell them? There is a difference; I know it; I feel it; but I don't know how to tell it." And the dear Lord Jesus seemed to answer my question by asking another. He said: "What is the difference between sunlight and moonlight?" In a moment I saw it. I knew the beauty of the lovely moonlight. I had read by its brightness, and had often sewed at night, and it was beautiful. That was my justified state. How many times, I did not understand clearly, as in the sunlight; but the deeper experience was in power like sunlight in the natural world. It penetrates all the dark corners. If there is even it small nail-hole in a door, or a crack anywhere, the sun finds it out and looks through; then it heats up everything all about it. There can be no frost where the sunlight is; but it is tropical all the time. There were deep recesses in my heart that the moonlight did not reveal, but when the great sunlight of sanctification came, how it seemed almost to eclipse the moonlight state of justification, save the abiding consciousness of the time when God wrought that first work in my soul. I no longer sang the old hymn,


                         "The midsummer sun shines but dim;
                         The fields strive in vain to look gay,
                         But when I am happy in Him,
                         December's as pleasant as May."

        That means two distinct states as real as the moonlight and sunlight. I knew it was true, but, O, why should there be a December in my heart when I may have the beaming sun? When the Holy Ghost came to my soul in sanctifying power it was the inaugural of a perpetual May-day that shall go on increasing in faith, and light, and strength, and power, and thanksgiving, and praise, and rest, and peace, and triumph forever and ever and ever. Amen. Amen.

        How true this old hymn of Charles Wesley's:


                         "I find Him in singing;
                         I find Him in prayer;
                         In sweet meditation,
                         He always is there.
                         My constant companion,
                         Oh, may we ne'er part,
                         All glory to Jesus.
                         He dwells in My heart."

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        One day I was meditating and thinking upon His goodness. My heart was full of praise as I thought of all the Lord had done, and I said, "Oh, I will not need to pray now, as I used to do." Just then these words came: "The children of Israel gathered manna fresh every morning." I said, "Yes, Jesus." I knew He meant to teach me that it must be daily bread my soul would need, and as my natural need was met each day, so my spiritual need must be met by prayer and the reading of His Holy Word and the appropriating of His promises. Without this all else would avail nothing.

        How I marvel at God's patience with me when I think how He led me about to teach me how to be obedient, in spite of all Satan's devices.

        I was working up town one day, as the lady wanted some blankets washed. The morning I was to go I had slept rather late. I was to have been there at seven o'clock. A long walk from Fourth street to Twenty-third street. I felt led to take some tracts. I always kept a lot on hand and would take them when I went out, generally looking over them so as to see and know just what I was giving away. This morning Satan seemed to hurry me. "You will be too late if you stop to sort the tracts."

        "Yes," I said, "I am afraid so." Then the Spirit would seem to say, "Take the tracts." Then I picked up a handful and began to look over them. Then I got so nervous. Satan said, "You know that lady will not pay you if you are not there at seven."

        "Yes," I said, "she is hard about money anyhow." So I laid the tracts down and started off, and it seemed to me I never saw so many opportunities where I could have given a tract as I did that morning. When I got to the house the lady said she would not have the blankets washed that day; I should come the next week. And I saw how Satan had hindered me. How sorry I was I did not listen to the good Spirit and take the tracts. God knew the washing was not to be done that day, and that is why He whispered so gently to my heart, "Take the tracts." I don't know who lost the blessing by my not giving them, but I know I lost a blessing by not obeying. O, it is so safe to obey even though it may be dark. A few days later on, I went, and as I had sorted my tracts, I prayed that the Lord would show me to whom to give them; and what a good time I had. I met a very fine looking

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man and as I looked at him I trembled; but as he drew near I said, "Now, Lord, help me." I had met some colored men and had given them some tracts and spoken a word, and the Devil said, "That is a white gentleman, and he will curse you."

        But when he came near I said, "Pardon me, sir; will you have a tract?"

        He seemed thoroughly astonished, but very pleasant and courteous. He took the tract and thanked me. A couple of weeks after, a friend said to me, "Did you give a tract to a young man on Sixth avenue last week?"

        "Yes."

        "Well," she said, "It was you, then. I was working for Mrs. A., and she told me that her son came home so happy and told her that a colored woman had given him a tract, and that he had never read anything that had done him so much good as that tract."

        O, how the mother and son rejoiced together. Her dear boy that she had prayed for so long had found peace and joy in the Lord. How strange it should come about in the way it did, but God moves in mysterious ways His wonders to perform. On a little further, I passed two men: they were musicians. They stood talking, and as I came near them a deep feeling came over me to give those men a tract. My heart beat quickly, but just as I got near them they seemed to think what I was going to do, so they started and walked across on the side. I said, "Lord, if you want me to give that man a tract, if there is a word that Thou dost want him to have, make him cross the next corner back again." O, how I did pray! Sure enough he did cross over the next corner and met me face to face and took a tract, and thanked me and seemed deeply impressed. Praise God.

        At another time. One night I was crossing on the ferry boat. I had a good religious paper in my hand, which had a good sermon in it and some experiences. I said I will take this and give it to some one, men are more willing to take a paper than a tract. On the boat a nice looking lad sat just opposite me, and as I looked at him the Spirit said, "Give him that paper." Again I looked and thought I will give it to him before we get out. Then something seemed to say, "Give it to this other man that looks more thoughtful."

        "No," it came to me, "Give it to that lad."

        I got up and handed it to him. He took it and threw it underneath

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the bench. Then said Satan, "Now you have made a mistake, you would better have given it to the man."

        But I lifted my heart in prayer and said, "Now, Lord, if there is anything in that paper that Thou dost want that young man to know, make him pick it up. Lord, don't let him go out, make him pick up that paper." I continued to pray, and we were nearing the shore. I saw the fellow was very restless. O, how I did beg the Lord to make him pick it up, I felt it had a word for him. Just as the boat struck the dock, he stooped down and picked up the paper and put it in his pocket and ran away. Just then the grand old text came: "If ye shall ask anything in My name, I will do it." (John14:14).

        I think it was November, 1869. On my way home one evening from work, I met a friend on Sixth avenue. She said to me, "Smith, are you going to the Fair to-night?"

        "No," I said, "I am tired and shall not go."

        "I have two tickets, if you like to go I will give them to you."

        "All right," I said, "If I feel better after I get home I will go. You know I never go to such places unless the Lord wants me to do something for Him."

        "Well," she said, "I wish you would go."

        I went to my home at thirty-five Amity street, and as I prayed and asked the Lord, it was very clear to me I was to go. It was a damp, rainy evening, and I would think, "Well, it is too damp and I will not go." Then it would come to me, "Go, take some tracts."

        I knew I would be criticised, for I had become a speckled bird among my own people on account of the profession of the blessing of holiness. Remarks would be made, "There is Amanda Smith, with her sanctification again." So I knew all that would be said, but I said, "Lord help me, and I will go for Thee. Tell me what Thou dost want me to do."

        I went in, and there were quite a number; all seemed to look at me, remarks passed, and then all went on as they would there. I walked about and spoke to several, then I sat down and lifted my heart in prayer, and said, "Lord, I have no business here, and why should I stay, make it clear what you want me to do;" and these words were spoken to my heart distinctly, "Go stand in the way." I got up and went and stood at the lop of the stairs where the people were coming up. Several persons passed up, then came

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two young men full of glee. The Spirit seemed to pick out one especially, and said, "Speak to that young man." I did; he was respectful as he could be, but said it was time enough for him, and with a toss of the head turned away.

        I handed some tracts to several others, then the Lord seemed to say, "You may go home." I went out, and felt that I had done as I was told, but how strange that I should not do anything but that. I went home and bore this young man up to God. This, I think, was on Wednesday evening. On Saturday, as I was carrying some clothes home, I met some one on Sixth avenue and they said, "Did you hear that Charlie S. is dead?"

        "No."

        "Well, he is, he was found dead in his bed this morning; he was at the Fair the other night, well and hearty." I went and looked at him. There he was, dead, no sign of sickness, and the very young man that God had sent me to speak to. He looked as though he were asleep. O, how sad it was, and yet how glad I was that I had strength given me that night to obey the Lord, and do as I thought He led me, whether the young man would hear, or whether he would forbear.

        I seemed to see the inconsistencies of the brethren and sisters so much more than I ever had before. I had seen some before, as I suppose most people do. I saw my own, and what the Lord had saved me from, and I wanted everybody to get saved right away. Brother Patterson was pastor of the Sullivan Street A. M. E. Church at the time I got the blessing. He enjoyed the experience and preached the doctrine. But colored people are like some white people; although the church prospered under his administration, and we had a wonderful revival during the two years, and the church was built up and edified, yet many of them did not like him. After he left, Rev. Nelson Turpin was sent to us. He was fierce. He openly opposed and denounced the doctrine and experience of the blessing of full salvation, although there were a number in the church, some among the leading members, who claimed to have the experience. He was very popular with the great mass. The church was crowded. Then we poor souls who dared to testify definitely in a Love Feast, or in a General Class, might expect a raking; and especially on Sunday nights, when the church would be crowded, he, would take especial pains to tell some ridiculous inconsistency about some sanctified sister or

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brother that he used to know. Then, if a sister, he, would say: "They put on a plain bonnet and shawl and wear a long face, but they are sanctified Devils." Then all eyes would be turned on Sister Scott and myself, for we were about the only ones that dressed in the way described. Then there would be a regular giggle all over the house. How much I had to contend with. Hence my temptation to leave the church. Then I did not like fairs and festivals and all the rest of it. But God saved me from backsliding over any of those things. Then I was in bondage to my clothes; in bondage to other people's clothes. If they were not made just as I thought they ought to be it troubled me, and I did not care if I did not hear them speak and pray in prayer meeting. I had rather not kneel at communion with these dressed-up people. Then I was afraid of Brother Turpin. At first he was very kind; but after a little while he would always try to shun me. But I would follow him up, ask him to come to see me, and would go to see Sister Turpin and the children. But he would always be very formal and cold. My! how afraid of him I did get! So one day Mother Jones said to me, "Sister Smith, if I were you I would not say anything about sanctification. You see people do not like it, and they persecute you, and I do not like to hear them."

        "Well, but Mother Jones," I said, "the Lord has blessed me so, and I can't help it." Then she laughed and took hold of me kindly, and said, "I would not say anything about it if I were you."

        So I went home and thought how Mother Jones sympathized with me. So I began to be very indefinite in my testimony. I chose words that the people would like. I would say, "I am all the Lord's." They would say, "Amen!" Or, if I said, "Jesus saves me fully," or "The blood cleanseth," they would say, "Amen!" to that. But if I used the word "sanctify," then there was a rustling among the dry bones. Then look out for the next testimony, especially if in a General Class or Love Feast. Thank God, He led my class leader, Henry De Sheilds, into the experience in answer to prayer, just three weeks after I got the blessing. So while "Pop" Scott, who was assistant class leader, never came out clear, Brother De Shields was a power and a great help to myself, and to many. He still lives in New York, and at this writing is walking in the light of full salvation. Still, I was afraid of Brother Turpin. Then darkness came over me, and the joy

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and peace all seemed to be gone. I did not know what ailed me. So I set apart Friday to fast and pray, and find out the cause of this darkness. Satan suggested many things, but I held on and cried to God for light and help. So, about two P. M., though I had stopped my work and gone away and prayed a number of times that day, I took my Bible and knelt down to pray. And I said: "Oh! Lord, show me what is the matter. Why is this darkness in my mind? O! Lord, make it clear to me." And the Spirit seemed to say to me very distinctly, "Read." And I opened my Bible, and my eyes lighted on these words: "Perfect love casteth out fear. He that feareth has not been made perfect in love." Then I said: "Lord, if I am not, I will be now." Then I saw what was the matter. Fear! And I said: "Oh! Lord, take all the man-fearing spirit out of me. I thank Thee for what Thou hast done for me, but deliver me from fear. Take all the woman-fearing spirit out of me, and give me complete victory over this fear." And, thank the Lord, He did it. There was no especial manifestation, but there was a deep consciousness in my heart that what I had asked the Lord to do, He had done, and I praised Him. Then He came to me: "Will you go uptown to Union Church on Sunday and testify definitely?"

        "Yes, Lord, if Thou wilt help me, and give me Thy strength, and go with me, I will go." So there was a calm and peace in my heart. Union Church, uptown, was a colored church. There was not a member in it that believed in the doctrine of holiness; and from that church there had been great criticism in regard to my professing such a blessing. Sunday morning came. The Love Feast was at 6 o'clock A. M. I had been but once before. I got ready and went. My heart trembled, and my knees trembled. But I went on, and I said, "Now, Lord, help me, and I will go." I got in and sat down. The church was well filled. A number of strange ministers sat in the altar. Every eye was turned on me. After the meeting opened the testimony began. The ministers urged everybody to be short, and in many of the testimonies there were remarks and insinuations thrown out to me. I sat still and prayed. Oh! how I did pray. Then they began to get very noisy. They shouted and praised. I said to the Lord; "Now, Lord, I will speak for Thee if Thou wilt make these people be quiet. Lord, make them be quiet. I can't talk when there is a great noise, and Thou hast sent me here to speak for Thee, and I want the

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people to hear. Lord, make them be still." Sometimes there would be three or four on the floor speaking at the same time. The ministers would urge them on, and say: "The Lord can hear you all. Don't wait on one another." But I prayed, "Lord, still them, still them." Then there came a pause. Then I got on my feet. Then they began to shout again, and they drowned me out. So I stood still, and prayed, "Lord, still the people." And He did. They calmed down so that when I began, there was not another one spoke. I began and quoted several passages of Scripture bearing on holiness definitely, and on God's promise of this grace to those who sought it, and how it was obtained by faith. And they listened. The ministers touched one another. I went on talking, and by and by I came to a point when it seemed a finger touched my tongue, and the power of God came upon me in such a wonderful manner that I talked, it seemed to me, about ten minutes. The people looked as though they were alarmed. The ministers who sat in the altar, and who had looked so critical when I came in, began to shout "Amen! Lord Almighty, bless that sister!" And then the fire seemed to fall on all the people. When I had finished, I. sat down, feeling that I had delivered the message according to the will of the Lord. To His name be all the glory for the strength He gave me that day. Amen. Amen.

        One day Sister Scott called and was so happy. She told me some white sisters had been at her house, and had prayed and sung, and that they were full of the Holy Ghost. They were dressed so plain and neat. They belonged to the Free Methodist Church, uptown somewhere in New York. And they asked her to come to some of their meetings. "Oh!" I said, "why didn't you bring them to see me?" She said, "I told them I would bring you up to their church sometime." So on Sunday I went with her. It was about two miles from where I lived. We started early, and, of course, we walked all the way. We thought it was a dreadful thing to ride on the street cars on Sunday. And I think still we should not do it whenever we can avoid it. But I am not in bondage even in this as I once was. Praise the Lord! We got to the church. Mr. Mackey, who was so well known all over New York, was then very popular and prominent in that church, and was a good friend to the colored people. For years he led meetings at the Colored Home in New York. When we went into the church he was there, and was so glad to see us. He shook hands, and seated us, and was so kind.

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        "My!" I thought, "how nice these people are." For such treatment as that in a white church was not common for colored persons. Then the church was so very pretty and plain. No stained glass, or cushions, no pipe organ and quartette choir. Then the sisters were all so plain. So was I. For before I got the blessing I dressed Quaker style, because I liked it, and it was a matter of economy. Then the preacher that Sunday morning was a Mr. James, and he had no gold studs in his shirt, no rings on his fingers. His face was placid and bright. And what a sermon he preached on Holiness. My soul was fed, and I prayed to the Lord to put it in the heart of the minister to ask persons to join the church. I felt I must join this church. It was a true church. And that kind of preaching I had heard my father talk about that they used to hear forty years ago. Well, I prayed. Always before when I had prayed, from the time I had received the blessing, somehow the Lord had answered me so quick. But this morning He didn't seem to answer; and yet, now, I see it was an answer. For sometimes when the Lord denies a request, it's as much an answer as when He grants it. Though I had been a member of the African Methodist Church for years, I was willing that morning to join without a letter, on probation. I said, "I can get my letter from my church, I know, but they will want to know all the reason why, and I don't want to tell. I just want to come into this church. These people seem so good! Just the right kind of people." So I prayed on. The sermon was finished. Then they had a prayer meeting, and Brother Irvin prayed. Oh! what a prayer. I shall ever remember it. He was well known, and a man of wonderful power. And I thought, "Will they close without asking if any one wants to join! I will get up and go and ask them to take me in. But then they will wonder why I have not brought my letter, and what will I say? The Lord help me!" And He did, but not as I wanted then, but as it is written, "Ye shall know if ye follow on to know the Lord." The meeting did close, and no one was asked to join. But the friends gathered around Sister Scott and me, shook hands, and said they were glad to see us. The minister shook hands and asked us to come again. They were all so nice. They shouted, and were so free, as the Free Methodists are. Brother Irvin came up to me, and gave me several tracts on the origin and doctrine of the Free Methodist Church. How that it separated itself on account of slavery and

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secret societies. All this was new to me, but suited me exactly. Then he gave me a tract on plain dressing. Oh! how I did peruse that. Brother E. lived on Dominick street downtown, not a great way from where I lived, on Amity street. He had a week night class at his house, so he asked us to come. On Tuesday night I went. It was warm, and there stood on the table a pitcher of water, and every now and then someone of the brethren would shout, "Glory to God," then take a glass of water. Well, I thought it was dreadful. For I thought, "We don't do that. We can stay at class until it is out without drinking water." Then I thought it was wrong to use a fan. So I suffered from heat rather than fan myself when in church. Then they made so much unnecessary noise. Just what I didn't like in my own people. And I thought it would be different.

        But I had made up my mind to join this church. So the next week I went again and they were having a prayer meeting. They had a great big carman on his knees by a chair in the middle of the floor. A brother was on each side of him, one behind him, and another in front, and they were shouting and pounding and trying to make the man say he believed. "You believe! Say Hallelujah." "Praise the Lord." Then they would say. "Amen!" Then they got up, took hold of the man, stood him on his feet and said, "Praise the Lord." But he was heavy, and would not say it.

        "Well," I said, "that's just what I find fault with my own people for. And these people are good people, but they have their failings, just like other people. So I might as well stay where I am." Then they told me there were no prejudices among them. That colored people were always treated well. And I was glad of that. So the next week I went again. Brother James led the class that night. He had thrown across his shoulders a very stylish shawl, such as gentlemen wore in those days, and in it was a very pretty steel pin and chain, which shone bright.

        "Well," I said, "I did not think Brother James would wear that."

        So a sister came in. When she saw Sister Thompson, whom I had got to go with me that night, and myself, she frowned and turned her back on us. "Well," I thought, "they say they have no prejudice. But she acts just like she had, anyhow. After all, perhaps I had better not join."

        Then a dear lady got up and gave such a beautiful testimony,

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and was so sweet in spirit. How her testimony helped me. But, Oh! such a raking as Brother James gave her about her dress. She had on a plain fifty cent black straw bonnet, with a piece of black ribbon across the middle and a little bow on the side. Not a flower, or a bit of color of any kind. She said, "Well, Brother James, I never thought anything about it. I just got the milliner to fix it up to wear to market, and I put it on." I never thought anything about the bow he had so bitterly denounced. But he did not let her off. He picked her testimony all to pieces. How I felt for her. And I thought there was much more of self and spirit in his manner and in the swell shawl and the steel pin and chain that swung about, than there was in the sister he raked so. Next he came to the sister who turned her back. She spoke short, and kept her back to us. When he came to me, I arose and said: "I understood that you people have no prejudices against colored people."

        "Yes," Brother E. says.

        "Well, will it be right for me to speak just what I think?"

        "Yes, certainly," said he. "We are Free Methodists, so you can speak your mind."

        "Well," I said, "I think you have the spirit of prejudice among you just like other people. I do not think I am mistaken, for the spirit of this meeting seems very clear to me."

        They had on the mantel three or four little stuffed birds. So I said, "I do not think it is right to have those stuffed birds there. The Bible says we are not to have pictures of anything in heaven, or on earth, or in the water." Well, I knew the quotation correctly then. So after I had said this, Brother E. said, "Well, Sister Smith, God bless you. About there being prejudice, you are mistaken; but about the images, you are right."

        So then Brother E. led his wife, and he said to her "You don't pray as much as you used to, I know. Often when I used to be down town in my office I could tell when you were praying." Then he talked to her so before all the people.

