COLUMBUS.

Washington, 18th Oct. 1858.

I despatched my last to you the day before yesterday, and now must give
you an account of our employments yesterday (Sunday, 17th instant). The
morning was very hot, and very lovely, with a clear blue sky, and I
wished that impertinent young lady, Emily, could see what sort of
weather we have here, and how her good wishes for us are accomplished,
beyond anything she can suppose; for we can barely support the heat in
the middle of the day.

The weather being so lovely, we set off to a church in Georgetown, a
suburb of Washington, where many of the foreign ministers live, and a
very pretty suburb it is; but when we got there, papa's head began to
ache so much, that we thought it best to return to a church nearer the
hotel, so that if he became worse, he might leave the church, and walk
home. We were able, however, to sit out the service, and heard a very
dull sermon from a young missionary, who was to sail, two days
afterwards, with his wife, from Baltimore, for Africa; his sermon was
greatly taken from Livingstone's book, and he spoke more strongly
against slavery than we should have looked for in a slave state. After
the sermon, papa and I went to him, and we asked him a little about
where he was going, &c. &c. He scarcely seemed to know, acknowledged he
was but little acquainted with the work he had before him, and, finally,
when papa put a piece of gold into his hand, he looked at it, and asked
whether it was for himself or the Mission. We answered with some degree
of inward surprise, that it was for any useful object connected with it,
and we took leave of him, wishing him God-speed, but lamenting that a
more efficient man was not going out.

Papa became much more head-achy during the day. Mr. Erskine called to
see if we wanted anything, and strongly advised my going to a negro
chapel in the evening, and hearing one of the blacks preach. They are
mostly Methodists, that is Wesleyans, or Baptists. He said I should hear
them singing as I passed the doors, and could go in. Poor papa, by this
time, was fit for nothing except to remain quiet, so Thrower and I set
out in the evening, and found, not without some difficulty, an upper
room, brilliantly lighted, over a grocer's warehouse. We went up two
pairs of stairs, and I did so in fear and trembling, remembering what
the odour is when a large dining-room is filled with black waiters: