dressed in the white muslin and the black shoes, which is my gala get-up,
and a carriage is sent for me. Then aunty and I are driven to the Concert
Hall, where, when my turn comes, I go on the platform and sing, "Casta
Diva," "Ah, non Credea," etc., and if I am encored then I sing, "Coming
Thro' the Rye."

I am sure every one says that it is a shame to make me sing, but they make
me sing, all the same. I enjoy the applause and the excitement--who would
not? What I do _not_ enjoy is being obliged to sing in church every
Sunday. Dr. Hoppin has persuaded aunty to let me help in the choir; that
is, to sing the Anthem and the "Te Deum," but it amounts to my doing about
all the singing. Don't you think this is cruel? However, there is one hymn
I love to sing, and that is, "Shout the Glad Tidings, Exultingly Sing." I
put my whole heart and soul in this, and soon find myself shouting the
"glad tidings" all alone, my companions having left me in the lurch.

We laughed very much at aunty's efforts in the Anti-slavery movement (just
now at its height), when all Massachusetts has risen up with a bound in
order to prove that the blacks are as good as the whites (if not better),
and should have all their privileges. She, wishing to demonstrate this
point, introduced Joshua Green, a little colored boy (the washerwoman's
son), into the Sunday-school class. The general indignation among the
white boys did not dismay her, as she hoped that Joshua would come up to
the mark. The answer to the first question in the catechism (what is your
name?), he knew, and answered boldly, "Joshua Green." But the second
question, "Who made you?" was the stumbling-block. He sometimes answered,
"Father," and sometimes, "Mother." Aunty, being afraid that he would
answer, "Miss Fay," had him come to the house during the week, where she
could din into him that it was God who made him and all creation. "Now,
Joshua, when Dr. Hoppin says to you, 'Who made you?' you must answer,