        When he got through she got up and went upstairs and slammed the door after her. And I said, "Well, that means what I used to mean when I slammed the door after me." But still he did say a lot of things to her that I thought he ought to have said to her alone. So I said, "Well, these people are just like my own. So I guess I will not join."

        When we came out, one of the sisters came out with us. She

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was a good sister. She went up to me, took hold of me, and said, "Sister Smith, you are right about that prejudice part of it. That sister that you referred to has got prejudices, and she was so vexed, and she said to-night as she was coming she hoped the colored folks would not be there. She does not like it because they come." I said, "I knew I was right. But Brother E. does not know that, does he?"

        "Oh! no, she does not say it to them; but she has said it to me, and I know her."

        So I never went back again.

        Then Rev. Joshua Woodland was pastor of the A. M. E. Church in Brooklyn. He was a man of God, and preached the Gospel. So I said, "As I cannot get real food for my soul in my own church, I will go to Brooklyn and join Brother Woodland's. Of course it will cost me something to go and come, but I will walk on this side and cross on the boat, and walk on the other side to church; and then a sermon once a week will help me, and I will still go to my class here in New York." So I prayed for light and guidance for three weeks. At last I said, one day, "Lord, show me by Thy Spirit through Thy Word, what I must do. Thou knowest I want to do Thy will only." And I opened my Bible, and as I looked, my eyes lighted on these words: "Fear not, stand still, and see the salvation of God." And there came a flood of light and peace to my heart. And I arose and praised the Lord. I never left the church, but I have seen sad results of many who have left and gone away. Some have done well, probably, but others have made sad failures. What a pity. I can call up a number of white people, young men and women, that I used to know in New York, and Oh! how they have failed in their lives, leaving one church and joining another. Thank the Lord he has kept me steady. Amen.

        It is often said to me, "How nicely you get on, Mrs. Smith; everybody seems to treat you so kindly, and you always seem to get on so well."

        "Yes; that is what you think," I said; "but I have much more to contend with than you may think." Then they said: "Oh, well, but no one would treat you unkindly." Then I said: "But if you want to know and understand properly what Amanda Smith has to contend with, just turn black and go about as I do, and you will come to a different conclusion." And I think some

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people would understand the quintessence of sanctifying grace if they could be black about twenty-four hours. We need to be saved deep to make us thorough, all around, out and out, come up to the standard Christians, and not bring the standard down to us; and as old Brother Cooper in Africa used to say, "Lord, help the people to see." Amen.

        One day a lady asked me if I did not think all colored people wanted to be white I told her that I did not think so—I did not. I never wished I was white but once, that I could remember, and that was years ago. I was at a white Methodist Church in Lancaster; I sat in the gallery. The new minister had come. This was his first Sunday. I lived at Colonel Henry McGraw's, on Lime street, and the church was about two squares from where I lived. The colored church where I belonged and attended was quite a ways from our house. I always had a big dinner to cook on Sunday when Mr. McGraw was at home. He had a very dear friend, Mr. James Reynolds, whom he always liked to have dine with him. I generally liked to go to church on Sunday morning, but it was too far for me to go and get back so as to have my dinner in time. I was always very proud of being prompt with my dinner so that often on Sunday I would only get out at night. This Sunday I thought I would go and hear the new minister. All the young people generally sat upstairs, and a colored person was to them an object of game and criticism. I was careful to do nothing to provoke this spirit, but I generally got enough of it.

        I don't remember what the text was; but O, how well I remember the power with which the preacher spoke, and the sweetness of his countenance. As he preached the Lord blessed me wonderfully, and I did want to shout "Praise the Lord;" and I remember saying "I wish I was white, and I would shout 'Glory to Jesus.' " They did not look at white people, nor remark about their shouting; for they did use to shout! I did not shout, but thought, "The willing mind is accepted according to what a man hath, and not according to what he hath not." And that was the only time in my life I ever wanted to be white. But, praise the Lord! I shout now whenever His spirit prompts. No, we who are the royal black are very well satisfied with His gift to us in this substantial color. I, for one, praise Him for what He has given me, although at times it is very inconvenient. For example: When on my way to California last January, a year ago, if I had been white I could have stopped at a hotel, but

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being black, though a lone woman, I was obliged to stay all night in the waiting room at Austin, Texas, though I arrived at ten P. M.; and many times when in Philadelphia, or New York, or Baltimore, or most anywhere else except in grand old historic Boston, I could not go in and have a cup of tea or a dinner at a hotel or restaurant. There may be places in these cities where colored people may be accommodated, but generally they are proscribed, and that sometimes makes it very inconvenient. I could pay the price—yes, that is all right; I know how to behave—yes, that is all right; I may have on my very best dress so that I look elegant—yes, that is all right; I am known as a Christian lady—yes, that is all right; I will occupy but one chair; I will touch no person's plate or fork—yes that is all right; but you are black! Now, to say that being black did not make it inconvenient for us often, would not be true; but belonging to royal stock, as we do, we propose braving this inconvenience for the present, and pass on into the great big future where all these little things will be lost because of their absolute smallness! May the Lord send the future to meet us! Amen.

        At Ocean Grove a lady took me aside and said, "Now, Amanda Smith, I want to ask you honestly; I know you cannot be—."

        "What now?" thought I.

        "I know you cannot be white, but if you could be, would you not rather be white than black?"

        "No, no," I said, "as the Lord lives, I would rather be black and fully saved than to be white and not saved; I was bad enough, black as I am, and I would have been ten times worse if I had been white." How she roared laughing. She was all right, but I think she just wanted to test me a little bit. Yes, thank God, I am satisfied with my color. I am glad I had no choice in it, for if I had, I am sure I would not have been satisfied; for when I was a young girl I was passionately fond of pea-green, and if choice had been left to me I would have chosen to be green, and I am sure God's color is the best and most substantial. It's the blood that makes whiteness. Hallelujah!


                         "The blood applied,
                         I'm justified,
                         I'm saved without, within,
                         The blood of Jesus cleanseth me
                         From every trace of sin."

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                         CHORUS—"There is power in Jesus' blood,
                         There is power in Jesus' blood,
                         There is power in Jesus' blood
                         To wash me white as snow."


                         "Many years my longing heart
                         Had sighed, had longed to know
                         The virtue of the Saviour's blood,
                         That washes white as snow."

        One day in New York I went into the Tuesday Palmer's meeting. A lady came in, and there was a very comfortable seat by me, and after looking about for some other place she finally decided to take the one by me; but I saw she was uncomfortable. She fanned and fidgeted and fussed and aired herself till I wished in my heart she had gone somewhere else. Before the meeting closed I arose and spoke; the Lord helped me and blessed the people. At the close of the meeting this lady turned to me so full of pleasant smiles, and said, "Oh, I did not know I was sitting by Amanda Smith; I feel myself highly honored." I looked at her and pitied her, but felt sick! I said in my heart, "From all hollowness and sham, Good Lord deliver us!"

        One day at Oakington Camp Meeting there was a lady I heard giving her testimony. She said, "I have come over five hundred miles to this meeting to get the blessing of entire sanctification. I believe it is my privilege to enjoy this experience, but I have not got it. I have read all the works on the subject and sought earnestly day and night, and yet I have not got the light."

        O, how I wanted to tell her it was not in the books. I arose to speak and tell her, as I thought the Lord wanted me to, but I was told to sit down, there were others who wanted to speak. I was a little sorry, for I was quite sure my desire to speak was the Lord's prompting; but I must needs learn obedience of the powers that be. Praise the Lord for the grace that enabled me to do so. Hallelujah! I also saw some things that were not what I called consistent with the profession of the sanctified life. It was unexpected, and I was young in the experience and was struck a little; but God saved me from backsliding from this principle, as many do when they meet with things in life that do not harmonize with the profession of holiness. There is much of the human nature for us to battle with, even after we are wholly

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sanctified, so that we shall ever need the beautiful grace of patience." For ye have need of patience, that, after ye have done the will of God, ye might receive the promise." Hebrews, 10: 36.

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CHAPTER X.

"THY WILL BE DONE," AND HOW THE SPIRIT TAUGHT ME ITS MEANING, ALSO THAT OF SOME OTHER PASSAGES OF SCRIPTURE—MY DAUGHTER MAZIE S CONVERSION.

        It all came to me so clearly after I had received the baptism of the Holy Ghost. I saw that I had prayed from my earliest childhood this prayer, but had never understood it; but, Oh! when the Spirit revealed it to me I was so astonished that I had not seen it before. "Our Father," I said, "God is my Father. He has made me, and I am His child." How that word "Father" filled me with awe.

        "Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name." At these words a holy reverence passed through my whole being.

        "Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven." Like the angels do it in Heaven. Then I thought, "How do the angels do God's will. Do they hesitate? Do they question? Do they shrink?" And I said "No." Swift, prompt, loyal obedience by angels, and I asked God that I may do His will on earth like angels do it in heaven. When I saw this, I covered my face and wept, and laughed; so simple, and so great!

        "Thy will be done." Oh! that word, and to say it from the heart. When you stand by your dear ones dying, with not two dollars for funeral expenses, with a husband and father away, and when he might have come, yet did not, with no one to go to, when the very heavens seemed brass, and the earth iron, and you and your own body exhausted from hard work and watching day and night, and with but little food to sustain the body, then to say, "Thy will be done," from the heart, is more than all burnt offerings and sacrifice; and this prayer prayed from the heart, is what is meant by being entirely and wholly satisfied. I did not understand this when I first learned it, but the time came a few months after.

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        The Lord took from me my dear little Will. He was the brightest and most promising of all the five children I had had, and when he was but three days old, I got on my knees by my bedside and consecrated him to God. I had not done so with the others, and I thought it was why the Lord took them away, but I did not know about consecrating children to God, only in baptism. Now I saw afterward there was selfishness in it, though I was really sincere. I did this, thinking the Lord would not take him. Then I promised I would train him prayerfully, and he should be a preacher of the Gospel. I said: "Lord, I give him to Thee, and I hold myself just as Thy servant, to raise him for Thee; he is not mine, I give him wholly to Thee, and now help me to raise him. When he is five years old I will have him reading, and I will work day and night to give him an education."

        When I got through with my prayer I arose and lay down again. He grew and thrived beautifully till he was five months old. Oh, how bright he was. He had had several little sick turns, but I never once thought he would die, because I had given him to the Lord so fully, and now the Lord will let me have him. One morning I had cleaned up my room, and had my tubs all ready to go to washing, for this I always did, so that my house was in order if any one should come in. The next was to give my baby his bath and make him comfortable. Just after I had done this and laid him down on the sofa, and emptied his bath, he seemed perfectly well and was crowing and so bright. His sister, Mazie, was getting ready for school, and was calling, saying: "Be good, Will, till I come back." All at once she called out to me: "Oh Ma, look at Will," and he was stiff in a fit, and there was froth on his mouth and he was black in the face. My kettle of wash water was on, and in a moment I had him another bath ready. I stripped him. There was no one to call. I never lost my presence of mind a moment. I put him in his bath. I did not forget to put in the water a handful of salt and a little mustard. I don't know how I did it, God kept me so still in my soul. He soon came out of his spasm when I put him in the warm water. The dear little fellow, the first thing he did was to look up and say, "Mama," and pat me on the check with his little hand. He seemed all right and I dressed him and laid him down and went to my washing. He slept and took his food as usual till several days had passed, then he seemed poorly and fretful, and I took him to a doctor; he prescribed

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for him and said he would be all right in I few days; but another spasm. Then for five long weeks I worked and watched and never took off my clothes, only to change them. I did everything I could; had no one to help; had to do my washing between times as I could. It never entered my thoughts that he would die. One Wednesday morning, I had been watching all night; he was restless, but I had got him quiet about five o'clock in the morning. I stole away from him to finish hanging up my last clothes and finish my work. About six o'clock he awoke and cried, and I would call to him and he would wait to see if I was coming and then he would cry again. I would say: "Hold on, Will, I am coming." Oh, how I worked! I had to work quick. When I got through I went to take him up. I found he had kicked off one of his little socks. I picked it up cheerfully and said, "Oh, Will, you have lost one of your boots, old man." When I went to put it on I saw his little foot was swollen on top. I knew what that meant; an arrow went through my heart, and I could hardly lift him from the bed. I tried to say, "Thy will be done," but I could not. I thought, "After all, the Lord is going to take him, and I can't say 'Thy will be done.' "

        I had heard of a wonderful doctor for children, a lady. I thought I would try this new doctor. I took him in my arms, and when I got to the doctor's I could not speak a word. She looked at him and said to me, "You must not feel so bad, his eyes are bright, and I think he will be better in a few days;" but I knew the sign of his feet was no mistake. I paid her one dollar, and a dollar and a half for the prescription, and had but fifty cents left; all I had in the world. I went home and did as I was told, but I could not say "Thy will be done." Oh! the agony of my soul. The Lord sent a dear friend in Minte Corsey. Oh, how glad I was she came. She lived at service and could only stay a day or two, but this was a great help to me. Friday morning came, still I could not say, "Thy will be done." I wanted to say it, and then I resolved that I would neither eat nor drink until I could, from my heart, say, "The will of the Lord be done." It took me from Thursday till Friday afternoon about three P. M. I got the victory. While I was alone pleading with God for power to say, "Thy will he done," all at once my heart seemed to sink into a deep quiet, and I said, "Lord, Thou hast helped me, and I can say, 'Thy will be done.' " Oh, how sweet it was; it seemed to me I could

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taste it; it was sweet as honey; and a voice seemed to reason, "Now, Amanda, you can have your choice, if you say the life of your child you may have it as easy as turning your hand," and I said, "Lord, Thy will is so sweet, I only want Thy will;" and it came again, "Whatever you desire it is only to say," and I said again, "Oh, Lord, Thy will is so sweet, I only say Thy will be done." Then the joy sprang up in my heart. I was filled with joy, and I went out of that room saying, "Victory, victory, thanks be to God, He giveth victory, Hallelujah!"

        This was Friday afternoon about four o'clock. About two o'clock the next morning little Will fell asleep in Jesus, in my arms. I washed the little body and laid it out myself; laid him on the little stand. No tears; God seemed to dry them up with joy! O, the greatness of His peace that passeth understanding!

        Saturday morning I don't know how I got my clothes home, but I did. I got a young man to go for my husband, who was at New Utrecht, not far from Brooklyn, N. Y. I had but two dollars, that had come in from my washing, and I wondered what I would do, but my husband would be home, and I thought I could leave that. Just then a flood of sadness seemed to fill my heart. I could not understand it. I was sick and weak, and I said it is because I have lost so much rest. I sent my little girl to tell some friends to come in, and they sent word it was Saturday and they were all busy, so no one came. I lay down I few moments, then I broke into a flood of tears. "Lord, help me!" I said.

        About ten o'clock the young man came back, whom I sent to see my husband. He sent word he was sick himself, and could not come, and had no money. I felt I must sink. I said, "O, Lord, help me!" I was so weak I had to lie down three times before I could get properly dressed, as I must go out in the street. I thought I would go and see a lady with whom I used to live, away uptown, Fortieth street and Madison avenue. I thought if they could help me get my baby buried, I would clean house to pay them again. While I was getting ready to go, my dear friend, Sister Nancy Thompson, who lived in Clinton court, near Eighth Street, sent a messenger to say I must come to her house at once.

        "O," I said, "I can't. I must go uptown," but the child would not go without me.

        She said, "Auntie Thompson says I must not come without you," and I went with the child. I thought after I had seen her,

Illustration

MAZIE D. SMITH.

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then I would go on uptown. When I saw this dear friend, Sister Thompson, she said, "Smith, I hear your baby is dead." I said, "Yes."

        She said, "If twenty dollars will help you, I can let you have it." And I saw God, and wept!


                         "Sometimes, 'mid scenes of deepest gloom,
                         Sometimes where Eden's bowers bloom,
                         By waters still, o'er troubled sea,
                         Still 'tis God's hand that leadeth me." Amen.

        Dear Sister Nancy Thompson has gone to Heaven out of great tribulation, last January. God was so good to bring me back from Africa to see her and pray and praise with her on earth before he took her to himself.


                         "There the wicked cease from trouble;
                         There the weary are at rest." Amen.

        I went home and sent off to make arrangements for the funeral on Sunday. The undertaker was kind. I told him just my situation. I said if you will take fifteen dollars I will pay you the other fifteen in a week. He said he had a bill to pay next Thursday and if I would let him have it by then, he would do what he could. I told him I thought I could do it. O, how the Lord did help me. He was so reasonable. God, I know, was in it all. On Sunday, at one o'clock, the funeral. I waited for my husband till after three, then they said if we did not go the gates would be closed and I would have to come back with the body. O, I was so alarmed. I did not know this. So the undertaker himself said, "I think I had better go myself." So he got on beside the driver, and they drove very fast and we got there just as they were closing the gates, and but for the undertaker's being with us we would have had to bring back the lifeless little body. I thought my husband would meet me at the cemetery, as it was but a short distance from where he lived. I hoped he would be able to come that far; but no, he was not there. O, I could not describe the feelings of that hour. God held me Himself. I thanked the kind undertaker, and we got home about half past six o'clock.

        It was the Quarterly Meeting Sunday at the A. M. E. Church on Sullivan street. I knew I had many friends there. Brother George Smith was always a good friend. He was the Chairman

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of the Board of Trustees. I went to him, and as I was an honorable member of the church, and had always done my duty as far as I was able, financially and otherwise. I told him just my situation, and asked him if he would be kind enough to state it and ask the people for a collection of fifteen dollars, that I might pay the undertaker. He did so, and there was a cheerful response and about twenty dollars was given, but as I had said fifteen, I got that and no more. I was thankful for that. I went on Tuesday and paid the bill, and got the receipt. O, what a burden was lifted from my heart. The undertaker, too, was glad, and thanked me and said, "Mrs. Smith, you have done well."

        All that fall and winter was deep trial, and O, what lessons He taught me of Himself. Praise His name. The summer came and I went to Long Branch to work. I thought it would do me good, as I was very much run down. Still deeper trials came, and various. I was at Congress Hall, Mr. Laird's. He and his wife were very nice. The housekeeper that had charge of the hiring of most of the women help was front Philadelphia. She was a Miss Jordan. She had power to discharge any that did not suit her. She would give them an order to the office and they were paid off and discharged—chambermaids, scrubbers and laundry women. I went as private laundress for the family of four, and if I chose to assist when there was a rush, all right. The wages were fair, and I could take my little girl, and I went in the laundry. There were many professing Christians, but one, a quiet and elderly person, who was living on good works of her own, and looking and stumbling at the inconsistency of others who professed to be Christians. The head laundress, whom I had known in Philadelphia for years, was a good church member, and I thought a good Christian, but I found things were different. I would do all my work and would always help with the sheets and pillowcases or towels or table cloths, whatever was the need, but always got through so as to go to church on Sunday. I found, after the first two Sundays, it was giving offense, and there was much criticism and talk about some people who had so much religion they could go to church and couldn't work on Sunday. They would say, "I came down here to work; I go to church at home."

        I said nothing but felt sad. Every day at twelve o'clock I would run up in my room just over the laundry and pray. I never was over five minutes, so as not to be missed. Remarks began to

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be made about this: "I can't get time to sleep. Some people can stop and go to sleep. I came here to work." I said nothing. One day just as I got on my knees, some one of them came up and opened the door, and seeing me on my knees, slammed the door and went down laughing. "Some people get on their knees to sleep, pretending to be praying." Then the laughter.

        I came down but said nothing, not a word. So Miss J., the housekeeper, was informed. She was always very nice to me, but this time she came storming in the laundry and said, "Mrs. Smith, you will have to help with the sheets and table-cloths."

        "All right," I said, and when I got through I would. I would get up at four o'clock in the morning; by seven I would have twenty or thirty sheets out on the line. I did not talk. By and by some one would call out, "Miss J. says no one out of the laundry will go to church on Sunday; she is not going to have it. What will you do, Mrs. Smith?"

        I said, "Well, Sunday is not here, yet; we will see when it comes."

        Then I saw several of them look in washing to make extra money —white pants, coats and vests. I would do all my work, then they would ask me to help. I did help to iron several times, till eleven o'clock one Saturday night, then I quit. I felt it was not right, and saw why they really had to work on Sunday—not that Mr. Laird required it—and when I saw this I resolved by the grace of God I would not be a party to their maneuvers. Sunday came. Every eye was on me to see what I was going to do. I didn't say anything; I went on as usual getting ready, and went upstairs. I watched my chance and found Miss J. in another part of the house, out from the laundry, and I went to her. I had prayed that the Lord would help me to speak to her and make her willing to hear, for as a general thing she didn't stop to hear what you said when she had made up her mind you must do something. So I met her in the hall of the big house and I went up to her and said, "Miss Jordan, I want to go to church this morning. The work is all done excepting what the women want to do for themselves, and I will have nothing to do with it," and she said, "Quite right, Mrs. Smith, you go on; don't say anything about it."

