them something, as "Father Watkins" said, about their "brothers and
sisters on the other side of the water." The minister gave me his card,
and invited me and my wife to take tea with him on Tuesday afternoon.
This was the first invitation I received within the city of Cincinnati
to take a meal anywhere; and it was the more interesting to me as
coming from a coloured man.

In the evening I went, according to appointment, to the Welsh Chapel.
There I met a Mr. Bushnel, an American missionary from the Gaboon
River, on the western coast of Africa. He first spoke in English, and I
afterwards a little in Welsh; gladly embracing the opportunity to
exhort my countrymen in that "Far West" to feel kindly and tenderly
towards the coloured race among them; asking them how they would
themselves feel if, as Welshmen, they were branded and despised
wherever they went! I was grieved to see the excess to which they
carried the filthy habit of spitting. The coloured people in _their_
chapel were incomparably cleaner in that respect.

In the morning a notice had been put into my hand at the Presbyterian
Church for announcement, to the effect that Mr. Bushnel and myself
would address the "monthly concert at the church in Sixth-street" on
the morrow evening. Of this arrangement not a syllable had been said to
me beforehand. This was American liberty, and I quietly submitted to
it. The attendance was not large; and we two missionaries had it all to
ourselves. No other ministers were present,--not even the minister of
the church in which we were assembled. The people, however, seemed
heartily interested in the subject of missions. At the close, a lady
from Manchester, who had seen me there in 1845 at the missionary
meeting, came forward full of affection to shake hands. She was a
member of Mr. Griffin's church in that city, and had removed to America