"Certainly, my dear; for heaven is one glorious temple, and God is the light of it; and into it will be gathered all those who love the Lord Jesus Christ, to dwell in his presence, in fullness of joy, for ever. But Henry, my darling, why did you ask such a question? Don't you want poor old Dinah to go to the same heaven that we do?"
"Oh, yes, mamma, I love Dinah, and I want her to go to our heaven; but last Sunday papa told me that the angels were every one fair and beautiful, and Jacob Sanders says Dinah is a homely old darkey. Now, how can she change, mamma?"
Henry's mother saw at once where the difficulty lay in her little boy's mind; so, putting aside her work, she took the child up on her knee, and explained the matter to him.
"Henry," said she, "I am sorry to hear that Jacob Sanders calls Dinah a darkey; for those who are so unfortunate as to have a black skin don't like to be called that or any other bad name. They have trouble enough without that, and I hope you will never, never do it. They like best to be called colored persons, and we should always try to please them. We should pity them, and try to relieve their sorrows, and not increase them. Don't you think so?"
"Yes, ma, and I do love Dinah, and I don't care if she isn't white, like you."
"Neither does God, our heavenly Father, care, Henry, about the color of the skin. The Bible says, 'God is no respecter of persons; but in every nation, he that feareth him and worketh righteousness, is accepted with him.' God looks at the soul more than at the body. Nothing colors THE SOUL but sin. That stains and blackens it all over, and only the blood of Jesus Christ can wash it pure and white again. But every soul that has been washed and made white in the blood of the Lamb will be welcomed into heaven, with songs of great rejoicing; and all will dwell together in peace and purity, and love and great happiness for ever.
"Poor old Dinah is one of God's dear children. She loves the dear Saviour very much, and tries in every way to please and honor him; and she is looking forward with great pleasure to the time when she shall drop that infirm, old, black body, and be clothed with light as an angel. I shall be glad for her,—sha'n't you, darling?"
"Yes, indeed, mamma,—so glad;" and the little boy's mind was henceforth at rest on that point.
But I must tell my readers who old Dinah Johnson was. Once she was a slave; but when she had become so old that her busy head and hands and feet could do no more service for her master, he had set her free. Of course, she was glad to be free,—to feel that she could go where she liked, and do as she pleased, and keep all the money she could earn for herself. Precious little it was, though, for her sight was growing dim, and her hands and feet were all distorted with rheumatism; and what with pains and poverty and old age, her strength was fast wasting. But she was happy, really happy.
If you could have looked upon her, though, you wouldn't have supposed she had any thing to be happy about. With a skin black as night, hair gray and scanty, her face was as homely as homely could be, and her limbs were weak and tottering. The old, unpainted house she lived in shook and creaked with every blast of the wintry wind, and the snow drifted in at every crack and crevice. Her furniture was very poor, and her food mean. But it is not what we see outside that makes people happy. Oh, no; happiness springs from the inside. The fountain is in the heart, from which the streams of joy and gladness flow.