        I went down, got ready, dressed my little girl, said nothing to anybody at all,—didn't say what I had said to Miss Jordan, didn't say what Miss Jordan said to me,—and went to church; but O, the storm of remarks and criticisms.

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        As I sat in church I thought to myself, "I don't like these surroundings, I don't like these spirits; I don't mean to get into a controversy or quarrel, and I think I will just go on Monday morning to Mrs. Laird and tell her that I will go home," and I sat looking to the Lord about it. This was before the service began. By and by the services began. The Rev. Dr. Stratton was the pastor, and announced the first hymn, which was,

        "Give to the winds thy fears—"

        I shall never forget it—


                         "Give to the winds thy fears,
                         Hope and be undismayed;
                         God knows thy sorrows, counts thy tears,
                         God shall lift up thy head."

        I praised him, and said, "Lord, if you will help me, I will stick."

        One day I was very much tried again, and was really depressed in spirit. I tried to be kind to everybody, and as accommodating as I could. I had not had a word with anybody, didn't want to, and didn't mean to, though they had tried in various ways to draw me into little spats, but the Lord saved me and gave me grace. One day I was feeling a good deal depressed and cast down, because I could not understand why there should be so much unpleasantness; there was no necessity for it, as I could see. I went up and knelt down to pray, feeling that I must leave, yet I needed the means; I needed the money. While I was praying and asking the Lord to help me and show me what to do, it seemed as though an angel stood by me. His wings were plumed, and the ends seemed to be tipped with fire. It was a beautiful sight, a beautiful vision, and seemed very clear to my mind; and I said, "Lord, what does this mean?" and these words came to me: "The wings of Hope and arms of Faith shall bear you conqueror through." I thanked the Lord and rose from my knees and went down to my work. I said nothing to anyone. I went to Mrs. Laird and said to her, "Mrs. Laird, I think I will go home; I don't like the unpleasantness; I think a good deal of it unnecessary; I have not been accustomed to having words or quarreling, and it makes me feel very bad; I think I had better go home."

        She said, "You do the clothes very nicely, and Mr. Laird and

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I like you very much—like your work." And I said, "I don't want to have any words with Miss Jordan." She says, "Never mind Miss Jordan. You need not mind anything Mary Jordan says to you; you come to me. You just go right on with your work, and if you are disturbed, come to me."

        I thanked her and went back to my work. I said nothing to anyone. I stayed until the whole house was closed for the season.

        So the Lord brought me off more than conquerer. That's just like Him. Blessed be His name!

        "For this is the will of God, even your sanctification." As I thought it over, I reasoned like this: "If my father, when he died, had left me heir to a certain it mount, or estate, why, I should have claimed it. And if there were other heirs, and they had tried to get it from me, I would have contended for my rights out of the will. And as it was in my father's will, the law would have justified me in so doing." As I thought it all over, I remembered reading in the papers a suit in the Orphans' Court at Brooklyn just at that time. So it all seemed plain to me. When Satan would suggest, "You cannot expect such a blessing," I stood on these words, "But it is the will of God. He is my Father. And He said in His inspired word, through His Apostle Paul, it is the will of God. And I am one of His legitimate children and a rightful heir, and I propose to have my rights out of the will, if all the rest of the heirs get offended." When I anchored there, somehow I seemed to get help. No matter how the Tempter would come, I stuck to the word, and would say, "But it is the will of God." And it seemed every time I would say it, it was like a girdle to my faith. Oh! how Satan hates to have you believe God. How he tries to wrest His word from your grasp. But when we hold on by faith, even though we tremble, how we honor God, and how we triumph at last. Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Amen! Fear not, my trembling friend, whoever you are. Believe only, and thou shalt see the glory of God, and not only see, but feel His power."

        It was in the winter of 1869, in New York. We were holding revival services at Bethel Church, Sullivan street, Rev. Henry Davis, pastor. There were several young people in the Sabbath School who were converted. Mazie was, I believe, soundly converted. She gave evidences in her spirit and life for a time, though they were hard days for us then. She went to school, and had to work hard at home as well, which did not hurt her. She

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always could sleep well; so many nights when I would be washing or standing ironing all night, she, poor child, could sleep. Saturday generally was a hard day; she had to carry the clothes home; we could not afford to ride, so she had to walk, often long distances. I tried to help her in her religious life all I could. We always had prayers night and morning. We didn't read the Bible at night, but always in the morning, we read verse about; then we would sing a verse of a hymn; she was a fine alto singer; then I would pray. The third or fourth morning after she had been converted, I said to her; "Now, Mazie, the Lord has converted you, and you are very happy; and now if you want to be a real, growing and strong Christian, you must learn to pray."

        "Well," she said, "Ma, I do say my prayers; but I don't know how to pray."

        "Well," I said, "if you ask the Lord He will teach you how to pray; so the sooner you begin the sooner you will get over the embarrassment, and the Lord will bless you. Now, there are only two of us, and always when we kneel to pray I will expect you to pray first, and I will follow. Then on Saturday night, when we have our little prayer meeting, no matter who is here, as soon as we kneel to pray, you pray first." She gave a little sigh; and then we knelt down, and she sighed again. I knew it was hard for her to begin, but I waited, and then another sigh; then in her childish way she begun to thank the Lord for what He had done for her, and ask Him to teach her to pray; it very simple little prayer, but, Oh, so earnest. How happy she was I knew she would be, if she would be prayerful and obedient. The heavy cross was taken up. When Saturday night came, a number of people, perhaps six or seven, came in to have a little prayer meeting. The Lord had made this clear to me, that I was to have a prayer meeting at my room for those who wished to draw nearer to the Lord. I never expected to do anything, more than this. But after He had sanctified my heart it was beginning at Jerusalem; so at Jerusalem I did begin. And though the little prayer meeting was of short duration, yet God put His seal on it, and souls were blessed and saved. To God be the glory. Amen' Amen!

        My object in having Mazie pray first at this meeting, was, I thought after she had carried clothes all day, and done other work as well, that the child was very tired and sleepy, and she would likely fall asleep on her knees while others would be praying; and

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I knew the dear Lord would not blame her for being weary and sleepy. Of course, I never told her why I did it, so there was no chance of her taking advantage of it. But, praise the Lord, He blessed her and strengthened her. She seemed to get on nicely; for she loved the Sabbath School, and was a bright, active scholar, both in New York, and Philadelphia, where she joined at Allen Chapel, Rev. Mr. Whitney, pastor. As she had stood so well I thought there would be no danger of her being influenced at a Catholic school. And then they told me she could have her Bible and Hymn Book just the same; and so she did take them with her; but they very quietly took them away from her after she was there a while, and said they would take care of them for her, and gave her such a nice book that she would like to read, about some good saint or sister; and as she was so fond of reading she accepted it at once. But she never saw her Bible or Hymn Book again till she left. Sending my daughter to this school was a serious mistake, on my part, and one that is made by many parents who are ignorant, as I was, of the subtlety of Rome.

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CHAPTER XI.

MY CALL TO GO OUT—AN ATTACK FROM SATAN—HIS SNARE BROKEN—MY PERPLEXITY IN REGARD TO THE TRINITY— MANIFESTATION OF JESUS—WAS IT A DREAM?

        It was in November, 1869. God had led me clearly up to this time confirming His work through me as I went all about—sometimes to Brooklyn, then to Harlem, then to Jersey City. All this was among my own people, and our own colored churches, though I often went beside to old Second Street, Norfolk Street, Willett Street, Bedford Street, and to different white Methodist churches, to class meetings and prayer meetings; but very little with white people, comparatively. The most I did was among my own people. There were then but few of our ministers that were favorable to women's preaching or taking any part, I mean in a public way; but, thank God, there always were a few men that dared to stand by woman's liberty in this, if God called her. Among these, I remember, was Henry Davis, Rev. James Holland, Rev. Joshua Woodland, Rev. Joseph H. Smith, and Rev. Leonard Patterson, and others—but it is different now. We have women deaconesses, and leaders, and women in all departments of church work. May God in mercy save us from the formalism of the day, and bring us back to the old time spirituality and power of the fathers and mothers. I often feel as I look over the past and compare it with the present, to say: "Lord, save, or we perish."

        As the Lord led, I followed, and one day as I was praying and asking Him to teach me what to do I was impressed that I was to leave New York and go out. I did not know where, so it troubled me, and I asked the Lord for light, and He gave me these words: "Go, and I will go with you." The very words He gave to Moses, so many years ago.

        I said, "Lord, I am willing to go, but tell me where to go and

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I will obey Thee;" and clear and plain the word came, "Salem!" I said, "Salem! why, Lord, I don't know anybody in Salem. O, Lord, do help me, and if this is Thy voice speaking to me, make it plain where I shall go." And again it came, "Salem."

        "O, Lord, Thou knowest I have never been to Salem, and only have heard there is such a place."

        I remembered that five years before while living in Philadelphia, I was at Bethel Church one morning, and the minister gave out that their quarterly meeting was to be held at Salem the next Sunday. I could not go —I was at service—this was all that I had heard about Salem, or knew. I said: "O, Lord, don't let Satan deceive me, make it very plain to me, and if this is Thy voice, speak again to me, do Lord, make it clear, so as to make me understand it, and I will obey Thee. Now, Lord, I wait to hear Thee speak to me, and tell me where to go," and I heard the word coming, I was afraid, it seemed as though the Lord would strike me down, and I drew down as though to hide, and the word came with power, "Salem," and I said, "Lord, that is enough, I will go."

        A few weeks passed. O, how I was tested to the very core in every way. My rent was five dollars a month, and I wanted to pay two months before I went. I prayed and asked the Lord to help me to do this. It was wonderful how He did. I needed a pair of shoes. I told the Lord I was willing to go with the shoes I had if He wanted me to, but they were broken in the sole, and I said: "Lord, Thou knowest if I get my feet wet I will be sick; now, if it is Thy will to get the shoes, either give me some work to do or put it in the heart of somebody to give me the money to get the shoes." And these words came from God to my heart: "If thou canst believe; all things are possible to him that believeth." And I said, "Lord, the shoes are mine," and I put them on as really as ever I put on a pair of shoes in my life! O, how real it was. I claimed them by faith. When I got up I walked about and felt I really had the very shoes I had asked for on my feet. O, how very true that blessed promise—"What things so ever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them and ye shall have them." I know that truth. Hallelujah!

        Some three days after I said to my friend, Sister Scott, "I want to go to Seventh street before I go away, for I have promised some friends ever since the Sing Sing Camp Meeting, and I have

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never had the chance to go, and I must go before I leave." The day before was Thanksgiving day, and I was over in Jersey City helping Brother Lewis. He had a meeting in the church on that day, so at Seventh street we had a good prayer and testimony meeting. Rev. John Parker was pastor. The Lord helped me to speak, and I told them the Lord had told me I was to go to Salem, and I was going, and I had only come to say, "How do you do, and good-bye." At the close of the meeting friends gathered around me and said, "Why, Sister Smith, where were you yesterday? We looked for you. We had a grand Thanksgiving sermon." Another said, "Come to my class." I said, "Thank you, but I, can't now; you must wait till I come back; I have got orders from above to go."

        As dear old Father Brummell passed out he said, "Good-bye, Sister Smith." He shook my hand and put something in it. I thanked him and put it in my pocket, and so went home. As I sat by the fire and was warming myself—I had read my chapter in the Bible, and I was sitting thinking about the meeting—I began to get very drowsy and sleepy. "Well, I thought, I must get ready to go to bed." Just then the thought came to me, "You had better see what that money is Father Brummell gave to you."

        "Yes," I thought. "I had forgot that."

        I put my hand in my pocket and took it out; there was one two dollar bill and three one dollar bills. I spread it on the table and counted it. It was the first time I ever had that much money given me in my life, just for nothing, like, and I thought I must have made a mistake in counting it, so I counted it again. Yes, it was really five dollars. Then I said, "Surely I have made a mistake; I am asleep, I guess;" so I rubbed my eyes and walked up and down the floor and went back and counted it again. Yes, it really was five dollars, and I said, "Well, how is it?" Just then a voice whispered, "You know you prayed about your shoes."

        "O," I shouted, "Yes, Lord, I remember now. Praise the Lord! O, Praise the Lord!"

        I was so happy I could hardly go to sleep. It was the Lord's doing, and it was marvelous. Amen.

        After I had decided to obey the call and was getting ready to go, Satan fiercely attacked me as I stood ironing and praying earnestly to God. He said: "When Jesus sent out His disciples

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He sent them out two and two, and now you are going alone; they will say you are going to look for a husband, like others."

        Then I thought of several that I knew who had gone out and really did get married, after a time; but what business was that to the old Accuser, and what had he to do with it? But the thought was so foreign from me that I cried out, "Thou knowest that is a lie. Thou knowest I only want to do God's will."

        The Tempter harassed me so that I set my iron down and went into the room and got on my knees and said, "Lord help me, and choose somebody to go with me, if Thou dost want me to have a companion. Lord, I would like Sister Scott to go; I know her and love her; could get on so nicely together; but she has a family and she cannot go. Then there is Sister Bright, in Philadelphia, and others I know. If I were to choose them we might not be congenial spirits, and so would not get on together; so, Lord, if Thou wilt direct me to whom Thou wouldst, all will be well; and now, Lord, I wait before Thee earnestly to hear Thy word to me." And these words of Jesus were whispered as distinctly as a father's voice to his child, and it said: "Did I not tell you that I would with you?" And in a moment I remembered what He had said before—"Go and I will go with you."

        "O, yes, Jesus," I said; "so you did." I had forgotten it; and I arose filled with joy and peace. Praise the Lord for victory!

        A few days later I was off to Salem, New Jersey. I stayed a week in Philadelphia, and came near giving up and not going; notwithstanding God had clearly answered prayer, and made all so plain to me. O, the weakness and frivolity of poor human beings. Lord, pity us for Jesus' sake. Amen.

        Oh! how much one has to unlearn in order to learn God's will more perfectly, I left New York for Salem, where God first sent me, in November, 1869, and returned in June. During these months of absence my friend, Sister Scott, had passed through deep trials—greatly complicated—could not be explained; only those that have had them know about them. I knew a good deal. She and I corresponded, and I would pray and advise her to stand fast; God would help her. But things got worse, and I think Satan got her frightened. Her husband, when in a passion, would make threats that frightened her. When she wrote to me and told me, I said, "The Devil wants to scare you; I don't believe anyone is going to kill you; stand firm."

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        She thought I ought to come home and stand by her, but I knew the Lord did not want me to meddle in man and wife trouble, so it was all right I was away. I said, "Scott, every eye is on you to see how you stand, and if sanctifying grace is good for anything, this is your time to test it. Don't you leave your home." This was the way I wrote, and I think it was not what she expected. From that time the spirit of her letters to me seemed to be greatly changed. I felt she was not the same in spirit. Then, encouraged by her son to leave her home, she did so and moved, with the three children, around in Minnetta street. While I felt she had changed, I loved her so well that I thought, "When I get home and see her and have a talk I can explain and clear up everything; she will understand me and will soon be all right." So in June I got to be full of hope and expectation, for I did not think I could live in New York without the former friendship and love of sister S. She had moved from Minnetta street to Dominick street, and after I had got a little straightened up in my room I could hardly wait to see her. I would smile to myself and think how glad she would be to see me, and what she would say; and it was all so real; but O, imagine my disappointment and surprise. When I went she was so cool and formal. O, how my heart sank. I told her everything that I knew used to interest her. She listened, and I saw she made an effort to be herself, and that hurt me so; I knew her so well. I told her why I wrote to her as I did, and I thought as she had been through so much for so many years she might have stuck to it a little longer, and I believed God would have helped her and brought her out conqueror. I saw that the Devil had made her believe that I did not care for her, and had no sympathy for her. We talked till twelve at night; then as we always prayed when we met, I said well, let us pray. We knelt; I prayed, but she did not. I went out with a heavy heart, and under an awful temptation.

        "Oh!" I thought, "if Scott has turned against me after all these years of helpful friendship, what will I do?" and it was like Peter's walk on the water. I had got my eye off of Jesus, and I began to sink, and the more I thought of it the deeper I went. I called again and begged her to come and see me. I ran in again, and said, "I have been wishing you would come, that we might have a season of prayer together," but she made some excuse, which I knew was not like my old friend. How I wept and prayed;

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I thought it would kill me, but I see now what it meant. God was to separate me unto Himself and I must be weaned. O, what an ordeal. After a day or two she came in. I was ironing and she sat down on the doorstep. "Oh," I said, "come in," but she would not and went away without saying a word about prayer, and I was convinced that the real spirit of my dear friend of years had gone—only the woman was there. O, the sadness of that other spirit, how it lingers even to this day. I tried to cast my burden on the Lord with fasting and weeping and praying, but, O, for weeks I walked in darkness and Satan accused me. I looked over my mind to see if the advice I had given was the cause, no, I felt I was right. Well, to go and keep talking and trying to win my friend back to her former friendship—it seemed it was not what the Lord wanted me to do, but why had this darkness settled down over my spirit. I said, "O Lord, help me!" I did not seem able pray, I seemed to have no spirit in me. Yet I could not feel any clear condemnation, but, O, what a state I was in! I knew I had not taken anything back from God of my consecration, but, O, what was the matter with me, I could not tell. Other times when I would have these trials my friend would come and we would pray together and get deliverance, but now, I not a soul to help me, and I could not prevail. There are times when one needs help to prevail with God, but I had no help, and the Devil said, "You see, if you were sanctified fully, you would be able to pray, but you have grieved the Spirit in some way, and this is why God don't answer you."

        O, how real it all seemed, and yet somehow I knew it was not so. I was afraid to tell anyone. Satan said, "If you tell anyone they will think you have backslidden, you never heard of anyone who was sanctified having darkness like that."

        "No, I never did." So I went to meetings, and talked what I knew of the bright side for fear the people would think I had backslidden sure enough. I think sanctified people ought to tell the other side, for it is no sign that you are backsliding when there comes a shadow over your Spirit, even after you are wholly sanctified; but I was ignorant and did not know that these questions were from the Devil. O, how he can transform himself into an angel of light to deceive.

        My little girl had gone to live in Philadelphia with a very nice family, and I was very busy finishing a dress so as to send it to

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her. I had just got a letter from her, and she was getting along very nicely. As I sat with a sad heart and at times wishing I really could condemn myself so as to get access to God, for I felt if I could feel any condemnation, then surely I could pray; all at once the thought came, go down to Dominick street to Mrs. Clark's holiness meeting. Sister Clark used to have this meeting every Thursday afternoon at her house. I said, "O, I am too busy, I want to get this dress done," but a deep conviction took hold of me and I felt I must go, so I got up and went. I began to feel a little lighter. I said, "I guess the Lord is going to bless me to-day."

        I went into the meeting, there were a good many present, and about five minutes after I got into the room this awful avalanche of darkness came over me again, and I began to cry. O, how bitterly I cried; I was heartbroken. The hymn was given out. I was sitting by Sister Clark. Just before the last verse was sung, the Devil said, "Now they are going to ask you to pray, and you know you can't;" and I said, "No, I can't pray."

        Sure enough, when they knelt down, Sister Clark said to me, "Sister Smith, pray." I had always been able to pray before and after I had been sanctified, but I tried, and broke down. Some one said, "Amen, Lord, bless Sister Smith."

        They thought I had got blest and was very happy. So I tried the second time to pray, but could not. Then the third time, failed again. O, I could not pray.

        "Sister Clark," I said, "you pray, I can't," and she did pray, as she could in those days, for she used to be mighty in prayer. Then we arose. I sat and sobbed like a baby, listened to the testimonies and hoped for just a ray of light to come to my mind, so dark. After several had spoken, I arose and made a confession of all I knew. I had gone to Philadelphia to see my sister who was very sick and not expected to live. I left on Saturday night by the twelve o'clock train and got in five o'clock Sunday morning; left again on Sunday night, at twelve, got to Jersey City at five A. M., so the Devil had told me, that was one of the causes of I darkness. Then I had gone out without taking my tracts several times, so he said that was another reason. Then I used to get up and pray once or twice in the night, but I had not done that for several nights, so he accused me of that. At another time, after I had worked hard all day, I was tired, and after I had read my Bible lesson I knelt down to pray and fell asleep on my knees, and did

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not wake till about two o'clock in the morning; so he accused me of that, but when I asked the Lord to forgive me for all of these, it seemed as if a voice would say, "No, that is not it," and I said "Lord, what is it?" So I told these sisters all this. "And now," said I, "I want to know if any of you have had such an experience, for I don't know what is the matter; do help me if you can. Do sanctified people ever have such an experience?"

