I must write you something of the little school for colored children which I found in Salisbury Maryland (the terminus of the Del., Newcastle, &c. R.R.), all was so encouraging. Having many letters from our men, to deliver in this town, I immediately inquired for Charles Pollitt, the colored preacher, of whom the soldiers have always spoken with love and reverence. Turning into a little lane, I passed between neat fences and pretty gardens, until I came to "Uncle's" house, standing amid hyacinths and narcissuses, the pebbly walk bordered with aldies-delligths and pure primroses, and all fresh and tidy, as thought he gentleness of these poor people had found expression in the flowers they cherish so lovingly. I found Charles's wife at home; a noble stately woman with that proud melancholy in her eyes I have often observed among these people. She received me with quiet courtesy and I saw at once that I must produce my credentials before receiving the confidence I desired. Opening my budget of letters, I soon assured her of my sincerity; and, as she gradually became aware that I was really her friend, it was beautiful to see the joy that lighted the worn features. "How I loves you, coz I knows you's a fren to me!" she said, as she turned to go for Uncle Charles. During her absence I took occasion to study the room. It would have charmed you to see the neatness of every thing in this tiny parlor.

The snow-white counterpane, the bright rag carpet, the carefully scrubbed hearth-stones and threshold, the orderly arrangement of furniture and the little treasures upon the whatnot, which only these simple hearts can understand, all filled me with interest and pleasure, as the loveliest expression of what is pure and beautiful in a poor and despised people. Streaming in the open doorway, came the sunlit air, laden with the delicious aroma of hyacinths and peach-blossoms. Along the village street, I heard the cries of happy children, reveling in their "recess," while from the gardens floated sounds of life and joy as the little ones pattered over the shining walks. Uncle Charles soon came, ushered in by his wife as though he were a king. There was something really princely in his step, and his presence was high and commanding. Standing full six feet, his frame was powerful and muscular, the features noble though not handsome, and in the wrinkles of the forehead, a magnanimity as though the fires that have burned up into his life had left only ashes of forgiveness, not of wrathful revenge such as we feel for him.

He steps proudly over the threshold beyond which lies the treasures reclaimed from bitter bondage by years of patient labor, and I think no crowned head of the Old World is so stately as this. I hurry back with him to his school, "recess" being over. There, in a room twenty by thirty feet, I find his precious charge. Sixty merry little children seated at their benches, and looking bright and happy as only innocence can look. The oldest is thirteen, the youngest four; and they are ranged according to their tasks, --the boys on one side of the room, the girls on the other. The approach of as stranger is the signal for that delicious license all schoolboys appreciate; and , being introduced to the female teacher I studiously engaged her in conversation while the pandemonium behind me grows more and more reckless, and I am aware of wrestling matches under the seats, and of other liberties, which only the happy presence of a visitor allows. A word from the teacher, however, restored perfect order, and the classes resume their study and recitation. One by one, the little innocents tottle to where Uncle Charles sits, and standing by his knee, trace the delicate symbols he would have them understand and love. It is the most touching sight I have ever seen, and as this old man bends over these children, so lovingly and tenderly, it seems as if nothing could be more beautiful. The more advanced classes are entrusted to the are of the lady; a colored teacher from Baltimore, to whom is due the credit of having brought the children to a proficiency that surprises and delightsome. A class, whose ages varied between four and eight years, read remarkably well, and their teacher told me all in the class had been through the reader twice. Then they spelled, and recite3d in arithmetic, until I was fairly astonished, considering that the school had been in operation only a year. Now, all this is the result of Uncle Charles's care and effort. Without the aid of a single white person, and their friends here may be counted upon the fingers of one hand, he went to work bravely, bought the little school house, organized a committee, established the price of tuition, "fifty cents a head per week," and closed the year with an exhibition, at which the little ones declaimed and sang "very well" the teacher said. Had I discredited the interesting history of this school, and doubted the self-reliance of Uncle Charles, a canvass of this pretty yet despised village had readily assured me of the absence of white sympathy. And when I walked along the street where the colored people live, and saw the fresh gardens, the little green turf, plots decked with primroses and ladies-delights, the delicate blow of peach-trees half concealing the white-washed cottages with their mossy roofs; when I saw the children at play, well clothed, and the matrons faultlessly neat and tidy, a and all so happy and bright, I felt that God had indeed tempered the winds to his shorn lambs, and that, low upon the threshold, by the beautiful dawn in whose light they stand, these simple childlike hearts have laid away the sorrows and the grief of nearly half a century. Were it not too late for argument, I would take my enemy by the hand and lead him through this quiet village street; if the children and the flowers failed to teach him, then, why, then, the bayonet. Sometime I will tell you how I spoke to the people in their church that evening, and how they loved to hear of old John Brown. And when one has felt the exquisite joy and gratitude evinced by these patient souls in return for simple humanity, it seems as if we could not do too much for them, or revere too tenderly the patience and trust with which they bear their burdens. I will write soon of the colored people in Worcester County, and of the injustice which continues as if there were no authority in the State, military or civil, save to protect and encourage this "white trash."

Always gratefully yours,
STORROW HIGGINSON.