04 I GO A- FISHING. 



(the blackest and best of negroes) on the seat beside 

 him. 



It was six miles to the church, up hill and down, yet 

 mostly by a shaded road through forests. The horses 

 jogged on slowly, for they are never hurried on a Sunday. 

 We came up the hill toward the cross roads, where the 

 old church stands, and as we approached, other wagons 

 very like ours were coming in from all directions. Driv- 

 ing up to the church door they deposited their loads, and 

 the men took them to the shed, or to the grove of trees 

 back of the church, and made the horses fast, to await the 

 close of morning service. 



We dismounted at the stone step, and entered the gate 

 in front of the church together, walking through a crowd 

 of men who congregate at the door, and wait the close of 

 the first prayer before they enter. The custom is hea- 

 thenish, but is as reverently observed as is the going to 

 church at all; and no preaching or lecturing avails to 

 make them come in and take their seats before the serv- 

 ice commences. 



This assembly is the weekly interchange of news ; and 

 the crops, weather, and general prospects of the season 

 are freely discussed at the church door. This morning 

 the death of the old farmer was the chief topic of conver- 

 sation, and a gloom fell on all, for all loved him. It 

 seemed as if death had come into a family, so deep was 

 the feeling manifested by those who now first heard the 

 news. And in the church I saw many old persons weep- 

 ing all the morning; and why should they not weep? 

 For he was eighty-three years their companion and friend, 

 and if eighty years of living together in the same world, 

 the same county, the same congregation ; if eighty years 

 of worship together in the same church, at the same altar, 