        "No," they said; they shook their heads and looked very solemn, and I sat down, and each sister that spoke in turn, joined with my accuser and condemned me. They said that no doubt that these things were very wrong and was the cause of this darkness, and strange to say while I wanted it so, yet something seemed to say, "That is not so," and I felt like saying to each one of them as they spoke, "It is not so."

        There was one lady who sat over by the window. I shall never forget her, though I can't remember her name. She was formerly from England, and was a friend of Sister Clark's. She had very black hair; she wore it very plain, two little puffs each side; I used to know her so well at Mrs. Palmer's meeting and at Round Lake Camp Meeting. God bless her! She was the last to speak that day, they were all through but her, and all had condemned me, but when she rose to speak she looked at me and said so sweetly these words—I shall never forget it, she said: "The Lord has a controversy with Amanda Smith, and it must be settled between her and Him alone." And a flash of light went through my mind, and I said, "Thank you, I see it." God showed me that instant I was leaning on my friend, Sister S. O, how I was wrapped up in her, but the snare was broken. I went out, my captivity was turned, and I praised the Lord. When I got home I got on my knees and thanked God for the light to show me where I was, and then with tears I begged the Lord to cut me loose from Sister Scott. I said, "Lord, it almost kills me, but O, deliver me, cut me loose, if you have to kill me, cut me loose."

        O, what a dying it was! It seemed my heart was bound around with cords and to let go would take my life, but I cried, "O, Lord, cut me loose," and it was as though someone snapped with a knife the cords around my heart, and I breathed freely, and said, "Thank God I have got the victory." I arose and praised the Lord, and walked up and down!

        I was just going to sit down to my sewing when I thought, "I

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must go out and get a postage stamp and write to my daughter to-night, so that she can get it in the morning." Out I started to the drug store on the corner of Fourth street and Sixth avenue. Just as I turned out of Amity street in Sixth avenue, I glanced over the way on Cornelia street, and saw a person who looked just like my friend Sister S. She seemed to look at me, and I nodded my head, and was just going to call to her, when she quickly turned her head, and didn't seem to see me at all. I thought, "O, has Scott gotten to where she will not even speak to me?" A pang went through my heart, and Satan in a moment said distinctly, "You have got no joy now."

        "No," I said, "not a bit."

        "You are not happy, either."

        "No, it's all gone." Then in a tantalizing manner he said, "Where is all your sanctification and holiness that you have been talking about?" And then for the first time I clearly realized that it was Satan himself that was accusing me, and I said, "Ah! Ah! Mr. Satan, it is you, is it? Well, now look here, happiness or no happiness, joy or no joy, sanctification or no sanctification, I belong to Jesus!" and I began to sing this hymn:—


                         "The blood of Christ it cleanseth me,
                         It cleanseth me, it cleanseth me,
                         The blood of Christ it cleanseth me
                         Just now, while I believe."

        I did not sing loud. Some gentlemen and ladies were passing me. They looked at me rather strangely. As I sang I felt that hateful Satanic influence and power break and leave me, as really as I ever took a garment and laid it aside. I seemed to see the Devil in the shape of a little black dog, with his tail between his legs. He seemed to pass me down Sixth avenue. I don't know where he came from. There was nobody with him, but just as this power broke I saw this little dog pass.

        The Lord had turned my captivity. I was like one that dreamed. My mouth was filled with laughter; I could not stop. I went into the drugstore, and the man in the store saw me laughing, so he fell in line and got to laughing to; he was stout, and he shook. I said, "O, sir, give me a three-cent stamp," and I laughed and he laughed, and I went out. He did not say a word to me, but, O, how he laughed. So did I. I turned to go home. I said,

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"I will go down on this side and get me a spool of cotton while I am out," and just as I got opposite where I was attacked by Satan before, he had crossed over and was on the other side. He said, "O, you are very happy."

        "Yes, praise the Lord!"

        "You don't know how your child is coming on in Philadelphia."

        "She is all right; I just had a letter."

        "O, the people tell you that, but you don't know if it is true!"

        "O, but I know if Mazie was not all right she would tell me."

        "Well you want to go to the camp-meeting, too, and you have no money."

        Then I recognized that old Accuser again, and I said, "Well, it is none of your business, I belong to Jesus," and I began to sing again,


                         "The blood of Christ it cleanseth me,
                         Just now, while I believe,"
and away he went, my adversary, and from that day to this I seem to be able to know him when he approaches, no matter in what shape he comes.

        If you keep close to the blood he soon leaves, and nothing will put him on a run so quickly as a song or testimony of the power of the blood.


                         "Glory to the blood that bought me,
                         Glory to its cleansing power.
                         Glory to the blood that keeps me,
                         Glory, glory, evermore."

        Amen! Amen!

        Some time after the Lord had sanctified my soul, I became greatly exercised about the Trinity. I could not seem to under stand just how there could exist three distinct persons, and yet one. I thought every day and prayed for light, but didn't seem to get help. I read the Bible, but no help came. I wanted to ask some one, but I was afraid they would misunderstand me and think I was getting fanatical, as that spirit was being developed a good deal at that time. Brother Boole was pastor of Seventeenth Street Church. As I lived in New York I thought if I could hear him preach on the baptism of the Holy Ghost, that I would get light and help, but the Sunday he was to preach on this very subject I could not be there. I was engaged at Janes Street Church

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with Reverend Doctor Hamlin, so it went on for weeks after. I got through at Janes Street, and went to Williamsburg to help Brother Hollis. There the Lord blessed us very greatly The people were all very kind, but I met no one during the ten days that I felt I could trust to ask for this explanation. Brother Richard Ryan came over on Sunday afternoon, and he gave his experience of how he came into the blessing of sanctification. It was blest to many souls, and I got a little help on one or two points, but to understand the Trinity was still a great puzzle to me. We closed up grandly on Sunday night, and on Monday morning I went home to New York, 135 Amity street. My two little attic rooms were quite dusty, having been shut up for two weeks, so the first thing I did was to sweep and dust, and after a little lunch I said I will wash my dishes and will kneel down and pray, and I will stay on my knees till the Lord makes this thing clear. I had the dish-cloth in my hand, and as I walked toward the window a voice seemed to speak to me and say, "Every blessing you get from God is by faith." I said, "Yes,—and if by faith, why not now?"

        I turned around and knelt down by an old trunk that stood in the corner of the room, and I told the Lord that I wanted to understand the Trinity, and that I was afraid of fanaticism, and I wanted Him to make it clear to me for His own sake. I don't know how long I prayed, but O, how my soul was filled with light under the great baptism that came upon me. I came near falling prostrate, but bore up when God revealed Himself so clearly me, and I have understood it ever since. I can't just explain it to others, but God made me understand it so I have had no question since. Praise the Lord! Then He showed me three other things. O, what a revelation. The wonderful fatherhood of God, the brotherhood of Jesus, the efficacy and broadness of the atonement. It seemed to sweep hard by the gates of hell. I saw how difficult it was for a soul to be lost, and how easy it was to be deceived by believing in universal salvation without repentance. I was awe stricken and wept. I durst not move. And now, as I think of it, I seem to feel the great waves of glory mingled with awe as they surged through my soul, so that my whole being seemed to throb with love and praise. All the points on these lines have been settled since that time, and like Elijah, I have been able to go on in the strength of this meat for more than forty days.

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        My soul was filled with His love. I seemed to be perfectly infatuated with Jesus. I said, "O, I must see Him with my own eyes;" but how? I said, "If I could die and go to Him I would, but suppose I should live twenty years and have to wait that long before I could see Him."

        It seemed the thought was more than I could bear, so I began to pray this prayer: "O, Lord Jesus, reveal Thyself," and I said no other prayers day or night for a week. This one desire had eaten me up. I had three Band sisters. We used to meet once a week. I was afraid to tell them for fear they might say something to deter me, so when any one came to see me, while they were talking I would pray in my heart this same prayer, "O, Lord Jesus, reveal Thyself." I mourned as one would mourn for his mother. I wanted to see Him who had done so much for me. I said, "I must see Him, but how long must I wait?" A week had passed, my praying heart still longing to see Him. Monday morning came. I went from place to place to gather my clothes, praying at times, then wondering and now weeping, for I longed to see my beloved Christ. Twelve o'clock, my clothes were gathered, and I was all ready to begin washing on Tuesday morning at six o'clock. Monday afternoon my Band met at my house.

        As I had a baby and could not go about very well, the three sisters, Sister Scott, Sister Banks and Sister Brown, all came to my house; but this day not one of them came but Sister Scott. She was a deeply pious woman, full of faith and the Holy Ghost, and was greatly crushed in her home life, like myself. We stood by each other through many a storm. Praise the Lord! It was her turn that afternoon to open the meeting. We generally took turns about; one would open by giving out a hymn, reading a chapter and then praying. Then we would tell each other our joys or sorrows, our victories and defeats, if we had any, and if Satan had buffeted us, how we bore up or if we yielded under the pressure, etc., and then we would advise each other and pray for each other. Sister Scott seemed to know so well how to approach the Throne of Grace, so that I always felt she would get hearing quicker, so I was glad it was her turn to pray that day, and all the time while she was praying the one cry of my soul was, "O, Lord Jesus, reveal Thyself." We kneeled with our backs to each other. Sister Scott did not know what I had been praying for, and while she prayed, all at once the room seemed to be filled with a hallowed

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presence, and as she went on I felt she had got hold of God; it seemed like the rustling of wings, and Sister Scott cried out, "O, Lord Jesus, Thou art here." And He was; I saw Him; He came in at the door; it was open. O, can I describe Him, the lovely, beautiful Jesus! He seemed to stand about six feet high; loose flowing purple robe; His hair and beard as white as wool; His beautiful beard covered His breast to his waist; His face was indescribably lovely! O, it almost takes my breath as I see it all over! He came and stood by my side. He spoke not a word, but it was all in the expression of His lovely face. He seemed to say, "Now look at me; will that satisfy you?" I cried out, "Yes, Lord Jesus," and threw out my arms to embrace Him, but He vanished out of my sight. O, the glory of that hour I shall never forget, and as I think of the amazing condescension of God the Father to grant such a petition to so poor a worm as I, it seemed it would break my very heart!


                         "He saved me from my lost estate,
                         His loving kindness, O, how great!"

        And now, like Job, I am willing to wait all the days of my appointed time till my change comes; and I shall go to be with Him and gaze on Him forever and forever.

        Another time He manifested Himself in this wise: I had read somewhere in the Song of Solomon of my beloved being among the spices, and it seemed to me His presence was so consciously near that I felt as though a person was walking by my side. My heart was running over with love to Him as He talked with me of many things, and at times I would look around to see If I really could see Him; but no, I saw no one. One morning as I sat by the window thinking of Him and His great love to me, I raised my eyes, and as I looked through the venetian blind I seemed to see His lovely face peering through the blinds at me, and I cried out, "O, He looketh through the lattice at me; my heart is sick of love!"

        "He satisfieth the longing soul, and filleth the hungry soul with goodness." 107th Psalm, ninth verse.

        One night after much prayer I went to bed and soon fell into a doze of sleep. There seemed to be laid on my breast a beautiful white marble cross. It was cold. As the cross had pressed my forehead I felt the coldness, and the weight of it pressing me.

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"Oh," I said, "how beautiful;" but, my it was so heavy. In a moment I seemed to understand all it meant, and all my will seemed to be wrapped around it. I awoke, and it seemed as real as life itself.

        As I meditated and asked the Lord to teach me and give me strength to bear the cross always, no matter how heavy it might be, I fell asleep again—and yet it did not seem as though I was really asleep; but I found myself in a strange place; it seemed like a church, and yet it was not. As I sat waiting, as for people to gather, there were seated three very stylishly dressed colored ladies and several finely dressed colored gentlemen. They were sitting in this large room. I thought they looked at me with a scowl of contempt on their faces as they eyed my dress from head to foot. Then they began to make remarks. I felt that they didn't want me in there; but I bowed to them and tried to be pleasant. They hardly noticed me. How cut I felt; and I said, "I wish I was out of here." Just then I seemed to hear a noise outside the house. There was a veranda that looked eastward, so I got up and walked out on the veranda. As I looked up, the moon was shining, and I looked just a little westward in the direction in which I had heard the seeming noise and I saw coming—it was like a great beam, though in shape, a perfect arm, as the right arm of a man! I called it a mighty arm. I wanted these persons to see it, but I did not dare ask them, so I moved and tried to get their attention by pulling my dress, thinking to attract them. They laughed, but did not come. As the arm got over my head—it was in the clouds, but I saw it distinctly. From the shoulder to the elbow was covered with down, beautiful, white. On this down seemed to lie the head of a beautiful bird, like the bill of a swan. It was buried in the down, and though the speed of the arm was so powerful, this head lay perfectly quiet and peaceful. It passed on eastward and was out of sight.

        As I stood looking and wondering at the sight there seemed to spring up four great lions. Oh! how fierce they were! They came right towards me, and it seemed the next minute they would be upon me, as they leaped over the clouds on the way to destroy me. I trembled and cried out: "Help, Lord;" and in an instant it seemed two great clouds came together and swallowed them up, and I saw them no more.

        Praise the Lord, that was it wonderful lesson to me; for

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shortly after this I had an experience almost identical. I had much to suffer, in and with my own people—for human nature is the same in black and white folks. They oppose the doctrine of personal holiness, so do white people; but God has a remnant among the old, and some of the young, both preachers and laymen, that believe and know the truth of this doctrine from the Bible standpoint experimentally, which is the top stone of all. Hath not God declared it that without holiness no man shall see the Lord? My prayer is, Lord, multiply the witnesses to the experience in life and power among preachers, bishops and laymen. It is the only hope for Methodism all over the land. May the Lord help us, white and colored! Amen.

        But to turn again to my story. As I turned to go into the room I heard the most beautiful singing; it seemed miles away, but I never heard such singing on earth so beautiful, so smooth, and the heavenly sweetness I never can describe. As it neared me I knew the tune well, and as it drew still nearer I heard these words:


                         "Arm of the Lord, awake, awake,
                         Thine own immortal strength put on,
                         With terror clothed Hell's Kingdom shake,
                         And tread thy foes with fury down,"

        And it passed on eastward, as the arm had gone. I could hear the singing away off, as it died away in the distance. I awoke. Oh, what peace and comfort filled my soul! I believe God permitted this to encourage my faith. How many ways He has to teach us to depend on Him, if we are only willing to learn. How sweet His own word, "Learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest to your souls." Amen. Amen.

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CHAPTER XII.

MY LAST CALL—HOW I OBEYED IT, AND WHAT WAS THE RESULT.

        It was the third Sunday in November, 1890. Sister Scott, my band sister, and myself went to the Fleet street A. M. E. Church, Brooklyn. It was Communion Sunday. Before I left home I said to Sister Scott: "I wish I had not promised to go to Brooklyn." She said "Why?"

        "Oh, I feel so dull and stupid."

        We went early, and went into the Sabbath School. At the close of the Sabbath School the children sang a very pretty piece. I do not remember what it was, but the spirit of the Lord touched my heart and I was blessed. My bad feelings had gone for a few moments, and I thought, "I guess the Lord wanted to bless me here." But when we went upstairs I began to feel the same burden and pressure as I had before. And I said, "Oh, Lord, help me, and teach me what this means." And just at that point the Tempter came with this supposition: "Now, if you are wholly sanctified, why is it that you have these dull feelings?"

        I began to examine my work, my life, every day, and I could see nothing. Then I said, "Lord, help me to understand what Thou meanest. I want to hear Thee speak."

        Brother Gould, then pastor of the Fleet Street Church, took his text. I was sitting with my eyes closed in silent prayer to God, and after he had been preaching about ten minutes, as I opened my eyes, just over his head I seemed to see a beautiful star, and as I looked at it, it seemed to form into the shape of a large white tulip; and I said, "Lord, is that what you want me to see? If so, what else?" And then I leaned back and closed my eyes. Just then I saw a large letter "G," and I said: "Lord, do you want me to read in Genesis, or in Galatians? Lord, what does this mean?"

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        Just then I saw the letter "O." I said, "Why, that means go." And I said "What else?" And a voice distinctly said to me "Go preach."

        The voice was so audible that it frightened me for a moment, and I said, "Oh Lord, is that what you wanted me to come here for? Why did you not tell me when I was at home, or when I was on my knees praying?" But His paths are known in the mighty deep, and His ways are past finding out. On Monday morning, about four o'clock, I think, I was awakened by the presentation of a beautiful, white cross— white as the driven snow—similar to that described in the last chapter. It was as cold as marble. It was laid just on my forehead and on my breast. It seemed very heavy; to press me down. The weight and the coldness of it were what woke me; and as I woke I said: "Lord, I know what that is. It is a cross."

        I arose and got on my knees, and while I was praying these words came to me: "If any man will come after Me let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow Me." And I said, "Lord, help me and I will."

        I did not know that I was so unwilling. But the Lord had showed me when I was at Oakington Camp Meeting in July, 1870. There was a gentleman there who lived at Espa, Pa. He made me a good offer, to give me a home in his family, as servant, as long as I lived, my little girl and myself. He said that his family was small; only himself and wife, and one son, a beautiful young man, who was with him at the meeting, and who also, with his father, urged me to go. He said his house was quite new, newly fitted up with all the modern improvements, and that he had a very nice colored man and family on the place, who was his farmer, and who was a good Christian man, and a local preacher, and that they held in his own house a holiness meeting once every week, so that I would not be lonesome; and as he had been asking the Lord about a person, he felt, and thought, I was the very person that would suit them, and he wanted me to break up housekeeping and come to live with them right away. I kept a small room in New York for myself and little girl.

        He was a grand, good man, and talked so very nice, and it did seem at first glance that it was right I should do so, and I almost decided to go. But before I did decide, I spread it before the Lord, and asked the assistance and direction of His Holy Spirit,

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and I soon found out that it was not the will of the Lord for me to confine myself as a servant in any family, but to go and work in His vineyard as the Spirit directed me. This the Lord had made very plain to me once before.

        I worked out by the day and had a great deal to do, till the families I worked for went away out of the country, and the work got slack, and I had but one day out of the week, and that was at Sister Clark's, on Dominick street. So when my work was stopped, my revenue was stopped. I was reduced down to thirteen cents; and I did not know what to do. The enemy said to me, "You will keep on talking about trusting the Lord, and you will have to beg before you are done with it."

        "It is none of your business," I said, "if I do. I belong to the Lord, and if He wants me to beg I'll do it."

        And he left me a little while. But after a time he returned, and said, "You had better go to service and come home at night."

        And I thought, "I could do that. My little girl goes to school, and when she was out she could come to where I was and stay till night, and then go home with me."

        While I was thinking about it, my friend, Sister Scott, sent for me to go somewhere to work, but she had made a mistake in the number where I was to go, and I did not find it. I saw afterwards it was all the Lord's doings. I walked up and down for an hour. I went to the place with the number she gave me, but no such person lived there. On my way back I met a girl looking for a chambermaid in the family where she lived. She wanted me to go and see the lady at once; but I said, "No, if I do go now the lady will want me to decide when I can come."

        "Oh, yes," said she, "for she wants some one right away."

        "Well, I must ask the Lord first."

        I went home and got down on my knees, and I said: "Oh, Lord, I am willing to go to service if Thou sayest so. But, Lord, Thou knowest I so love the Sabbath day, and if I go to service it will be taken from me."

        Then these words were given me: "My grace is sufficient for you. If you trust Me you shall never be confounded."

        "Now, Lord," I said, "for the evidence that I am not to go to service, send some one for me to go to work by the day."

        And a little while afterward a little boy came and said that his mother had sent him to see if I could come next day and wash;

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and I said, "yes," and I had the evidence that I was not to go to service. I had but thirteen cents of money in the world. My little girl was at school, and when she came home the first thing she would say was, "O, Ma, I am so hungry; have you got any bread?" So I had done without any dinner, and saved the piece of bread I had, so that when my child would ask me for a piece of bread I might have it to give her. I thought I couldn't stand it, to have her ask for bread and have none to give her; so, though I was very hungry, I did without.

