160 ON THE ST. AUGUSTINE ROAD. 
just mentioned, a colored man came along, 
hat in hand, and a bag of grain balanced on 
his head. 
“ That ’s a large magnolia,” said I. 
He assented. 
“ That’s about as large as magnolias ever 
grow, isn’t it?” 
‘No, sir; down in the gall there’s mag- 
nolias a heap bigger ’n that.” 
“A gall? What’s that?” 
“ A baygall, sir.” 
“And what ’s a baygall?”’ 
“ A big wood.” 
« And why do you call it a baygall?” 
He was stumped, it was plain to see. No 
doubt he would have scratched his head, if 
that useful organ had been accessible. He 
hesitated ; but it isn’t like an uneducated 
man to confess ignorance. “Cause it’s a 
desert,” he said, “a thick place.” 
“Yes, yes,” I answered, and he resumed 
his march. 
The road was traveled mostly by negroes. 
On Sunday afternoons it looked quite like 
a flower garden, it was so full of bright 
dresses coming home from church. ‘ Now’ 
days folks git religion so easy!” one young 
