A BIT OF EXPERIENCE.

BY A TALLADEGA STUDENT.

Not long since I was forcibly reminded of the work and worth of the schools of the American Missionary Association by witnessing the services in a church. In a room large enough to comfortably seat one hundred were fully two hundred and fifty, and a large crowd hovering about the door. There was abundance of singing and praying. The songs were mostly on the solo and chorus style—not set to music, what we call plantation or "made-up songs." While singing, the leader adds new words to suit his fancy and emotional fervor; thus the song often undergoes several changes of words in the course of a few months, all the time retaining the same tune. This is what is meant by "made-up songs." Among those of my people in whom the emotional tide runs high this kind of singing is very popular.

In that meeting, while singing the last part of each song the audience would rise and turn their backs toward the pulpit. One started the prayers, but soon the multitude of voices made it impossible to know who was leading or what was being said. The minister came in late. He slowly turned the pages of the Bible until he found his text. With a murmuring voice he read a few verses and began preaching. Moving off slowly, like an express train, he soon gathered a rapid motion of body and a furious rattling of words. With head down and the white of his eyes turned upward he kept up a constant spitting and walking for forty or forty-five minutes. All the while the hearers responded with thrilling animation. The sermon over, the singing was started as before for a long jubilee. A few nights ago, at such a meeting, not far from the writer's church, a young woman so mutilated her head while going through a muscular jubilation, that she had to go to the doctor to have her head repaired.

Less than a quarter of a mile away was another audience, not one-fourth as large as the one referred to above, with an educated preacher, worshiping in the spirit with the propriety and with the gentleness of the gospel. So unlike was the deportment and so different was the character of the two audiences that but for their common color one might have thought that they were composed of two distinct races. The question may be asked, what makes the difference? They are the same people, worshiping the same God out of the same Bible. Education and the lack of it make the difference.

The conduct of audiences like the first here spoken of seems to vary with the style of the speaker. I once preached to such a congregation. Their behavior was orderly. During the sermon their responses were a few amens. Knowing their habit in worship, I was somewhat annoyed with the thought that I was muzzling their feelings and the sooner I got through the gladder they would be. That class of people have a way of calling the minister "Cold water preacher," if he does not preach them into something like a spell of hallucination. Their composure led me to believe that I would earn the title. Still I endured, and endeavored to give the plain truth plainly and earnestly; having a strong feeling that as I was in authority I must command in the right way. After dismission, many said to me, "You gave us the pure word and we enjoyed it." "That's what we need," said another. I was heartily invited to come again. I find now I am welcome with that people.

"The fields are white already to harvest." Great is the opportunity of the rich and enlightened churches. The helpfulness of our schools to my people and to the country, is beyond calculation. Our missionary schools are like so many lighthouses along this dark belt of the Union. Their light is being reflected by thousands of colored youth who without these schools would have grown up in gross ignorance.

This brings to mind an incident of my life, which now I believe was providential. Seventeen years ago, when my education was very limited, while working in a restaurant, I visited Talladega College and was deeply impressed with the school, and the intelligence and advancement of the boys. I decided that I would enter school immediately, and did so, though my money was scarce and a few weeks before I had agreed to continue work in the restaurant at twelve dollars per month, board and bed furnished. That was good wages for a boy of my age, but I know now that giving it up and going to school was a thousand times higher wages for me. I felt my imperfections so keenly then I was ashamed to talk to the boys in the college. The stimulation for an education, which I received on that visit to Talladega College has never left me. I regard it most fortunate for an ignorant young man to visit our best schools.