        The grocer's name was Mr. Otten. His store was on the corner of Mannetta Lane and Sixth avenue. I always dealt with him. I never got anything on trust. When I had the money I would get what I needed, and pay for it. When I didn't have the money I would do without it. So I took the thirteen cents and went to Mr. Otten's store, and said to him, "Mr. Otten, I will tell you what I want; I want a loaf of bread, I want a quart of potatoes, I want three slices of salt pork, and I want a bundle of wood, and this is every cent of money I have between me and death." I showed him my money before I got the things. He looked at me.

        "Well," he said, "thirteen cents is not money enough to pay for what you want."

        "I know it, but that is what I want, and that is all the money I have."

        And then he looked at me, and went and got the things and gave me back three cents.

        Oh! how I praised the Lord. I hastened home. I made a nice little stew for dinner for Mazie and me. I was expecting this to last me a week. I didn't intend to eat much myself; I thought I could do without, but my child must have enough; and I had a faculty of piecing out a little to make it go a good ways.

        Well, the next day I went to where I was to do the washing. It was not far from where I lived. I knocked, and the lady opened the door. She was a very rough, coarse woman. I said, "Good morning, Madame."

        "Good morning. Are you the woman that's come to wash?"

        "Yes, Madame."

        "How much do you charge a day?"

        "Well, Madame, I don't know, I believe the general price is one dollar and twenty-five cents."

        "Well," she said, "I'm not going to pay any such price as that."

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        "Well," I said, "Madame, a dollar, then, I suppose."

        "No, I won't pay a dollar. It is a three weeks' washing, but I can get it done cheaper than that."

        "Well," I said, "Madame, seventy-five cents, if it is a three weeks' washing it ought to be worth seventy-five cents."

        "Well," she said, "I'm not going to pay that. I can get it done for fifty cents."

        So she turned and went away, and I said, "Good morning, Madame."

        And just as I was crossing out of Fourth street into Sixth avenue, how Satan assailed me. I trembled from head to foot. He said, "Now you have been asking the Lord for a day's work, and the Lord has given you this work and you have refused it."

        Then I thought, I will go back and tell her I will do it for fifty cents. And then something seemed to whisper, "Go on." So I went on a little further, and Satan attacked me again, and he accused me of not being obedient, and not walking in the way the Lord had opened up for me, and I thought, "I will go back and beg the woman and tell her I will do it."

        I stopped still, and as I went to turn round a voice said to me, "No, no." And I said, "Oh, Lord, do help me. I don't want to be disobedient. I want to do Thy will only;" and I cried in the street!

        Just as I was going in the rear of my own house, I met a lady coming out, and she said, "I have just been in the court looking for somebody to come and do a day's ironing. Call you come?"

        "Yes; where is it?"

        "Right up here in McDugal street."

        She kept a boarding-house. She said, "I want you to come right away. We are very busy, and we are cleaning house, and I must have my ironing done at once."

        So I laid down my things and went. It was about half a block from where I lived. I worked hard all day. Oh, what a day it was. It was in one of those boarding-houses that are on the scrimpiest order. There was a little fire in one end of the range, and it was not allowed to get hot enough to cook anything, scarcely on top. You would open a hole and set an iron in to get it hot, and perhaps you could iron a towel; then some one of the boarders would want some breakfast, and you would shut it up to try and get it hot enough to cook something, and that was the way it went,

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I saw very soon after I got in there why it was she could not keep any help. However, I did the best I could; sometimes ironing a towel, sometimes washing a window, and then ironing a sheet or pillow case, then scrubbing a little, and managing in all sorts of ways. I endured it for two days; and she paid me my money—two dollars.

        After that I never had any more trouble about days' work. I had all the work I could do, and more, at one dollar and twenty five cents to two dollars a day, until October, 1870, when I left my home at God's command, and began my evangelistic work. I did not know then that it meant all that it has been. I thought it was only to go to Salem, as the Lord had showed me. Shortly after this I was off to Salem. Got as far as Philadelphia, where I purposed leaving my little girl with her grandfather, while I went on to Salem. But strange to say, notwithstanding all the light, and clear, definite leading of the Lord, my heart seemed to fail me. I said to myself, "After all, to go on to Salem, a stranger, where I don't know a minister, or anybody. No, I will do some work here in Philadelphia."

        So I got some tracts, went away down in the lower part of town, on St. Mary's street, and Sixth, and Lombard, and all in that region. I went into saloons and gave tracts; gave tracts to people on the corners; spoke a word here and there; some laughed and sneered; some took a tract. Then I went to the meetings, and sang and prayed and exhorted. I went about among the sick, and did all I could. And I said, "After all, the Lord may not want me to go to Salem."

        After spending a week in Philadelphia I thought I would go home. Friday came, and I thought to myself, "Well, I will go home Saturday." But, Oh! there came such an awful horror and darkness over me. On Friday night, after I had come home front an excellent meeting, I could not sleep, all night. Oh how I was troubled. I did not know what to do, for I had spent all my money; father did not have much means, and when Mazie and I were at home I generally provided, not only for ourselves, but for all the family; so that my means went almost before I knew it; I had not much, anyhow. But it seemed to me I would die. So I told the Lord if He would spare me till morning, though I had not any money, I would go and see my sister, and if she could lend me a dollar so as to get on to Salem, I would go.

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        Saturday morning came. I borrowed a dollar, came home, and spent twenty-five cents of it for breakfast; then with what it cost me to ride down to get on the boat, in all about fifteen cents, I had left about sixty cents. My ticket on the boat was fifty cents; I had had some little hymns struck off; we colored people were very fond of ballads for singing.

        A little while after I got on the boat, who should come in but Brother Holland, who used to be my pastor eight years before, in Lancaster, Pa. All this had come to pass in the years after I had known him; so that he did not know anything at all about it. He was very glad to see me, and asked me where I was going. I told him the Lord had sent me to Salem. Then I began to tell him my story. How the Lord had led me. How He had called me to His work. Dear old man, he listened to me patiently, and when I had got through he said:

        "Well, Sister Smith, you know I don't believe in women preaching. But still, honey, I have got nothing to say about you. You go on. The Lord bless you."

        I was dumbfounded; for I thought he was in the greatest sympathy with woman's work, though I had never heard him express himself with regard to it. But I was glad of the latter part of what he said.

        It was quite a cool day, and the boat got in about two o'clock in the afternoon. There were no street cars then, as there are now. There was a big omnibus. They didn't let colored people ride inside an omnibus in those days. So I took my carpet bag and had to sit outside on the top of the omnibus.

        They didn't let colored people off till all the white people were off, even if they had to go past where they wanted to stop; so I had to ride round on the omnibus at least three-quarters of an hour before I was taken to where I wanted to go.

        The woman's name, where I had been told to go, was Mrs. Curtis. She was a widow, and owned her own house and grounds; she had quite a nice, comfortable little house. But she was a queer genius. Old Father Lewis, who had once been pastor of the A. M. E. Church at Salem, and at this time was pastor of the church at Jersey City Heights, N. J., had recommended me to Sister Curtis, because she was alone and had plenty of room, and he thought it would be so nice for me. It was more than a half mile from the locality in which the colored church was situated,

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and in which the majority of the colored people lived. But Sister Curtis seemed as though she was frightened at me. I told her who had sent me to her house, and how the Lord had called me to His work, and all my story of the Lord's doing. She listened, but was very nervous. Then she said she didn't know what in the world she would do, for she hadn't anything but some hard bread to give me to eat, and she hadn't any sugar; and I said, "Well, no matter for that. I can eat hard bread, and I can drink tea without sugar, if you can only accommodate me till Monday, at least."

        Well, she said she could keep me all night, but she didn't like to leave any one in the house on Monday, because she generally went away to wash; and she generally had the cold pieces given her from the hotel where she went to wash dishes, and that was all she could give me to eat.

        She knew how we colored people are about eating; we do like to eat; so I think she told me that thinking she would frighten me; but I agreed to everything. Then I asked her if she could tell me where Brother Cooper, who was then pastor, lived. She said, "Yes, it is about a mile and a half."

        I asked her if she would show me which way to go. She did so, but did not give me anything to eat. I was very hungry, but I did not ask her for anything. So I started off about three o'clock, or a little after, and went to see Brother Cooper.

        I was tired, and walked slowly, and it was about half-past four when I got up to the little village above. I inquired my way, and was told that Sister Johnson lived right close by Brother Cooper's, and if I would go to her house she could tell me, for it was just through her yard to Brother Cooper's house. So I went. I knocked at the door. The sister was in; several nice looking little children were playing around, and an elegant pot of cabbage was boiling over the fire. My! how nice it did smell; and I did wish and pray that the Lord would put it into her heart to ask me to have something to eat. I hinted all I knew how, but she did not take the hint. I knew by the sound of it that it was done and ought to come off!

        I told her my story; told her about Brother Lewis; she was very glad to hear from him. I asked her if I could stay all night, because I felt so tired that I thought I could not walk back to Sister Curtis'. She said at once she could not possibly have me

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stay all night. Her mother had been dead about three months, and she had taken down the bedsteads, and she was so overburdened with her grief she had never put them up, and they were all lying on the floor.

        I told her no matter for that; I could sleep on the floor just as well. No, she did not have room. She could not possibly do it.

        Well, I stayed till it was pretty dark. It was after six o'clock. The more I talked the more she gave me to see that she was not going to ask me to have any cabbage, or to stay all night.

        So I said to her, "Will you tell me where Brother Cooper, the minister, lives?"

        "Oh, yes," she said, "I will send one of the children with you."

        When I got to Brother Cooper's I knocked, and Brother Cooper came to the door; he was an awful timid man; so he stood at the door, holding it half open and leaning out a little ways, and asked me who I was. I told him that I was Amanda Smith; that the Lord sent me to Salem. Then I went on, standing at the door, telling him how the Lord had led me, and all about it. His wife, who was a little more thoughtful than he, heard me, and she called out to him, and said, "Cooper, why don't you ask the sister to come in." So then he said, "Come in, Sister."

        I was awful glad, so I went in. Sister Cooper was getting supper. The table was set, and I thought, "Maybe, I will get something to eat now."

        So I went on and finished my story, and they seemed to be greatly interested; and when the supper was quite ready, she said, "Will you have some supper, Sister Smith?" I thanked her, and told her I would.

        While I was eating my supper who should come in but good Brother Holland, that had been on the boat. He said to Brother and Sister Cooper, "I am glad you have Sister Smith here. You needn't be afraid of her, she is all right; I have known her for years. I have not seen her since I was pastor at Lancaster."

        Then they brightened up a little bit, and seemed to be a little more natural. My heart was glad. It was quarterly meeting, and Brother Holland was to preach in the morning and Brother Cooper in the afternoon. So Brother Holland said, as he was Presiding Elder, I might speak at night and tell my story.

        "All right," I said.

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        After a little talk, Brother Holland left. Sister Cooper said she would be very glad to have me stay all night, but they had no room. They had not been long there, and had only fitted up one room for their own use. They thought they would make out with that for the winter. So then I was obliged to walk a mile and a half back to Sister Curtis'. I did hate to do it, but the Lord helped me.

        So I stayed that night at Sister Curtis', and she gave me a little breakfast on Sunday morning, but it was mighty skimpey! But I found out that a good deal of praying fills you up pretty well when you cannot get anything else! On Sunday morning we went to Love Feast, and had a good time. Prior to this I had been asking the Lord to give me a message to give when I went to Salem. I said, "Lord, I don't want to go to Salem without a message. And now you are sending me to Salem, give me the message. What shall I say?"

        Two or three times I had gone before the Lord with this prayer, and His word was, "It shall be made known to you when you come to the place what you shall say." And I said, "All right, Lord." So I didn't trouble Him any more till this Sunday morning. The Lord helped Brother Holland preach. When he got through preaching and the collection was taken, Brother Cooper made the announcement that I was there; he said, "There is a lady here, Mrs. Amanda Smith" (he had never seen me before or heard of me, and he was a rather jovial kind of a man, and in making this announcement he said, in a half sarcastic and half joking way), "Mrs. Smith is from New York; she says the Lord sent her;" with a kind of toss of the head, which indicated that he did not much believe it. Oh, my heart fell down, and I said, "Oh! Lord, help. Give me the message."

        The Lord saw that I had as much as I could stand up under, and He said, "Say, 'Have ye received the Holy Ghost since ye believed?' " (Acts 9:2). That was the message; the first message the Lord gave me. I trembled from head to foot.

        A good sister took me home with her to dinner. The people all seemed very kind. I felt quite at home when I got with them. We came back in the afternoon and had a wonderful meeting.

        At night after Brother Holland had preached a short sermon, he called me up to exhort. As I sat in the pulpit beside him, he saw I was frightened. He leaned over and said, "Now, my child, you needn't be afraid. Lean on the Lord. He will help you."

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        And He did help me. There was a large congregation. The gallery was full, and every part of the house was packed. I stood up trembling. The cold chills ran over me. My heart seemed to stand still. Oh, it was a night. But the Lord gave me great liberty in speaking. After I had talked a little while the cold chills stopped, my heart began to beat naturally and all fear was gone, and I seemed to lose sight of everybody and everything but my responsibility to God and my duty to the people. The Holy Ghost fell on the people and we had a wonderful time. Souls were convicted and some converted that night. But the meeting did not go on from that.

        Thursday night was the regular prayer meeting night. Brother Cooper said I was there, and would preach Thursday night. He was going to give me a chance to preach, and he wanted all the people to come out.

        There was no snow, but Oh! it was cold. The ground was frozen. The moon shone brightly, and the wind blew a perfect gale. One good thing, I did not have to go back to Sister Curtis'. Another good sister asked me to her house to stay. She made me very comfortable, but said I would have to be alone most of the day, as she was going to some of the neighbors to help with the butchering, as they do in the country. I was very glad of that, for it gave me a chance to pray. So I fasted and prayed and read my Bible nearly all day. Oh, I had a good time. And then I thought I would visit a neighbor near by, another friend. So I did; and this was a good old mother in Israel. I told her a little of my experience, and then I told her the message the Lord had given me to speak about, and how it would lead to the subject of sanctification.

        "My child," she at once said, "don't you say a word about sanctification here. Honey, if you do, they will persecute you to death. My poor husband used to preach that doctrine, and for years he knew about this blessing. But, Oh! honey, they persecuted him to death. You must not say a word about it."

        Well, there I was again! So I went home, and the next day I prayed to God all day. I asked Him to give me some other message. If this message was going to do so much damage, I did not want it. But no, the Lord held me to it. Not a ray of light on anything else but that. I didn't know what to do, but I made up my mind it was all I ever would do, so I would obey God and take

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the consequences. I thought sure from what the dear old mother told me that the results would be fatal; I didn't know but I would be driven out. But not so. "Obedience is better than sacrifice, and to hearken than the fat of rams."

        Thursday was a beautiful, bright day; but Oh! cold, bitterly cold. So I got down and prayed and said, "Lord, Thou hast sent me to Salem, and hast given me the message. Now for an evidence that Thou hast indeed sent me, grant to cause the wind to cease blowing at this fearful rate. Thou knowest Lord, that I want people to hear Thy message that Thou hast given me. They will not mind the cold, but the wind is so terrible. Now cause the wind to cease to blow, and make the people come out."

        The wind blew all day; all the afternoon. I started to go across the field, about a half mile from where I was, to talk and pray with a friend. On my way back, about five o'clock, as I was crossing a ditch which ran through the field, bordered on either side by a row of hedge trees, and a little plank across it for a kind of a foot bridge, the wind wrapped me round and took me down into the ditch. I could not hold on, could not control myself. I expected to be thrown up against the trees, and I cried out to Him all alone, "Oh! Lord, Thou that didst command the wind to cease on the Sea of Galilee, cause this wind to cease and let me get home."

        Just then there came a great calm, and I got up out of that ditch and ran along to the house. By the time we went to church it was as calm as a summer evening; it was cold, but not a bit windy—a beautiful, moonlight night.

        The church was packed and crowded. I began my talk from the chapter given, with great trembling. I had gone on but a little ways when I felt the spirit of the Lord come upon me mightily. Oh! how He helped me. My soul was free. The Lord convicted sinners and backsliders and believers for holiness, and when I asked for persons to come to the altar, it was filled in a little while from the gallery and all parts of the house.

        A revival broke out, and spread for twenty miles around. Oh! what a time it was. It went from the colored people to the white people. Sometimes we would go into the church at seven o'clock in the evening. I could not preach. The whole lower floor would be covered with seekers— old men, young men, old women, young women, boys and girls. Oh! glory to God! How He put His seal

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on this first work to encourage my heart and establish my faith, that He indeed had chosen, and ordained and sent me. I do not know as I have ever seen anything to equal that first work, the first seal that God gave to His work at Salem. Some of the young men that were converted are in the ministry. Some have died in the triumph of faith. Others are on the way. I went on two weeks, day and night. We used to stay in the church till one and two o'clock in the morning. People could not work. Some of the young men would hire a wagon and go out in the country ten miles and bring in a load, get them converted, and then take them back.

        One night I was so weary they said they would get on without me, and I could have a rest. A Mr. Huff had asked me to go to his house. Two of his sons had been converted. He had been a member of the church, but had got cold and backslidden. His wife was pretty much in the same condition. They had three younger children, ten and thirteen years of age. So I went to their house to have a rest. Before we went to bed that night we had family prayer. They had got out of the way of that, Mrs. Huff told me. She had got stirred up, so was anxious about her husband. I read the Bible and explained the Word the best I could; then I sang; then I got down to pray. There was a young man by the name of Williams, Mr. Huff's nephew, about twenty-one years of age, with them at the house. We knelt down to pray. I told Sister Huff she ought to pray in her family. Poor thing, she had prayed so little for a long time, it was rather hard; but she did. After she prayed, I sang a verse, then prayed. Archie Huff, the son, had been converted two or three days before, wonderfully. I asked him to pray. So he prayed, as a young convert, simply and earnestly, though he was very hoarse; but the Lord helped him. When he got through praying I sang another hymn; and by that time old Mr. Huff had tumbled over on the floor and was praying out loud for the Lord to save him; so I began to pray; and while I was praying, the young nephew, Williams, fell out and shook the house. And there we were. And while these two brethren were praying, and Archie and I were praying, and the old woman was praying, (as it was out in the country we didn't whisper at all; we talked right out), these younger children, a little girl ten years old, and the boys, twins, about thirteen years old, got converted. The little girl was sitting up at the opposite

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side of the room (her mother had put her to bed), praying for the Lord to bless her. The two boys had got up and come down, and they were praying that the Lord would bless them. I said, "Oh, Lord, what will I do? I have no help but Thee only. Help, Lord!" I thought if I only had somebody to sing; but there was nobody—only Archie and I; and we had got so hoarse that we could not do much. But it was beautiful just to see God do it all!

        The whole five of them were converted that night. Oh, what a time. And so we were into it till about twelve or one o'clock. Then I slipped off and lay down a little while.

        The news got out through the neighborhood, so they sent for me to come to another house next day, about a mile and a half away. Old man Huff hitched up his team, and he and his nephew and Archie and I went over to the neighbor's. This man was a very moral kind of a man. He had been seeking the Lord, but he had got a little discouraged, so they thought if I would go and talk to him it would help him. I thought "I will have a quiet time over here."

        I got there about four o'clock in the afternoon. We talked and had a pleasant time, and had supper; and I thought we would have prayers after awhile. Well, about eight o'clock one or two persons came in, neighbors; that made five or six of us.

        "Dear me," I thought to myself, "I have not strength to talk any longer, so I will just give out a hymn, and we will sing and have prayers."

        So I did, and we got down to pray. I asked somebody to pray. While we were praying, three or four more came in. When we got through that prayer some one else struck in, and two or three more came in; so we had twelve or thirteen persons, packed in like sardines in it box. And pretty soon this man that had been seeking, cried out for salvation. Oh, how he prayed! It was not long till he began to believe; and what always follows earnest faith is victory. When he shouted victory it struck terror to the others that were not converted, and that night there were five or six converted in that house. Oh! what a victory!

        Next day we visited round through the neighborhood. How the shouts of praise and hallelujah to God seemed to be every where we went. So I went back to church, for I did not get any rest there, and we went on two or three weeks longer. From there I went to Millville, N. J., with similar results. I remember one

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night at Millville, after Brother Leonard Patterson had preached, he said I was to take the services and go on indefinitely.

