resist prejudice here. He says, 'Submit. 'Tis
an ordinance of God,--you must be humble.' Sir, I have felt this. As a
minister, I have been called to pass often up and down the North River
in steam-boats. Many a night I have walked the deck, and not been
allowed to lie down in a bed. Prejudice would even turn money to dross
when it was offered for these comforts by a coloured man. Thus
prejudice scourges us from the table; it scourges us from the cabin,
from the stage-coach, from the bed. Wherever we go, it has for us
bolts, bars, and rods."

And now let us attend the speaker's funeral. Professor Whipple will be
our guide. As we proceed, crowds of coloured people are hastening in
the same direction from all quarters. We are at the house. But so great
is the throng that it is impossible to get in. Here, however, comes Dr.
Cox. "Make room for Dr. Cox!"--"Make room for Dr. Cox!" is now heard on
every hand. A path is opened for the great man, and we little men slip
in at his skirt. On reaching the room where the remains of the good man
lie, we find Dr. Patton and the Rev. Mr. Hatfield. They and Dr. Cox are
there in a semi-official capacity, as representing the Presbytery with
which Mr. Wright was connected. Louis Tappan, the long-tried and
faithful friend of the coloured race, is there also. I am asked to be a
pall-bearer: without at all reflecting on the duties and inconveniences
of the office, I good-naturedly consent. A _white_ cotton scarf is
instantly thrown over my shoulder. There is the coffin; and there is a
lifelike portrait of Mr. Wright hung up against the wall, and looking
as it were down upon that coffin. But you can see the face of Mr.
Wright himself. The coffin-lid is screwed down; but there is a square
of glass, like a little window, just over the face, as is generally the
case in America, and you can have a view of the whole countenance.

A black man reads a hymn, and, in connection with it, begins an address
in a very oracular style, and with very solemn pauses. A hint is given
him not to proceed. They sing. Mr. Hatfield delivers an appropriate
address. A coloured minister prays, sometimes using the first person
singular, and sometimes the first person plural; also talking about the
"meanderings of life," and a great deal of other nonsense.

We move down stairs. The immense procession starts. Drs. Cox and
Patton, Mr. Hatfield, and about half-a-dozen more white ministers, are
in it. As we pass on from stre