I can bring up now the picture of a green lane.

I can see an old negro woman sweeping the door-yard of her cabin, and she sings a song.

Her husband is at work in the field, and her happy children are fishing in the bayou.

That is the freedom which the government pointed out--the freedom which a God-inspired Lincoln proclaimed.

But do you hear any glad songs among the slaves in the North?
Let me tell you, sir, that we are confronted with a problem that is more serious than that which was solved by Lincoln." Witherspoon looked at him as though he could think of no reply.