        There had been some little misunderstanding between two or three of the members, so there was not a very good feeling existing all around; and while we had good meetings, we would come right up to a point and stick. So after I had gone on three or four nights, I proposed to have a day of fasting and prayer, which they all quite readily agreed to. I said: "Now, I don't want anybody to promise to fast that cannot; some people cannot stand it; but just you who think you can fast one day, and pray to God for the outpouring of His Spirit—I want you to stand up."

        Among those who stood up was an old Brother Cooper; they called him "Father Cooper." He had enjoyed the blessing of sanctification for about forty years. Oh, what a grand man he was! When that old man prayed, something gave way. There were several old brethren that I did not expect would fast at all. So Father Cooper got up and I said: "Brother Cooper, you cannot stand it. I don't mean you."

        "Oh," he said, "Honey, I don't mean to let the children outrun me."

        Another old man got up and said: "No, indeed, the children can't get ahead of me; I'm going with them." So one or two of the sisters and I visited from house to house. We prayed and talked and sang. I was led to visit two white families. They were poor people. The Devil tried to scare me; told me they were Roman Catholics, and would put me out. I had quite a little struggle, but finally I got victory and went. I do not know whether they were Roman Catholics or not; but the Lord helped me to speak to them and pray. One woman was so glad; she had a sick child. I talked to her and comforted her.

        That night when we came together the Lord helped me to speak to them, and He sent His Spirit. When I asked them to come forward to the altar, those that were seeking purity, and those that were seeking pardon, I asked Father Cooper to lead in prayer. I shall never forget that prayer. I seem to see it all, and hear it yet.

        There were two that had been leading sisters in the church, that did not speak to each other, and were neighbors, were standing in pews close to each other. They did not come forward to the altar when the others came, but I saw the Spirit of the Lord

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had hold of them; and while rather Cooper was praying, the Holy Ghost fell on the people, and these two sisters were struck by the power of God like lightning. One of them walked out of her seat and went over to the seat of the other and shook hands and wept, and one of them, a few minutes after, whirled over the back of the seat and down on the floor, and she walked on her back clear down the aisle up to one side and into the altar. I think if anybody had told her to do it she never could have done it.

        It was a marvelous time. I have never seen anything like it before or since. There was one man that had been seeking the Lord for eight years. Everybody thought he was converted. He lived with his mother, who was a widow. Everybody, white and colored, liked and respected him. He was a good man, always went to church, and so the people said he was converted; but he did not know it. So when they told me this a day or two before the day of fasting and prayer, I had this man, with some others, specially on my mind. After this great victory, we worked till about eleven or twelve o'clock. I said, "Well, we will take up these who are seeking. We will just have them rise now."

        We colored people did not use to get up off our knees quick like white folks; when we went down on our knees to get some thing, we generally got it before we got up. But we are a very imitative people, so I find we have begun to imitate white people, even in that. The Lord help us.

        This poor young man got up and put his overcoat on, and he was sitting down and looking so sad, as though he was nearly heart-broken. I had talked and prayed and tried to help him all I could; and there never was a soul prayed more earnestly and sincerely than he did. But there he stuck. I stood and looked at him for a moment. O, how they sang. At last I went up to him and said: "Look here, Charlie D., why don't you let go and shout?"

        "Oh!" he wept, "Lord save me!"

        "Well," I said, "The Lord does save you; but you won't believe Him." And I said, "Let go and shout!"

        And the Spirit of the Lord seemed to fall upon him, just like you would sprinkle hot coals on any one. He sprang to his feet, and the light went all over him like fire, and it seemed as though he would tear himself to pieces for a minute. "Oh," he said, "I have found it, I have found it, I have found it!"

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        This sent a thrill through the whole church, and again there was a shout; such a shout you never heard nor saw. It was about one o'clock before we got out that night. I shall never forget that meeting at Millville. Praise the Lord! He does all things well. Amen. Amen.

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CHAPTER XIII.

MY REMEMBRANCES OF CAMP MEETING—SECOND CAMP MEETING—SINGING—OBEDIENCE IS BETTER THAN SACRIFICE.

        My first national Holiness Camp Meeting was at Oakington, Maryland, July, 1870. When I saw the notice in the paper of this meeting, I thought I would like to go. But then I was a poor wash woman, and how could I go? I went to do a few days' work for Mrs. Margaret Clark, when she lived on Dominick street, and was one of the flaming members of the Duane Methodist Church, and was a camp meeting woman of the old fashioned stamp. She said to me one day, "Sister Smith, you ought to go to the camp meeting at Oakington."

        I said, "I should like to go if I could get something to do, taking care of the lodging tent, or get a chance as waitress in the boarding tent, so as to earn a little something." My rent was six dollars a month, and if I lost two weeks, then what would I do? So I said, "You write and get me a situation."

        "Well, yes," she said, "but you won't get much good of the meeting that way."

        "Well," I said, "I can't go any other way." So she said, "All right."

        I went home and prayed that the Lord would open the way for me, and hoped.

        Next week when I went, I expected to hear favorably from Mrs. Clark's letter. She said she had not heard from her letter yet, but said, "Sister Smith, why don't you trust the Lord and go to get the benefit of the meeting?" I was struck with the thought, just what I would like to have done. Then I thought, "What, trust the Lord about my rent?" I had not heard of such a thing, certainly I had never done it. I thought a moment and then said, "I will."

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        Then Mrs. Clark said, "You can take your own bed-tick and have it filled, and you can have room in our tent to sleep, and you will only have our tent to look after." How my heart leaped for joy. Then she told me how to manage, and I worked away, gathered what I could together and so got enough to pay my round trip ticket and had just ten cents over. When the time came Mrs. Clark said, "Send your trunk down to our house and it call go with our things in the morning."

        I did so, but when the man got there a little after six o'clock in the morning they were all gone. When I got to the Cortlandt Street Ferry, I found my trunk was not there, the man had taken it to Debrosses Street Ferry, so the old man told me I had better go up to Debrosses street, about two miles away. My heart beat, I didn't know what to do. I thought, "I can't walk, it is so far, and I am so weary." I thought I might catch the train, and so took the street cars. Then I thought, "If I pay the ten cents to go up and down, how am I going to get through the ferry?"

        I got back, but of course missed the train. I had to wait from about eight o'clock till half past ten. It seemed that everything was against me. O, how earnestly I did pray. I found that I was twenty-five cents short when I went to buy my ticket, that is If I got an excursion ticket, so I didn't know what to do. I asked the Lord to let me see some one I knew, so as to ask them to lend it to me. There were a great many persons waiting to go by the same train, among them was Rev. Henry Belden, whom I had often met at the Palmer meetings; Rev. Mr. Wells, pastor of the Seventeenth Street Methodist Church; Mr. Faulkner, and a number of other members of the church. They were all very kind to me. I thought, "Shall I ask Brother Belden for the twenty-five cents?"

        Just as I looked around, who should be there but Brother Clark.

        "O," I said, "I thought you had gone."

        "I will not go," he said, "till Saturday,"—this was Wednesday morning, I think,—"Mrs. Clark left something and I hurried back to get it, and when I got here the train had just gone, so you will take it."

        "Mr. Clark, will you please loan me twenty-five cents?"

        "I have no change," he said, "but a two dollar bill, I will give you that and you can give it to me when I come."

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        So I got my ticket all right. Now the gates open, and the rush and noise—it was all so new to me then. I got in at last and took my seat, and I sat thinking and wondering how I would pay good Brother Clark his two dollars when he came on Saturday. "Lord, help me," I said, "and open the way for me."

        Then Satan said to me, "If you had not bought that package of tracts you wouldn't have had to borrow that two dollars."

        A day or two before, I had bought at the Bible House, a package of holiness tracts—they cost thirty cents. I knew my money was short, but holiness was so sweet to me that I wanted everybody to get it, and these tracts set the truth forth in such a clear, reasonable light I thought I might do a little work for the Lord in giving them to persons, so that was why I got them. The Devil don't like holiness anyhow, and I was ignorant of his devices, and was among strangers. He tried his best to pick a quarrel with me. After a little while I got my pack and took out the tracts and began to read, and in spite of all, I felt happy, and felt I had done right in getting them. The train went on. In a little while some one began to sing. I was asked to join in the song, and a real pleasant going to camp meeting we had. After the singing was over, Mr. Faulkner came back to the seat where I was sitting and said: "What are you reading, Auntie?" I handed him the package of tracts.

        "Ah, do you know anything about holiness?" he said.

        My heart caught fire in a moment, and I began to tell what great things the Lord had done for me, and after listening a while, he said, "I want to give our pastor, Brother Wells, some of these tracts," and I think he said his daughter and some other ladies were interested in the subject.

        "All right, sir," I said, "I am very glad to have you take as many as you like." When he got through he returned what were not used.

        "They are very good, and you must pray that God will bless them."

        Then he handed me a two dollar bill. "I don't sell them, sir," I said.

        He smiled and replied, "But don't you buy them?"

        "Yes, but I didn't pay that for them, sir."

        "No matter," he said, "I guess you call use it, can't you?"

        "O, yes, sir, thank you, praise the Lord." Then he went away.

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        I saw how God hall answered my prayer and paid the two dollars I had borrowed of dear Brother Clark. "It shall come to pass that before they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking I will hear." Isaiah, 65:24. So when Brother Clark came on Saturday, I was glad to hand him the two dollars.

        That camp meeting I shall never forget,. How God gave me friends and blessed me. It was the first time I had ever been to a meeting of that kind. I had never heard such testimonials and such preaching on holiness. The Sunday morning Love Feast will never be forgotten. The Lord laid it on me to give my experience of how I found the great salvation, and as I spoke He blest me greatly and the people as well. At the close, Brother Inskip said they wanted five hundred dollars—I think it was that amount—for the expenses of the big tent. Some person proposed to divide the amount in shares, so there was a hearty and prompt response, for everybody seemed to he so happy, and in about ten or fifteen minutes they had the amount, and over. I wanted to give something, I was so glad and happy I thought I would like to give ten dollars if I had it, so I said, "Thou knowest, Lord, if I had it I would give it, do put it into somebody's heart to give it for me."

        I had hardly uttered the prayer when dear old Brother John McGlynn stood up and said, "Ten dollars for that colored sister that just now spoke."

        "Praise the Lord! thank you, sir," I shouted. O, I felt I could fly.

        It was there I began to learn the deep meaning of the text, "Ask and ye shall receive, seek and ye shall find, knock and it shall be opened it unto you."

        In the afternoon I went into the tent where Brother Purdy was leading a meeting; he was probing and testing those who were seeking full salvation, for all who know Brother Purdy and his methods know that no one slips through his fingers easy, who is seeking for pardon or purity. He probes deep, praise the Lord. I listened. I knew my own heart measured up to each of these tests and I could say, "Praise the Lord!" My soul was all aglow with holy triumph. I stepped up and said, "Brother Brady, would you like to try your probe on me?"

        He was all taken back, but in his pleasant way said, "Yes, can you stand it, Amanda?"

        "Yes, sir;" and I took up the different tests he had given

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and went through with them. The power of the Lord came down upon us, and O, what a meeting: sinners were converted, believers sanctified. The meeting lasted long after the preaching began in the evening. People came from all parts of the ground.

        There I first met Mr. and Mrs. Martyr, of Philadelphia, who afterwards were very good friends to me. They are both now in Heaven.

        It was the first time that I saw Rev. B. F. Adams. He preached a wonderful sermon on Sunday morning, and gave his experience how he got the blessing of sanctification. The power of the Spirit was manifest. Brother Adams sat down in a tempest of glory. It was the very Sunday that Rome was declaring the infallibility of the Pope. Brother Boole sprang to his feet, as by inspiration and said, as he only could say it:

        "In Rome to-day they are crowning the Pope infallible; let's rise and sing, 'All hail the power of Jesus' name, and crown Him Lord of all,' in our hearts forever."

        And the whole congregation rose in an instant as one, and I think I never heard such singing—never heard that old Coronation sung as it was that day. Yes, we crowned Him King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Hallelujah! for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth!

        As I had learned at Oakington to trust the Lord for temporal things, and He had blest me so wonderfully, I began to pray about going to Sing Sing, and the Lord sent help. A few days before the meeting opened, Brother Munson, of Twenty-fourth Street Methodist Church, where my friend, Sister Scott, and myself used to go at times to his class, was down town one morning, and the Lord sent him into 135 Amity street, where I lived, in New York.

        "Well, Sister Smith," he said, "are you ready for the camp meeting?"

        "I am asking the Lord to open the way for me."

        "Well, here are two dollars to help you along."

        I did praise the Lord for another indication of His loving kindness. Calling a brother's name who was a member of his class, he said his family would give me a place to sleep in their tent, if I liked, or I could have a corner in the large meeting tent. "Praise the Lord." I said, "He doeth all things well. Now, tell me how to go, and all about it."

        He did so, and left. I had a good time after he had gone,

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thanking God for His wonderful love to me. It was all a new experience, but so beautiful because I saw the Lord's hand in all. The day came, and my little daughter Mazie and I were off to the camp meeting. The Lord gave me many friends, and taught me new lessons. I remember many dear ones of those days, though so many have gone to be with God. Rev. John Cookman, who was then pastor of Bedford Street Church, and Rev. Brother Head strum, that wonderful man of God, Brother Moorehouse, and a number of others, were there. How well I remember dear John Cookman; he was then a power. I have no objection to his going to Heaven when his work was done, but somehow I felt as though he might have gone as safely through the dear old Methodist Church, that his father and brother Alfred, of blessed memory, loved and served so long; but praise the Lord, anyhow there are no sects in Heaven. Hallelujah! Oh, the City will be full of blood-washed souls out of every kindred, tongue and people. "What a gathering of the people that will be."

        Then there was Brother Tom Sherwood, and Brother Knox, and King. What times we used to have in the police tent meetings! Brother John McClain's tent was where the young people held their meetings. There I first saw and heard Laura Bowden (afterwards Mrs. Crane); she was then in her prime of power. How the Lord did use her testimony and exhortation to the saving of many, young and old. I had never seen or heard of a young people's and children's meeting till then. All this was so new to me, and yet was grand.

        One day Mrs. Dr. Butler was to speak on the Zenana work in India, where she and her husband spent so many years. Miss Bowden was to have charge of the Young People's Meeting. Mrs. Butler's meeting was in a tent in another part of the grounds and for ladies only. I wanted to hear Miss Bowden so much, for she was so clear on the subject of holiness, and this was my heart's delight, then I wanted to hear Mrs. Butler on India. I had never heard a missionary address in my life. At that time we had no Woman's Foreign Mission Work in our church; but it is different to-day, thank God.

        I thought it all over, and decided to go into Mrs. Butler's meeting; she was to leave, and Miss Bowden would be there longer, so I would have another chance to hear her. I went into Mrs. Butler's meeting; it was in a large tent, and full of nice and many

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richly dressed ladies, I slipped in at the door and sat down behind them. Mrs. Butler had a small table in front of her; and on it a number of different heathen gods, such as were worshiped in India, and I had never seen anything of the kind before, but I thought it can't be that human beings worship such hideous things for gods. My heart melted, and I wept bitterly and thought, "O, if I could only go and sing that very familiar old hymn, 'I am so glad that Jesus loves me.' " It was new then and I had sung it a great deal, and God had blest it to so many souls. I thought, "If I could go and sing this hymn they would all be converted right off," but O, how little I knew about heathen superstitious and customs.

        Well, I had only two dollars and a half in the world, that was to get my little girl a pair of shoes. She had walked about in the grass and got her shoes run inside. She was caring for Mrs. Vico's little child, and I didn't like her to have on those uncomfortable walking shoes, so the next morning I was to send to the village after them. I sat listening to Mrs. Butler. She made an appeal to the ladies for the Zenana work, and told how small a sum would keep a Bible woman in the field a year. "O," I thought, "if I had it I would give twenty dollars."

        There was a pause, and only a few responded to this appeal out of the great number in the tent. I thought it very strange. By and by two ladies elegantly dressed got up and went out. They had on fine Leghorn hats, trimmed with deep black lace, elegant black lace shawls. "O," I said to myself, "those ladies ought to give twenty dollars, they must be rich." Then, as Mrs. B. talked on, others got up and left, giving nothing. How sad I felt. Just then the Spirit said distinctly to me, "You give that two dollars," and I said, "I will."

        "Yes," the Devil said, "you will look nice to go up there with just two dollars; if you had five it would be something like."

        Then I felt ashamed to give two dollars, and thought if I could only get out.

        Then he suggested, "If you had gone to that Young People's Meeting you would not have felt so bad."

        "Yes," I said, "I wish I had gone."

        "Give the two dollars," the Spirit said again.

        "Your child needs the shoes and you have no more," the Devil said. "Your first duty is to your child."

        How concerned he was for her then!

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        I thought I would go out, and as I started the Spirit said, "God knows why you are going out; it is because you don't want to give that two dollars."

        O, I felt I could scream out, so I went up to Mrs. Butler, sobbing like a child, and said, "Mrs. Butler." She looked at me and I said, "Can I go to India?"

        "I wish you could," she said so kindly.

        "Well," said I, "will you take two dollars?"

        "Yes, I will," she said, "I will give you a paper, too."

        It was the "Heathen Woman's Friend." I had never seen it before, so I went and sat down, and O, such a wave of glory swept over my soul, and I said, "Lord, I thank Thee, for I believe I have done right."

        Just then the Devil said, "He that provideth not for his own household is worse than an infidel." It was like a shot, for it was in the Bible, and I had read it, and I didn't know what to do. I closed my eyes and lifted my heart to God and said, "Lord, I don't understand it, but somehow I feel I have done right." Then the Lord sent another shower of blessing to my soul. O, it went all through me like oil and honey! How good the Lord was to me, and at just that moment. Hallelujah! What a Saviour!

        At half-past two the bell rang at the stand for preaching. I walked down rather slowly, and when I got there some one was making a plea for twenty dollars or more for putting the water tanks on top of the hill, so as to be more convenient for the people. A gentle whisper came to me, "Give that fifty cents."

        "You will be a fool to give that," the Devil suggested, "for some one might give you two dollars; then you would have the fifty cents so you could get the shoes."

        "Yes," I said to myself, "I guess I have got in sympathy with things, looking at them and hearing them." So I shut my eyes and turned round so as not to look up as the basket passed. But the man came and passed the basket right under my face, and I rose up and threw the fifty cents in the basket and said, "Glory to God for nothing, and hallelujah for everything, for I have got Jesus yet;" and O, such a wave of salvation swept through my soul, and I said, "Lord, I thank Thee for helping me to do right."

        By and by the preacher commenced. I listened. Rev. John Cookman preached one of his strong holiness sermons. I was

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greatly blest; but every now and then the Devil would assail me and I would say, "Lord, help me; I believe I have done right." And he blest me still further. It was a fight; but thanks be to God who giveth us the victory.

        After the meeting was over I went to my tent to get our tea ready. It was now about six o'clock, and just as we were sitting down and had begun our meal a voice called from the outside:

        "Mrs. Smith, Mrs. Smith, Grandpa says you and Mazie must come and get your supper."

        It was good old Father Brummel's little grandson.

        "Billy, tell your grandpa I thank him, but we are having our supper and will come some other time."

        I thought he had gone, but in a few minutes more he called out again:

        "Mrs. Smith, Grandpa says you and Mazie must come over and get your supper."

        So Mazie said, "Well, Ma, we had better go."

        We had some peaches cut down. I said, "What shall we do with our peaches?"

        "O," she said, "let's leave them for morning."

        "All right," I said. So when we got in dear Brother Brummell's tent he said, "Come, Sister Smith, sit here," pointing to the seat. I shall never forget his loving, kind face. We passed in and took our seats at the table. When I turned up my plate there were three one dollar bills under it, fifty cents more than I had given. So old Satan got whipped that time! Praise the Lord! That was why he assailed me so during the preaching service but how sweetly Jesus delivered me out of his hand. Praise His name forever!

        And this is only one of the many times He has delivered me. O, Lord, I will praise Thee.

        After I had given the two dollars to Mrs. Butler, I sent to town next morning and got the shoes for my little girl just as I had purposed. At one o'clock Sister Jane Fee said to me, "Let us go to some place where we can have a little quiet and prayer together."

        We took our Bibles and went far from the ground, in an old apple orchard. We found a large tree out of sight of the people, and almost out of hearing. There we sat down and read the Word. Oh, how Sweet it was. We wept together, and prayed, and praised the Lord, and made our request known, and He heard

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us. After spending an hour, we returned to the campground. As I had had only a slight breakfast, and it was now two o'clock, I was feeling quite hungry!

        As we were going down one of the avenues two gentlemen were standing talking. When we got up to them one of them reached out his hand and said to me, "This is Sister Amanda Smith, I believe."

