Passing along one Wednesday night—for evening at the South, is our afternoon—in Montgomery, Alabama, I stepped into the Presbyterian lecture room, where a slave was preaching: "My bredren," says he, "God bless your souls, 'ligion is like the Alabam river! In spring, come fresh, an' bring in all de ole logs, slabs an' sticks, dat had ben lyin' on de bank, an' carry dem down in de current. Bymeby de water go down—den a log catch here on dis island, den a slab gets cotched on de shore, an' de sticks on de bushes—and dare da lie, with'rin' and dryin' till come 'nother fresh. Jus' so dare come 'vival of 'ligion—dis ole sinner bro't in, dat ole backslider bro't back, an' all de folk seem comin', an' mighty good times. But, bredren, God bless your souls; bymeby 'vival's gone—den dis ole sinner is stuck on his ole sin, den dat ole backslider is cotched where he was afore, on jus' such a rock; den one after 'nother dat had got 'ligion lies all along de shore, an' dare dey lie till 'nother 'vival. Beloved bredren, God bless your souls, keep in de current." I thought his illustration beautiful enough for a more elegant dress, and too true, alas! of others than his own race.—Christian Herald.