182 A BOOK-LOVER S HOLIDAYS 



with us were kindly, hard-working men, expert 

 in their profession. One, who handled the 

 hounds of two Mississippi planters, was a man 

 in many respects of really high and fine char 

 acter; although in certain other respects his 

 moral standards were too nearly those of some 

 of the Old Testament patriarchs to be quite 

 suitable for the present century. These black 

 hunters possessed an extensive and on the 

 whole accurate knowledge of the habits of the 

 wild creatures, and yet mingled with this knowl 

 edge was a mass of firmly held nonsense about 

 hoop-snakes, snakes with poisonous stings in 

 their tails, and the like. Most, although not 

 all, of them were very superstitious and easily 

 frightened if alone at night. Their ghost- 

 stories were sometimes to me quite senseless; 

 I did not know enough of the workings of their 

 minds to understand what they meant. Those 

 stories that were understandable usually had in 

 them something of the grotesque and the inade 

 quate. By daylight the black hunters would 

 themselves laugh at their own fears; and even 

 at night, when fully believing what they were 

 telling, they would seriously insert details that 

 struck us as too comic for grave acceptance. 

 The story that most insistently lingers in my 

 mind will explain my meaning. 



