tist church, in Harris County, Georgia.
The pastor of the church, for some unknown cause, failed to appear at the hour appointed for service.
We waited for some time and still no preacher.
Then the good old deacon, known by all as Uncle Billy Moore, who had lived by reason of strength beyond the allotted threescore and ten, arose, and said, as the hour for service was passing, as the minister's arrival seemed doubtful, and as the congregation had all assembled, he would suggest that Uncle Sol Mitchell, an old and honored negro, preach for us, as he was present, and a member and preacher in good standing in the Mount Olive church.
There was not even a shadow of an objection to the negro slave's occupying the pulpit, as our friends from the far North were witness.
Ah, friends of the Green Mountain and Bay State, you will, if yet in the flesh, remember with me that Sabbath so long ago in the South, when the negro slave walked up to the pulpit, opened the hymn-book, and announced the