ertaken by a storm.

Hurriedly performing my toilet, I descended to the drawing-room, where I
found the family assembled. After the usual morning salutations were
exchanged, a signal from the mistress caused the sounding of a bell in
the hall, and some ten or twelve men and women house-servants, of
remarkably neat and tidy appearance, among whom was my darky driver,
entered the apartment. They took a stand at the remote end of the room,
and our host, opening a large, well-worn family BIBLE, read the
fifty-fourth chapter of Isaiah. Then, all kneeling, he made a short
extemporaneous petition, closing with the LORD'S Prayer; all present,
black as well as white, joining in it. Then Heber's beautiful hymn,
"From Greenland's icy mountains," was sung; the negroes, to my ear,
making much better music than the whites.

The services over, we adjourned to the dining-room, and after we were
seated, the "Colonel" remarked to me: "Did you notice how finely that
negro 'boy' (he was fully forty years old) sung?"

"Yes," I replied, "I did. Do you know him, sir?"

"Oh! yes, very well. His mistress wishes to sell him, but finds
difficulty in doing so. Though a likely negro, people will not buy him.
He's too smart."

"That strikes me as a singular objection," I remarked.

"Oh! no, not at all! These _knowing_ niggers frequently make a world of
trouble on a plantation."

It was after ten o'clock before we were ready to start. The mills, the
negro-quarters, and various other parts of the plantation, and then
several vessels moored at the wharf, had to be seen before I could get
away. Finally, I bade my excellent host and his family farewell, and
with nearly as much regret as I ever felt at leaving my own home. I had
experienced the much-heard-of Southern hospitality, and had found the
report far below the reality.

The other guest had taken his leave some time before, but not till he
had given me a cordial invitation to return by the way I came, and spend
a day or two with him, at his plantation on the river, some twenty miles
below.

The sky was lowery, and the sandy road heavy with the recent rain, when
we started. The gloomy weather seemed to have infected the driver as
well as myself. He had lost the mirthfulness and loquacity of the
previous day, and we rode on for a full hour in silence. Tiring at last
of my own thoughts, I said to him: "Scip, what is the matter with you?
what makes you so gloomy?"

"Nuffin, massa; I war on