Iola Leroy by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper (books you need to read .txt) 📕

Dr. Latimer, “we have the fearful grinding and friction which comes in the course of an adjustment of the new machinery of freedom in the old ruts of slavery. But I am optimistic enough to believe that there will yet be a far higher and better Christian civilization than our country has ever known.”

“And in that civilization I believe the negro is to be an important factor,” said Rev. Cantnor.

“I believe it also,” said Miss Delany, hopefully, “and this thought has been a blessed inspiration to my life. When I come in contact with Christless prejudices, I feel that my life is too much a part of the Divine plan, and invested with too much intrinsic worth, for me to be the least humiliated by indignities that beggarly souls can inflict. I feel more pitiful than resentful to those who do not know how much they miss by living mean, ignoble lives.”

“My heart,” said Iola, “is full of hope for the future. Pain and suffering are the crucibles out of which come gold more fine than the pavements of heaven, and gems more precious than the foundations of the Holy City.”

“If,” said Mrs. Leroy, “pain and suffering are factors in human development, surely we have not been counted too worthless to suffer.”

“And is there,” continued Iola, “a path which we have trodden in this country, unless it be the path of sin, into which Jesus Christ has not put His feet and left it luminous with the light of His steps? Has the negro been poor and homeless? The birds of the air had nests and the foxes had holes, but the Son of man had not where to lay His head. Has our name been a synonym for contempt? ‘He shall be called a Nazarene.’ Have we been despised and trodden under foot? Christ was despised and rejected of men. Have we been ignorant and unlearned? It was said of Jesus Christ, ‘How knoweth this man letters, never having learned?’ Have we been beaten and bruised in the prison-house of bondage? ‘They took Jesus and scourged Him.’ Have we been slaughtered, our bones scattered at the graves’ mouth? He was spit upon by the mob, smitten and mocked by the rabble, and died as died Rome’s meanest criminal slave. Today that cross of shame is a throne of power. Those robes of scorn have changed to habiliments of light, and that crown of mockery to a diadem of glory. And never, while the agony of Gethsemane and the sufferings of Calvary have their hold upon my heart, will I recognize any religion as His which despises the least of His brethren.”

As Iola finished, there was a ring of triumph in her voice, as if she were reviewing a path she had trodden with bleeding feet, and seen it change to lines of living light. Her soul seemed to be flashing through the rare loveliness of her face and etherealizing its beauty.

Everyone was spellbound. Dr. Latimer was entranced, and, turning to Hon. Dugdale, said, in a low voice and with deep-drawn breath, “She is angelic!”

Hon. Dugdale turned, gave a questioning look, then replied, “She is strangely beautiful! Do you know her?”

“Yes; I have met her several times. I accompanied her here tonight. The tones of her voice are like benedictions of peace; her words a call to higher service and nobler life.”

Just then Rev. Carmicle was announced. He had been on a Southern tour, and had just returned.

“Oh, Doctor,” exclaimed Mrs. Stillman, “I am delighted to see you. We were about to adjourn, but we will postpone action to hear from you.”

“Thank you,” replied Rev. Carmicle. “I have not the cue to the meeting, and will listen while I take breath.”

“Pardon me,” answered Mrs. Stillman. “I should have been more thoughtful than to press so welcome a guest into service before I had given him time for rest and refreshment; but if the courtesy failed on my lips it did not fail in my heart. I wanted our young folks to see one of our thinkers who had won distinction before the war.”

“My dear friend,” said Rev. Carmicle, smiling, “some of these young folks will look on me as a back number. You know the cry has already gone forth, ‘Young men to the front.’ ”

“But we need old men for counsel,” interposed Mr. Forest, of New York.

“Of course,” said Rev. Carmicle, “we older men would rather retire gracefully than be relegated or hustled to a back seat. But I am pleased to see doors open to you which were closed to us, and opportunities which were denied us embraced by you.”

“How,” asked Hon. Dugdale, “do you feel in reference to our people’s condition in the South?”

“Very hopeful, although at times I cannot help feeling anxious about their future. I was delighted with my visits to various institutions of learning, and surprised at the desire manifested among the young people to obtain an education. Where toil-worn mothers bent beneath their heavy burdens their more favored daughters are enjoying the privileges of education. Young people are making recitations in Greek and Latin where it was once a crime to teach their parents to read. I also became acquainted with colored professors and presidents of colleges. Saw young ladies who had graduated as doctors. Comfortable homes have succeeded old cabins of slavery. Vast crops have been raised by free labor. I read with interest and pleasure a number of papers edited by colored men. I saw it estimated that two millions of our people had learned to read, and I feel deeply grateful to the people who have supplied us with teachers who have stood their ground so nobly among our people.”

“But,” asked Mr. Forest, “you expressed fears about the future of our race. From whence do your fears arise?”

“From the unfortunate conditions which slavery has entailed upon that section of our country. I dread the results of that racial feeling which ever and anon breaks out into restlessness and crime. Also, I am concerned about the lack of home training for those