rough every vein as if
thrilled by electricity, and a man of lively temperament can scarcely
restrain his legs from dancing a 'breakdown.' We rode rapidly on through
a timbered country, where the tall trees grew up close by the roadside,
locking their huge arms high in the air, and the long, graceful, black
moss hung like mourning drapery from their great branches. The green
pine-tassels, which carpeted the ground, crackled beneath our horses'
feet, and breathed a grateful odor around us; and the soft autumn wind,
which rustled the leaves and swayed the tops of the old trees, sang a
pleasant song over our heads. Every pine bore the scars of the
turpentine axe, and here and there we came upon a patch of woods where
the negroes were gathering the 'last dipping;' and now and then we
passed an open clearing where a poor planter was at work with a few
field hands. Occasionally we forded a small stream, where, high up on
the bank, was a rude ferry, which served in the rainy season as a
miserable substitute for a bridge; and once in a while, far back from
the road, we caught sight of an old country-seat, whose dingy, unpainted
walls, broken down fences, and dilapidated surroundings reminded one
that shiftless working men, and careless, reckless proprietors, are the
natural products of slavery. Thus we rode on for several hours, till,
turning a slight bend in the road, we suddenly halted before the gateway
of my friend's plantation. I had observed for half a mile that the woods
which lined the wayside were clear of underbrush, the felled trees
trimmed, and their branches carefully piled in heaps, and the rails,
which in other places straggled about in the road, were doing their
appropriate duty on the fences; and I said to Preston:

'I am glad to see you are as good at planting as you are at preaching.'

'Bless you,' he replied, 'it isn't me--it's Joe. Joe is acknowledged to
be the best farmer in Jones county.'

At the gateway we met such a greeting as is unknown all the world over,
outside of a Southern plantation. Perched in the fences, swinging on the
gate, and hanging from the trees, were a score of young ebonies of both
sexes, who, as we came in sight, set up a chorus of discordant shouts
that made the woods ring. Among the noises I made out: 'Gorry, massa am
come!' 'Dar dey is.' 'Dat'm de strange gem-man.' 'How's 'ou, massa?'
'Glad 'ou's come, massa; 'peared like we'd neber see 'ou no more,
massa;' and a multitude of si