iven them their freedom, let them
take care of themselves!" To the Abolitionists, and they rebuke us for
listening to their cry, and say, "It is no more than must be expected;
let them alone and they will die off." Even the loudest professors
have said to me, "As long as you _will_ take care of these poor old
creatures, so long you may; there are plenty of others to come." So
turn which way we may, we are met with coldness and distrust.

I come now to you, and ask what is our _duty_ to these worn-out
slaves, whose labor we have enjoyed in the general prosperity, and
whose destiny on earth we have fixed by legislation, over which they
could have no control? In old age we have taken from their homes these
people, and calling them "free," we have said to them, "Be ye warmed
and clothed," and then gone on our way. Had I, like most others, have
been so fortunate as not to have met these old people, on the day of
arrival here as they came out from slavery, nor have listened to the
thousand witnesses, that have each day testified to utter inability to
live without charity, as a practical relief, I might as easily as
they, perhaps, satisfy my conscience by the above reasoning; but one
thing is sure, whoever stands in my place will find no half-way
measure will answer. They can not look these people in the face, as
they come, averaging under the present arrangements of the Secretary
of War _two hundred a day_, to ask for _bread and wood_, and clothes
and shoes and shelter, and bed and blanket and medicine, not one of
whom can be satisfied without _food_.

One of the most distressing days we have seen was last Tuesday, when
two hundred and fifty all broken down, _stood and sat_, three long
hours, waiting and hoping that the Commissary would send bread or
rations, but none came, and we could get only _twenty-five loaves for
them_. Many came from the suburbs of the town, some from over the
river, not less than five miles away, and had left an aged companion
and orphan grandchildren on the alert for their return, with something
for a dinner or a meal. But nothing came; and yet, as they left with
sorrow in their faces, that almost breaks my heart to think of, in
their meek way one after another said, "You'se done all you could,
Honey, we'll do the _best we_ can, and come again to-morrow."

You see, _these people must eat_. Bread must be furnished every day,
rain or shine, hot or cold. I ask what is our duty? Will God perform a
mir