ur
parish work. I trust it is cooler there than here in Florida, where the
thermometer has registered higher day after day than it has before in
years. I rather like it, however, as I am something of a salamander, and
this, you know, is not my first experience in Florida. I was here
between thirty and forty years ago, before I was married. In fact, I met
your mother here at the Brock House, which before the war was frequented
by many Southerners, some of whom came in the summer as well as in the
winter.

"It was while I was here that an incident occurred which made a strong
impression upon my mind, and was recalled to it by your mention of
_Crompton_ as the town where you are living. On one of the hottest days
of the season I attended a funeral, the saddest, and, in some respects,
the most peculiar I ever attended. It was in a log-house some miles from
the river, and was that of a young girl, who lay in her coffin with a
pathetic look on her face, as if in death she were pleading for some
wrong to be righted. I could scarcely keep back my tears when I looked
at her, and after all these years my eyes grow moist when I recall that
funeral in the palmetto clearing, with only Crackers and negroes in
attendance, a demented old woman, a dark-eyed little girl, the only
relatives, and a free negro, Jake, and Mandy Ann, a slave, belonging to
Mrs. Harris, the only real mourners. Mandy Ann attended to the child and
old woman, while Jake was master of ceremonies, and more intelligent
than many white people I have met. Such a funeral as that was, with the
cries and groans and singing of both whites and blacks! One old woman,
called Judy, came near having the _power_, as they call a kind of fit of
spiritual exaltation. But Jake shook her up, and told her to behave, as
it was a 'Piscopal funeral and not a pra'r meetin'. Mandy Ann also shook
up the old lady, Mrs. Harris, and screamed in her ear through a trumpet,
while the little dark-eyed child joined in the refrain of the negroes'
song,

"'Oh, it will be joyful
When we meet to part no more.'

"It was ludicrous, but very sad, and Jake's efforts to keep order were
pitiful. He called his young mistress Miss Dory, and was most anxious to
screen her from the least suspicion of wrong. When I questioned him with
regard to the parentage of the little girl, he wrung his hands and
answered, 'I do' know for shu', but fo' God it's all right. She tole me
so, fo' she died, an' Miss D