        "Yes," I said, "I that is my name, sir."

        "I have often heard of you. Well, Sister Smith, how are you getting on?"

        "Oh, very well; the Lord looks after me."

        "Well, have you had your dinner?" he asked.

        "No," I said, "not yet."

        "Here are two dollars. Go over there, (pointing to a tent); that is Brother C.'s tent. I have just had my dinner, and they have a good table."

        I thanked him kindly, and praised the Lord.

        "But," I said, "I will not eat all this two dollars up; there will be some change. Where can I find you?"

        "Oh, never mind that," he said, "you can keep it; make it go as far as it will."

        Thus the Lord was my shepherd that day.

        At six o'clock there was a prayer meeting held at what was called the old Second Street, or Policemen's tent. Brother King, Brother Smith and a number of others took part. God was in the midst of us. The Lord helped in singing, praying and exhortation. How blessed it is to remember our old friends. Brother Tom Sherwood, with his grand "Amen," and "Bless the Lord," and "Glory to God," as he would so often make the woods ring when he would shout it.

        The next morning, at the close of the early prayer meeting, I stood talking with some one, when a gentleman came to me and said, "Have you had your breakfast?"

        "No," I said, "not yet."

        "Well, I am going home; I have some tickets, and I guess the Lord will have me give them to you. They will last till the camp meeting closes."

        "I thank God, and thank you," I said; "but as I am a colored woman they may object to my taking my meals at that tent."

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        "I don't think they will," he said; "I do not think there will be any objection, but I will go and see."

        So he did; and it was all right. They treated me and my daughter most kindly; and the secret of it was, they were earnest Christians.

        These are some of the Lord's doings, and they are marvelous. Hallelujah! And I did sing with spirit, and with understanding.


                         "In some way or other the Lord will provide;
                         It may not be my way, it may not be thy way,
                         But yet in His own way, the Lord will provide."

        And I began to trust Him for temporal as well as spiritual blessings as I had never done before. And Oh, how faithful was my Lord. How He has blessed me, and all the little I have done for Him.

        I had not been accustomed to take part in the meetings, especially when white people were present, and there was a timidity and shyness that much embarrassed me; but whenever called upon, I would ask the Lord to help me, and take the timidity out of me; and He did help me every time.

        I remember one Sunday, between the hours of the morning and evening service, there was a great concourse of people. At that time I had a good voice, and could sing very loud. Mrs. L. asked me to go to her tent, and on my way many crowded round me and asked me to sing. Near by was a large stump. Brother Smith, a class-leader at old Second Street Church, New York, called out, "Sister Smith, step up on that stump so the people may hear you better. By that time there was a crowd around me of about four hundred people. After I had sung one or two pieces, one of which was very familiar and blessed to many—


                         "All I want, all I want,
                         Is a little more faith in Jesus."
Brother Smith said, "Sister Smith, suppose you tell the people your experience; how the Lord converted you."

        And I asked the Lord to help me if it was His will that I should honor Him in acknowledging what He had done for me. And I felt He would help me, so I trusted in Him and ventured to speak. As I went on my heart grew warm, and the power of the Spirit rested upon me, and many of the people wept, and seemed

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deeply moved and interested, as they had never been before. God, I believe, blessed that meeting at that big stump on the old Sing Sing Camp Ground. How real it all seems to me now as I think it over, though it was so long ago. A day or two more and the camp meeting was over, and I and Mazie were on the boat going home to New York, to my dear home, which was two small rooms in the rear of 135 Amity street, now called Third street, just above Sixth avenue. I call it my dear home because the Lord had so many times answered my prayer, and blessed my own soul, and made it the birthplace of many souls. Those two little attic rooms will ever be dear to me, and I feel like saying, as one of old: "If I forget thee, let my right hand forget her cunning; if I do not prefer thee above all the fine mountains in America, England, Scotland, Rome, Egypt, or Africa."


                         "Here I'll raise my Ebenezer,
                         Hither by Thy help I've come,
                         And I hope by Thy good pleasure
                         Safely to arrive at home." Amen.

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CHAPTER XIV.

KENNEBUNK CAMP MEETING—HOW I GOT THERE, AND WAS ENTERTAINED — A GAZING STOCK—HAMILTON CAMP MEETING—A TRIP TO VERMONT—THE LOST TRUNK, AND HOW IT WAS FOUND.

        I had met Brother Luce at Round Lake Camp Meeting. He was a strong holiness preacher. Among others who had asked me to go to different camp meetings, he had asked me. I was a young beginner yet, and knew the Lord was leading. But I generally prayed over matters a good deal before deciding. There was a Mrs. Brown, who used to live at Harlem, N. Y. She was a good woman, and I used to work for her. I liked her very much. They had a tent at Round Lake, also. So one day she asked me to bring her a pitcher of water.

        I often did little things for the ladies, brushed and settled up their tents, or got them a pitcher or bucket of water. I never felt that it hurt my dignity.

        After I had brought her a pitcher of water, Mrs. Brown said to me, "We have a camp meeting at Wesley Grove at such a time, and we are short of workers, and I believe, Amanda, the Lord would bless you if you would go to our camp meeting; and all the money you needed would be at your disposal."

        "Thank you," I said, "there are several who have asked me about going to different camp meetings. But you know I have to pray about it. So if you give me the address I will know how to go when I get home and get still before the Lord, so as to know just where He wants me to go, for when one says 'Come here,' and another 'There,' I cannot tell which way or place the Lord wants me to go. But when I get home and get still I can know His voice."

        So off I went at that. The day before the camp meeting closed I met Brother Luce again.

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        "Now, Sister Smith," said he, "I have a church at St. Johnsville, and our people have a large society tent, and you could stay in it, and I would like to have you come to our camp meeting. I will give you my address, and when I get home I will write you and give you all the directions how to come, so you will have no trouble."

        "All right, sir; thank you," I said.

        The meeting closed, and I never had heard such wonderful preaching on the line of holiness. I was filled and thrilled. So I went home and began to pray and ask the Lord where He would have me go. For out of all the places I had been asked to visit, I wanted to know just where He would have me go. And a deep conviction settled down upon me that I was to go to Kennebunk. I liked Brother Luce and Brother Munger, and their families were all so kind to me while at Round Lake. Then Brother Luce would send me word just how to come. But to my surprise, when the letter came Brother Luce said, "Sister Smith, I am not well, and our people have decided not to take our big tent; so you had better not come, as you are a stranger, and have no place to stop."

        "Well," I thought, "all right. I will go to Wesley Grove, where Mrs. Brown wants me to go. Then I know her, and like to work for her. So it will be better than going to Kennebunk."

        Then the conviction to go to Kennebunk seemed to deepen, and I did not understand it. I must go to Kennebunk. I went to the Lord and told Him. I said, "Lord, I would be willing to go to Kennebunk, but Thou knowest Brother Luce has written and told me not to come. And Thou knowest it is not nice to go where you are told not to come. And if I do, it will look like impertinence after he has written and told me not to come. So I will go to Wesley Grove. Mrs. Brown says they need help there. Then I have worked for Mrs. Brown, and I am better acquainted with her, and that would be better for me."

        This time Satan helped me a little bit. He said, "Yes, the reason you want to go to Wesley Grove is because Mrs. Brown offered you money, and that is all you are going there for—money."

        Oh! how horrible it seemed as I thought of it. And I knew it was not so. And I said, "Now, Mr. Satan, that's a lie, and I will not go to Wesley Grove at all. I am going straight to Kennebunk where they told me not to come. And I will show you it's not money I'm after."

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        I didn't know how much it would take for me to go to Kennebunk. I had been only to Philadelphia. So on Friday night I went to old John Street Church. Brother Roberts was class leader there. When they held their fiftieth anniversary they had made me, with a number of others, a life member, so I often used to go to this class.

        That night there was a Mr. Palmer there. He was a very nice man, and a very consistent Christian. When the meeting was over, this gentleman went to put me on the Sixth avenue cars. He said, as we walked along, talking, "Sister Smith, for years I have been seeking the blessing of heart purity, and your testimony to-night helped me. But why is it I do not seem to get out into the full light? The Lord has blessed me," he added, "and I have some means. I am a broker on Wall street. But I have consecrated all to the Lord. And any time you need any help, you must just let me know."

        "Well, sir," I said, "I never tell anybody but the Lord about my needs. He knows all, and I always tell Him to put it into the hearts of the people to help me when I need it, and then I leave it."

        Now, somehow, I felt that the Lord wanted that brother to give me some money, for I did not have quite enough to go to Kennebunk. So I said good night, and got on the car and on I went. But I prayed all the way, and after I got home, that the Lord would trouble that man's heart, for I felt that he was disobeying the Spirit, and that was one reason why he could not come out into the light of full salvation. You must not keep back the full price of loyal obedience to God, and yet expect Him to bless you. And yet how often do we find persons doing this very thing. Then they wonder why they do not get on. The Lord help someone who reads this to see the truth.

        I felt somehow all the time that that man was the one that was to help me out. So next morning I got down and prayed again. And then I got up and began to get my things ready. I was doing some ironing. All at once I heard someone come running upstairs very quickly. When he got to the foot of the stairs he called out, "Sister Smith!"

        "Yes," I said. Who should it be but this very brother.

        "I had an errand uptown this morning," said he, "and I thought I would run in and see you."

        Now he had never been to my house before in his life. So I

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said, "The Lord sent him." I said to him, "Sit down, Brother Palmer." "Well," he said, "I haven't much time."

        But he did sit down a few minutes, and then he said, "I wanted to give you a little money."

        "Amen," said I. "You might as well have done it last night. That's what the Lord told you to do."

        "Well, yes," he said.

        It was just enough, with what I had, to get me a round trip ticket to Kennebunk Camp Meeting. Praise the Lord!

        Then we got down on our knees and prayed. I said, "Now, brother, you might just as well settle this thing. The Lord is willing to bless you. Why don't you let him? Why not be obedient now? The Lord can do it now if you will just trust Him."

        So while kneeling it came to me to sing a verse or two of that old hymn of Charles Wesley's:


                         "Come, O, Thou traveler unknown,
                         Whom still I hold but cannot see.
                         My company before is gone,
                         And I am left alone with Thee," etc.

        After singing I said to him, "Now, Brother Palmer, pray and let go."

        So he did. My! how he prayed! The Lord broke him all down. He got blessed while he was praying. I prayed a little and then I sang the next verse:


                         "In vain Thou strugglest to get free,
                         I never will unloose my hold;
                         Thou art the man that died for me,
                         The secret of Thy love unfold.
                         Thy mercies never shall remove,
                         Thy nature and Thy name is Love."

        Then the blessed Spirit fell upon him, and he launched out into light and liberty. Oh! how he praised the Lord. What a morning that was in that little attic room on Amity street. "And still there's more to follow."

        In a few days after this I was off to Kennebunk. I left New York by the Fall River Line at five o'clock P. M. When I got on the boat, to my surprise whom should I meet but Sister Clark.

        "Why," she said, "Sister Smith, where are you going?"

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        "I am going to Kennebunk Camp Meeting. Where are you going?" "Well, praise the Lord," she said, "there is, where I am going."

        We had a very pleasant evening together on the boat. We talked and prayed and sang. There were a number of very nice ladies, who seemed to enjoy Sister Clark's talk and prayers. We should have got into Boston, at the old Providence depot, at eight A. M., so as to take the train there for Kennebunk. But on account of a fog the boat did not get in on time, so we were ten minutes late for the train. Then we had to wait till twelve o'clock, noon, before there was another train. Well, I was going to get my ticket and go on the boat from Boston. It was cheaper that way. But Sister Clark said:

        "Now don't do that, Sister Smith. You will lose two days of the camp meeting if you do that. Go right on now with me."

        Well, I thought I would like to do it, yet I didn't have money enough. But she said, "I think you had better do it. I think you had better go right on with me."

        So after talking awhile I decided to buy my ticket and go with her. That left me only fifty cents. After I got my ticket and sat down, oh! how Satan attacked me. He said, "Now you have been getting on, and the Lord has been leading you all the way. But now you have got out of the Lord's hands. You have got into Mrs. Clark's hands. She is leading you now."

        Oh! I felt dreadful. I wished I had not seen Mrs. Clark. I wished I had not come on the boat. Oh! to think the Lord had blessed me so much, and now I had got right out of His hands, and was in the hands of a woman. I do not suppose Sister Clark ever knew how bad I felt. I could have cried.

        After I walked about a little while, I said to Mrs. Clark, "I have Miss Sarah Clapp's address."

        She lived on Winter street, Boston. I had met her at the camp meeting at Round Lake, and she had given me this address, and told me if I ever came to Boston I must call and see her. So I said, "I think I will go and see Miss Clapp."

        "Very well," she said, "I will stay here and mind the things. Be sure you get back in time."

        "Yes," I said.

        So I went out and took the car and went to Miss Clapp's. How glad she was to see me. She had got the blessing at the

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Round Lake Camp Meeting, and she was praising the Lord, and saying how nicely the Lord had kept her, and how she had been getting on since she had got back to Boston. She got me some lunch. We sang and had a little prayer together, then she brought something to me and said, "I want you to take this. The Lord wants me to give it to you. But you must not look at it until you get in the cars."

        Well, I was in a fidget, because I wanted to see what it was. So she sent a little girl with me to put me on the right car that would take me right to the depot. Oh! how I did want to look at what she had given me. But she had made me promise not to look at it, so I did not. When I did look at it, lo and behold, it was a five dollar bill! So another triumph for Jesus.

        We arrived at Kennebunk at nine o'clock P. M. Sister Clark had friends that were looking for her, so they met her at the depot. Of course when we got to the grounds the meeting was over, and all the people were in their tents. I had the company of Sister Clark and her friend as far as the stand, or auditorium. Then Sister Clark said, "Sister Smith, what are you going to do?"

        "I don't know."

        The lady was with her said, "I wish I had room for you, Mrs. Smith, I would take you in. But really I have only room for Sister Clark."

        "If I could find the lodging tent," I said, "I might inquire whether I could get a place for the night."

        But she said she did not know really where to direct me. So the man set my trunk down, and I sat down on the end of a long bench beside it. There was one or two lights burning.

        "Now then," the Devil said, "if you had gone on the boat as you first thought, and had not followed Sister Clark, you would have got here in the day time, and it would have been much better. Then, besides, you might have done some good work for God on the boat. It is all well enough for Mrs. Clark. She had friends looking out for her. But no one here knows you." "That is so," I said, "and I am so sorry I did not go on the boat."

        One might have thought he was wonderfully interested for the poor sinners on the boat. What a pity I had not gone and talked to those people as he said. Oh! how subtle his suggestions. How he likes to tantalize you about what you might have done, especially after the opportunity is past. He does it to get your eye

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turned on a mistake, or on the sadness of your heart, because you have made a mistake, and how many poor souls he brings into bondage right at this point. I sat there, and in my heart I cried. But somehow I felt I was right in coming. So I said, "Lord, help me to learn the lesson. I suppose I will have to sleep under the stand."

        So in my mind I began to fix about which way I should lay my head. There was a great pile of leaves and some straw under the stand, to be kept dry in case it should rain. So my imagined bed was made. Then I thought, "I wonder if there are any pigs about here, and if they would disturb me."

        Then I began to feel a little afraid, and I said, "Lord, help me and do, please send some one to me."

        I had scarcely uttered the words when I saw a door open away at the upper part of the grounds; a man came out and walked to where I was sitting. A moment later, and out came a sister. She said, "Brother M., where are you going?"

        "Oh!" he said, "I think I see someone here! so I am looking about."

        By that time he was quite up to me. "Why, is this Amanda Smith?"

        "Yes," I said.

        "Sister A.," he called, "here is Sister Amanda Smith. Praise the Lord. Oh! now I see why the Lord sent me out here. I had no especial business, but it seemed I must come down here and look about. Praise the Lord."

        We had a praising time of it. They took me, bag and baggage, to the tent. It was a large society tent, and there were several families together. They had a large upstairs, and they said they could accommodate me for the night anyhow. I was so thankful. I had an elegant bed, and was so comfortable. In the morning when they had all gone downstairs I got on my knees and said, "'Now, Lord, this seems like the very place where Thou wantest me to stay. But they have said they could accommodate me only to-night. Now if Thou dost want me to stay here, make them ask me when I go downstairs, to stay. Amen."

        In the morning I arose and went downstairs. We had family prayers. What a time we had. It was not strange to have a baptism of the Spirit fall upon us in those days while at family prayers and praising the Lord.

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        When the breakfast was over I said, "Now can you tell me where the office is where I can go to inquire about getting a tent, and some straw to fill my tick and pillow?"

        "Oh! you are not going away, are you?"

        "Well, you know you were only to accommodate me till morning, as I was out of doors last night."

        "Well, were you comfortable where you slept last night?"

        "Oh! yes."

        "Very well. You just stay where you are."

        Oh! didn't I Praise the Lord for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the children of men. No wonder Job said, "And these are only parts of His ways." Hallelujah!

        Here I must speak of Sister Clark's help when I was greatly tempted because the people gazed at me and followed me about from place to place and just stared at me.

        Under this trial I learned the meaning of the thirty-second and thirty-third verses of the tenth chapter of Hebrews.

        It was one Sunday. There had been a great crowd all day, and everywhere I would go a crowd would follow me. If I went into a tent they would surround it and stay till I came out, then they would follow me. Sometimes I would slip into a tent away from them. Then I would see them peep in, and if they saw me they would say, "Oh! here is the colored woman. Look!" Then the rush! So after dinner I managed to get away. I went into a friend's tent and said, "Let me lie down here out of sight a little while."

        "Yes," she said, "the people do not seem to have any manners. I never saw anything like it."

        So I got down on the floor under the foot of the bed, and I would see them as they would pass by, and hear them say, "Where is she, the colored woman?"

        "I don't know, but I think she is in here," someone would say. But I kept still. About five o'clock the people began to leave the ground. So about six I stepped out and went down to the spring. I met Sister Clark. She said, "Sister Smith, have you had your supper?"

        "No," I said, "there is something the matter with me."

        "What is it?"

        "The people have followed me about all day, and have stared at me. Somehow I feel so bad and uncomfortable."

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        "Well," she said, laughing, "don't you know the Bible says, 'You are to be a gazing stock?' "

        "No," I said, "is it in the Bible?"

        "Yes."

        "All right, I can settle it then."

        She went to the dining hall to supper, and I went down in the woods by myself, and there I had it out. I told the Lord how mean I felt because the people had looked at me. I prayed, "Help me to throw off that mean feeling, and give me grace to be a gazing stock." And after I had prayed, I remained kneeling and thinking it all over. All at once a thought came to me: "The other day when you were carrying the clothes home you saw a crowd standing and looking in at a window on Broadway, New York, at a picture."

        "Yes."

        "And you went up with the crowd and looked at it too."

        "Yes."

        "You heard the remarks of the people, and the approvals and disapprovals."

        "Yes," I said.

        "Did that picture say anything?"

        "No."

        "Did it injure its beauty?"

        "No, Lord; I see it."

        I got up and went on double quick to the tent. I praised the Lord. I laughed, and cried, and shouted. It was so simple, and yet so real. The next morning at the eight o'clock meeting I got up and shouted, "I have got the victory! Everybody come and look at me! Praise the Lord!"

        I was free as a bird.


                         "What a wonderful Saviour is Jesus, my Jesus,
                         What a wonderful Saviour is Jesus, my Lord!"

        At this same camp meeting the Lord cured a good old brother, Jacob C., of prejudice. He was a well-to-do man, and had lived in Maine all his life. He said he had never seen many colored persons, and never cared to have anything to do with them when he could help it. If he had any business to do with them, he would always do it as quickly as possible and get away. So now, when he saw me about in the meetings he was much disturbed.

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But still he felt that he needed the blessing, and had come to camp meeting for that purpose. Whenever the invitation was given for those who wanted a clean heart, he would go forward and kneel down. But then the black woman would be in every meeting; would sing, or pray, or testify. He could not get on. Then the Holy Spirit had showed him the filthy use of tobacco, and he thought he never could give that up. He had used it from a boy ten years old; and he was now about sixty. He said he had never been without it a day all these years; and if he failed to get it on Saturday, he would go into a drug store on his way to church on Sunday morning and get it, and pay for it on Monday. What a slave! He was a class-leader, and he said he felt he needed to be fixed up a bit.

