and left the poor, child-like
freedman in a physical state of destitution, and in a perfect
bewilderment of mind as to who his true friend really was.

A faithful negro of Jehossee Island was but one among thousands of such
cases. While the tumult of war vexed the land, the faithful negro
overseer remained at his post to guard his late master's property,
supporting himself by the manufacture of salt, and living in the most
frugal manner to be able to "lay by" a sum for his old age. Having saved
five hundred dollars, he deposited them in the nearest Freedman's bank,
which, though _fathered_ by the United States government, failed; and
the now destitute negro found himself stripped in the same moment of his
hard-earned savings, and his confidence in his new protectors.

As the war of the rebellion was slowly drawing to its close, Mr.
Lincoln's kind heart was drawn towards his erring countrymen, and he
made a list of the names of the wisest and best men of the south, who,
not having taken an active part in the strife, might be intrusted with
the task of bringing back the unruly states to their constitutional
relations with the national government. Governor Aiken was informed that
his name was upon that list; and he would gladly have accepted the
onerous position, and labored in the true interests of the whole people,
but the pistol of an assassin closed the life of the President, whose
generous plans of reconstruction were never realized.

In the birth of our new Centennial let us eschew the political
charlatan, and bring forward our statesmen to serve and govern a people,
who, to become a unit of strength, must ever bear in mind the words of
the great southern statesman, who said he knew "no north, no south, no
east, no west; but one undivided country."

On Monday, at ten A. M., two negroes assisted me to launch my craft
from the river's bank at the mouth of the canal, for the tide was very
low. As I settled myself for a long pull at the oars, the face of one of
the blacks was seemingly rent in twain, as a huge mouth opened, and a
pair of strong lungs sent forth these parting words: "_Bully for
Massachusetts!_"

"How did you know I came from Massachusetts?" I called out from the
river.

"I knows de cuts ob dem. I suffered at Fort Wagner. Dis chile knows
Massachusetts."

Two miles further on, Bull Creek served me as a "cut-off," and half an
hour after entering it the tide was flooding against me. When Goat
Island