to accept payment
for his hospitality. He was very proud of his present, and said,
feelingly, "No one shall touch this but me." His good wife had baked
some of a rich and very nice variety of sweet-potatoes, unlike those we
get in New Jersey or the other Middle States--which potatoes she kindly
added to my stores. They are not dry or mealy when cooked, but seem
saturated with honey. The poor woman's gift now occupied the space
formerly taken up by the blanket I had given her husband.

From this day, as latitude after latitude was crossed on my way
southward, I distributed every article I could spare, among these poor,
kind-hearted people. Mr. Macgregor went in his Rob Roy canoe over the
rivers of Europe, "diffusing cheerfulness and distributing Evangelical
tracts." I had no room for tracts, and if I had followed the example of
my well-intentioned predecessor in canoeing, it would have served the
cause of truth or creed but little. The Crackers could not read, and but
few of the grown negroes had been taught letters. They did not want
books, but tobacco. Men and women hailed me from the banks as I glided
along in my canoe, with, "Say, captain, hab you eny 'bacca or snuff for
dis chile?" Poor humanity! The Cracker and the freedman fill alike their
places according to the light they possess. Do we, who have been taught
from our youth sacred things, do more than this? Do we love our neighbor
as ourself?

For twenty miles (local authority) I journeyed down the stream, without
seeing a human being or a dwelling-place, to Stanley's house and the
bridge; from which I urged the canoe thirty-five miles further, passing
an old field on a bluff, when darkness settled on the swamps, and a
heavy mist rose from the waters and enveloped the forests in its folds.
With not a trace of land above water I groped about, running into what
appeared to be openings in the submerged land, only to find my canoe
tangled in thickets. It was useless to go further, and I prepared to
ascend to the forks of a giant tree, with a light rope, to be used for
lashing my body into a safe position, when a long, low cry engaged my
attention.

"Waugh! ho! ho! ho! peig--peig--pe-ig--pe-ig," came through the still,
thick air. It was not an owl, nor a catamount that cried thus; nor was
it the bark of a fox. It was the voice of a Cracker calling in his hogs
from the forest. This sound was indeed pleasant to my ears, for I knew
the upland was near, and that a war