        So he did, I should say. One morning under a powerful sermon by Rev. B. F. Pomeroy, of the Troy Conference, he was led to make a full surrender of himself. When Brother Pomeroy invited them forward, this man went. He had got the victory while praying in the woods, over his prejudice against me an hour or two before. But the tobacco stuck. He had it in his mouth, and when he knelt there the Spirit said to him, "Can you give up that tobacco?" And I saw him when he dug a hole in the straw leaves and took his tobacco out of his mouth, put it down, covered it over and got on it with his knees! It was not long before the Lord poured in his heart the blessing of full salvation. My! how he shouted!

        It was a wonderful meeting that afternoon. The first thing he saw when he got up and stood on his feet, he said, was the colored woman standing on a bench with both hands up, singing "All I want is a little more faith in Jesus." And he said every bit of prejudice was gone, and the love of God was in his heart, and he thought I was just beautiful!

        I saw him the next year, and he was still saved. And he sat down by me in the dining hall at the table and gave me two dollars and he said the past year had been the best year of his life. Oh, how happy he was! God bless him. Amen.

        I think it was June 21, 1871. 1 remember the great railroad accident at Revier. I got into Boston from Martha's Vineyard. I was anxious to catch the five P. M. train. It left Boston, and stopped at Hamilton, about seven o'clock. Then the next train did not leave till seven thirty, and that would not arrive at the camp

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meeting till about nine o'clock; and as I had never been there I was anxious to get there as early as I could. But the man that I had got to take my trunk was late, and just as I had got into the station the train was moving out.

        "Oh, my!" I said, "I wanted to go on that train." The porter said, "You are too late now."

        "When will the next one go out to the camp meeting?"

        "Seven thirty," he said, "and will arrive about nine o'clock."

        "Oh," I said, "I'm so sorry. I wrote I would be on that train."

        There were a number of persons who had come to say good-bye to loved ones, parents, and children, and friends; and as the train moved off, handkerchiefs were waved and kisses were thrown, and the last good-bye said, and the train passed out of the station, and I felt as though I would cry, I was so disappointed. But that disappointment saved my life. We left Boston on the next train, a lively company of camp meeting folks. A number were just going for the Sabbath. I met a number of friends who knew me, and we had some singing on the train, and I was feeling glad and happy, after all my disappointment. We went at full speed, and all at once the train suddenly stopped. We sang on and waited for it to start. We didn't know what the trouble was. A half hour passed; still we did not move on. Some of the men went out, and we thought when they came back we would know what the trouble was. Another half hour passed, and they did not come back. Then some of the women said, "Let's go out and see." So several of us got out and walked down the track and met several coming, who said there was a great accident at Revier. Our train had stopped about it mile away, this side of where the accident occurred.

        I, with several others, walked to the scene, and as we drew near the fire was roaring, and the shouts for help and the groans of the dying and wounded were something beyond description. Revier was only a small way station; there was no drug store, and no houses to get any help from. They took off the doors of the few houses that stood round, and the shutters, and everything they could get hold of. Some were scalded; some were burned; others with broken limbs; and we were helpless; we had nothing. I could only weep and pray. I thought of the goodness of the Lord in not letting the man get my trunk in time, and then the words of this Psalm came to my mind with much force. "A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right

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hand; but it shall not come nigh thee." Oh, how I did praise my loving Father, God.

        They succeeded somehow in getting the track clear, and our train passed on. We arrived at the camp-ground between twelve and one o'clock at night. Sunday was a sad day, though many who were on the ground knew nothing of the accident, yet it seemed to cast a shadow. But the Lord was with us and helped. How well I remember some of the dear friends. My home was with Mrs. James Musso, in their pretty cottage. The lovely meetings we had! I remember Mrs. McGee, of Boston, and old Father Waite, of Ipswich. One day, going into the dining tent, he introduced me to the people as the "Fifteenth Amendment." That was the first I had heard of that bill. I also remember Father Snow, of Boston, Sarah and Laura Clapp, and dear Beenie Hamilton, and the wonderful tent meeting. She asked me to go with her to a little quiet meeting in a cottage. It was not to be a large meeting; only a few hungry ones who wanted help specially. The meeting was to be held only an hour; but we never closed it from half past two till six o'clock, and we could hardly close then; and if ever I saw God take hold of a meeting and control it, it was that afternoon. More than a score of souls were swept into the fountain of cleansing. Some people were convicted for pardon and for purity on the spot, and yielded to God, and God saved. Truly it was realized, "Knock and it shall be opened; seek and ye shall find; ask, and it shall be given you, for every one that asketh, receiveth; and he that seeketh, findeth; and to him that knocketh, it is opened." The most of the time I stood on my feet and exhorted, and sang, and talked, and prayed. When I got out and went to start home, I could scarcely walk. I was thoroughly exhausted. I had a cup of tea, and lay down a while, and was ready for another pitched battle. Glory to God!

        Those were wonderful days. One does not see it in that fashion now. Oh, how we need the mighty Holy Ghost power that they had at Pentecost!


                         "It was while they all were praying,
                         It was while they all were praying,
                         It was while they all were praying
                         And believing it would come,
                         Came the power, the power,
                         Came the power that Jesus promised should come down."

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        One day, just before the camp meeting closed, Rev. Dr. Cushman, who was then Principal of the Ladies' Seminary at Auburndale, Mass., came to me and said: "Sister Smith, have you ever been to Lindenville, Vt.?" I said, "No."

        "Well," said he, "that is my home, not far from there. Our camp meeting begins such a day (naming the day), and I believe the Lord would have you go to that meeting. I think you would do us good. I have to leave to-night," he continued, "or in the morning, but I will give you the directions how to come." So I told the Lord if He wanted me to go to Lindenville, and would give me the money, I would take that as an indication of His will. So the money came all right.

        On Tuesday morning, I think it was, I was off. I didn't stop to eat my breakfast; I thought I would wait till I got there. I left Hamilton about six A. M. for Boston, so as to get as early a train as I could. I had no idea where Vermont was, much less Lindenville. I was as green as a pea! I had never traveled any distance, and coming from New York to Boston, and then to Martha's Vineyard, was the biggest thing I had ever done. I expected to get to Lindenville about ten o'clock A. M. When I got to the station at Boston, I went to the ticket office and asked for a ticket to Lindenville, Vt. The man said, "You won't have time to get a ticket; the train is just moving out." I turned and said to the man, "Put on my trunk, quick!"

        He pitched it on, and I got on. I think it was the eight-fifteen train in the morning. When the conductor came I told him I didn't have time to get a ticket, so paid him what he asked. I said to him, "I didn't get my trunk checked; will you please look in the baggage car and tell me if you see such a trunk?" describing the trunk as best I could. In a little while he came through, and said, "Madame, there is so much baggage piled up that I cannot tell, exactly, but from the description you give I think it is there; it will be all right." So I was contented. Ten o'clock came, and I was not at Lindenville. Eleven o'clock—twelve o'clock—not yet. Then I began to get hungry. I saw no place where I could get even an apple. Then I wondered if I had not made a mistake after all. So the Devil thought this was his chance, and he assailed me fiercely:

        "You don't know if you are on the right train."

        "No," I said, "I do not."

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        "You ought not to have come without getting a ticket."

        "No," I said, "I suppose not." Then I thought, "Well, I asked the Lord about it," and then he said, "You prayed, but you didn't pray enough."

        "Perhaps I didn't," I thought.

        Then a gentleman got in, and he looked very pleasant, and I thought I would ask him if I was on the right train to Lindenville, Vt. So I went to him and said, "You will excuse me, sir, but I want to ask you if this is the train that goes to Lindenville, Vt.?"

        He said very sharply, "I don't know." Then everybody seemed to look at me. All the people seemed so strange. It seemed to me I had never seen that kind of people before. And they seemed as though they had not seen many of my kind before! My! how they stared at me! After a while a lady got on, and I thought I would ask her. And I said, "Madame, will you tell me if this train goes to Lindenville, Vt.?"

        She pulled herself up, and said, "I don't know." Then I thought I would ask the conductor, but he sailed through in such it rush that I couldn't ask him. Then the Devil said, "You think the Lord wanted you to go to Lindenville, Vt.; but if the Lord wanted you to go, somebody would know if you are on the right train, and be able to tell you." And I thought, "Yes, that is so; it does seem so." And imagine my surprise when I never got to Lindenville, Vt., till six o'clock in the evening. But about four o'clock in the afternoon we stopped at a station, and Rev. Mr. Luce and his wife and children got on, and they spied me, and Brother Luce came up, and said, "Why, Amanda Smith, where are you going?"

        "To Lindenville, Vt., sir."

        "Well," said he, "we go as far as St. Johnsville. Then we are going up to Lindenville on Sunday to the camp meeting."

        I was so glad. Then he asked me if I had had anything to eat. I told him no, and they gave me some lunch, and that helped me.

        When we got to Lindenville, Dr. Cushan was there and met me at the station, and hunted for my trunk high and low; but he could not find it; there was no such trunk there. And I had to stay just with the clothes that I had on, and had traveled in, up till the next Saturday.

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        Well, we went to the camp meeting at Lindenville. We had a good time. The Lord blessed me very greatly. It was very primitive, but the people were very hearty and kind.

        I remember Rev. Mr. McCann was Presiding Elder, and had charge of the meeting. I shall never forget the lecture he gave me the morning I left. He was very much afraid that I would be spoiled; and I remember as I sat before him, he charged me with vehemence; when he told incidents where colored people had been made a good deal of, and how they came down, and how they were spoiled, and how it affected them, and hurt their influence. I smiled, and he went on with his charge. People pitied me for his great solicitude, and I felt that his labor was in vain. There I sat in the congregation, and it was his farewell remarks, as the camp meeting had closed that morning. I didn't know whether to stay for another camp meeting, or whether to go. Some laughed, and others seemed to feel sorry, I didn't know what to do; but I prayed mightily. But the Lord kept me, and none of these things have come upon me. How I praise Him!

        On Saturday we went to Boston. Dr. Cushan went to the store and got me some things to help me through Sunday. I was entertained at the home of Dr. Hopkins, of Auburndale. I spoke several times on Sunday. Sunday night we had a very precious meeting at the Methodist Church; so that I went home cheered in heart, though I had no trunk. I went to my room, and just as I was getting ready for bed I thought to myself, "I must make a very special prayer for my trunk." So I knelt to pray, and the words of John 15:7 came forcibly to my mind: "If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, you shall ask what you will, and it shall be done unto you." And I said, "Now, Lord. here is Thy word, and as far as I know, I believe that I am abiding in Thee, and that Thy word is abiding in me. And now, Lord, I'm going to ask you about my trunk. Grant me this petition, that I will either get my trunk, or hear from it to-morrow."

        Then these words came to me: "If thou canst believe all things are possible with them that believe." And I said, "Lord, I believe I will get my trunk to-morrow."

        Just then Satan said, clearly, "That trunk has been gone a week, and you have hunted for it high and low, and Dr. Cushan, and Dr. Hopkins, and other friends, have looked for it; you have sent telegrams, and you have not heard a word of it; and

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now, for you to say you believe you will get it to-morrow, is presumption; and when people are sanctified and not presumptuous, they never say anything till they know it."

        And then I began to get a little frightened. I said, "Oh, Lord, Thou knowest I do not mean to be presumptuous. But somehow or other I believe I will get my trunk to-morrow;" and every time I said "I believe" to God, it seemed to me my faith was strengthened, and there was a sweet assurance and peace came over my spirit that did not come when the least shadow of doubt would try to enter my heart. But the Tempter harassed me. Oh, how he harassed me! I rose from my knees, and went over to the little stand in the corner, and I said, "Lord, give me some word to help me." Then I opened my Bible, and my eyes fell on these words: "A crooked and perverse generation seeketh after a sign, and there shall be no sign given them," and I shut the book, and said, "Lord, I don't want any sign. I believe I will get my trunk to-morrow." Then Satan seemed to leave me, and I went to bed in peace. I believed God all night.

        The first thing in the morning the thought of my trunk came into my mind, and I said, "Lord, I believe I will get my trunk to-day."

        I didn't tell anybody. I just kept it before the Lord. I went down to breakfast. Dr. Hopkins was such a kind gentleman. He read the Bible for family prayer, then he knelt down to pray, and asked the Lord so earnestly about my trunk. I did not say anything to him about what I had believed upstairs. At breakfast he said, "Sister Smith, we will go to town this morning, and have another search for your trunk." This was Tuesday morning. They had hunted everywhere Monday, and had no tidings.

        When breakfast was over, he and I started for Boston. He said to me, "Now, Sister Smith, you can go to Miss Clapp's, and I will go to the baggage room and inquire if they have heard anything about your trunk."

        So I went on to Miss Clapp's, 19 Winter street. She was busy in the outer room, and told me to be seated in the parlor. I did so. After awhile she called out and said, "Sister Smith, have you heard anything about your trunk?"

        "No," I said.

        Then she in a very pleasant manner said, "Well, somehow I believe you will get it. I had a valise lost once, and it was gone three months, but I got it all right."

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        I thought to myself, "Three months, indeed; I cannot wait three months; I want my trunk now." Still I did not tell her how I had believed in God. As I sat in the chair I threw my head back and began to sing this little hymn, that had been blessed so wonderfully of God to so many souls:


                         "All I want, all I want, all I want,
                         Is a little more faith in Jesus."

        I sang two verses; and as I was repeating the chorus of the last verse a knock came at the door, and as Miss Clapp was not in the room, I got up and went to the door: and when I opened it, there stood a great big Irishman, about six feet high, with my trunk. And as he wheeled it in, he said, "Here is a trunk for Amanda Smith," and I shouted, "Praise the Lord," and he looked as though he was frightened. He wheeled the trunk in and stepped back, and I said, "You needn't be afraid; I'm only believing in God. That is all. Glory!" And he cut down stairs and I have never seen him since!

        Oh! how Satan tried to wrest my faith. But God stood by me as He stood by Joshua; so that when the Tempter comes in like a flood the Lord shall lift up a standard against him. "Fear not. Be strong and of good courage. Said I not unto thee if thou wouldst believe thou shouldst see the glory of God?" Amen. Amen.

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CHAPTER XV.

MY EXPERIENCE AT DR. TAYLOR'S CHURCH, NEW YORK, AND ELSEWHERE—THE GENERAL CONFERENCE AT NASHVILLE—HOW I WAS TREATED AND HOW IT ALL CAME OUT—HOW THINGS CHANGE.

        I think it was in October, 1870, or 1871. It was when Miss Sarah Smiley, the Quakeress, was very popular. She was giving Bible readings at that time in different churches—Dr. Cuyler's Church in Brooklyn, at the Methodist Churches, and others. I was holding meetings at Twenty-fourth Street Methodist Church, with Rev. Dr.—, and Miss Smiley was giving a series of Bible readings at Dr. Taylor's Church at the same time. Some ladies at Brooklyn, who had been attending the Twenty-fourth Street Church, came one evening and said to me, "Oh, Amanda Smith, have you been to hear Miss Smiley at Dr. Taylor's Church?" And I said, "No."

        "Well," they said, "she is to be there to-morrow afternoon, and it is to be her last Bible reading. It is on such a subject," naming the subject, "Oh, yesterday it was grand. I thought of you, and wished you were there. So I made up my mind I would come and tell you to-night, and maybe you could go to-morrow afternoon."

        I was not holding afternoon meetings, only evening meetings, myself, so I thanked them very kindly and thought I would go and hear Miss Smiley. So I did. I went early. There was quite a company gathered, though it was a half hour before the time. A number of gentleman were present, and ladies whom I had met some at Ocean Grove, others at Dr. Palmer's Tuesday meetings, and some of these ladies said to me, "Now, Amanda Smith, while we are waiting it would be nice if you would sing."

        The "Winnowed Hymns" were very popular then; they were

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new, and there were a number of pieces I knew very well. In those days I used to sing a great deal, and somehow the Lord always seemed to bless my singing. So these ladies were very anxious to have me sing. I told them I did not like to do so; I thought it might not be pleasant in this new church, and it was not a Methodist Church, and perhaps they might not like it. But they told me it would be all right. Several of these ladies were members of the church. They assured me that it would be no breach of propriety for me to sing. So when they urged me, I sang.

        The Lord blessed the singing. When I got through with one piece, they asked me to sing something else. They made the selections; I do not remember just now what they were, but I sang another piece. And while they were selecting another piece, I said, "I think I had better not sing any more just now," and asked the Lord to help me and not let me be singing when Miss Smiley came in. I thought she might think I had put myself forward. And the Lord saved me from that mortification.

        The ladies were still urging me, and said they knew Miss Smiley would be rather pleased. But I did not feel so. So Miss Smiley came in when there was no singing going on. A minute or two later, as they were urging me so, I presume I would have been singing. Oh, how glad I was that the Lord had kept me.

        Miss Smiley got through with her Bible reading beautifully. It was very interesting and everybody seemed to enjoy it. The gentlemen came up and shook hands with me, and thanked me for the singing. The ladies who were in thanked me for the singing, and as I was very near Miss Smiley, I thanked her for the address and told her how much it had helped me, but I thought she seemed rather cool. Then I was frightened, and sorry I had said anything to her.

        By and by I saw a lady, tall, with black hair and a very sallow complexion, and a tremendous air, and a countenance not brightened by sweetness—but still, she passed. I saw this lady go up to Miss Smile and begin talking to her, and I saw Miss Smiley shaking her head; but I did not know what it meant.

        I did not rush out through the ladies; I quietly waited and kept behind, so as not to be in the way; and after this lady turned away from Miss Smiley, she looked at me with a scowl and a look of contempt on her face. She stepped inside of a pew and beckoned me and said, "Come here, come here."

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        So I went up to her with all the smiles and grace I was capable of, and she drew herself up in the most dignified manner and said, "Who told you to come here?" And she said it in such a tone that it frightened me. It went all over me, and I began to stammer—a thing I never do—and I tried to think of the name of the lady who had asked me—for I knew her very well—but to save me her name would not come. She was at the meeting, but had got to the door, and was speaking to some one; and I looked round and said, "Mrs.—, Mrs.—," but I could not think of the name. I told her some ladies had told me about Miss Smiley's meeting, and I thought I would like to come and hear Miss Smiley.

        "Well," she said, "we have invited Miss Smiley here."

        "Oh." I said, "I beg your pardon, madame."

        "Never mind, pass right out, pass right out," she said, waving her hand toward the door.

        "Oh," I said, "Madame—" and she said, "Pass out, pass out," and she drove me away.

        Some of the ladies were passing, and they said, "Oh, my, this is too bad."

        "What is the matter?" another said. And another, "Oh, that is a shame." "What is it?"

        By the time I got to the door there was so much sympathy and pity for me that they almost killed me. I cried, almost to convulsions. I was nearly dead. If they had not pitied me and seemed to feel so sorry for me, I could have got on well enough.

        I went up to Sixth avenue and got on the car, and some of the ladies got on the same car; and they sat down beside me and tried to comfort me, and they made it worse. I was ashamed of myself, but I could not help myself. It seemed to me I had lost all control of my feelings. I cried about that thing for about two days, every time I thought of it. And it made quite a stir. The ladies came from downtown to see me about it, and to inquire about it. And I prayed so much for the woman, for I thought she needed to be prayed for, and I did pray for her with all my heart. So I think that she got the worst of it in the end!

        Sometimes people say to me, "Oh, Amanda Smith, how very popular you are."

        "Yes," I say, "but I paid for it." I paid a good price for my popularity. I don't know whether the lady is living or dead. I

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have never seen her since. Poor thing, how I have pitied her! I suppose the Lord will get her through somehow. But that is the only time I was ever ordered out of a church from a religious meeting, or any other kind.

        Again, it was in 1870 or 1871, when my dear friend, Mrs. Hannah Whitehall Smith, was holding those marvelous Bible readings in Germantown and Philadelphia that God blessed so wonderfully. I had often heard them spoken of, and read of them, and thought how I would like to go; but then I did not know whether they would allow colored persons to go. The Lord often would send me around among white people where there was a good meeting going on, that I might learn more perfectly some lesson from His Word.

        One day I was on my way to West Philadelphia when Mr. Robert Pearson Smith, who had been off in California, doing some evangelistic work, I believe, and had got home just a few days before, got on the car, and after he had sat down a little while he looked over and recognized me. He came and said, "I think this is Amanda Smith?" I said, "Yes." He took a seat by me, and did not have any fear or embarrassment from my being a colored woman. How real, and kind, and true he was. He said, "Amanda Smith, has thee attended any of the meetings that my wife Hannah, has been holding?"

        "No," I said, "I have thought I would like so much to go, but I did not know if they would allow colored persons to go."

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