very few yards' distance, made in
the oddest fashion,--opening in the middle, like folding-doors, for the
accommodation of horsemen. The little boy who accompanied us as
gate-opener answered to the name of Cupid. Arrived at the headquarters
of the general superintendent, Mr. S., we were kindly received by him
and the ladies, and shown into a large parlor, where a cheerful
wood-fire glowed in the grate. It had a home-like look; but still there
was a sense of unreality about everything, and I felt that nothing less
than a vigorous "shaking-up," such as Grandfather Smallweed daily
experienced, would arouse me thoroughly to the fact that I was in South
Carolina.

The next morning L. and I were awakened by the cheerful voices of men
and women, children and chickens, in the yard below. We ran to the
window, and looked out. Women in bright-colored handkerchiefs, some
carrying pails on their heads, were crossing the yard, busy with their
morning work; children were playing and tumbling around them. On every
face there was a look of serenity and cheerfulness. My heart gave a
great throb of happiness as I looked at them, and thought, "They are
free! so long down-trodden, so long crushed to the earth, but now in
their old homes, forever free!" And I thanked God that I had lived to
see this day.

After breakfast Miss T. drove us to Oaklands, our future home. The road
leading to the house was nearly choked with weeds. The house itself was
in a dilapidated condition, and the yard and garden had a sadly
neglected look. But there were roses in bloom; we plucked handfuls of
feathery, fragrant acacia-blossoms; ivy crept along the ground and under
the house. The freed people on the place seemed glad to see us. After
talking with them, and giving some directions for cleaning the house, we
drove to the school, in which I was to teach. It is kept in the Baptist
Church,--a brick building, beautifully situated in a grove of live-oaks.
These trees are the first objects that attract one's attention here: not
that they are finer than our Northern oaks, but because of the singular
gray moss with which every branch is heavily draped. This hanging moss
grows on nearly all the trees, but on none so luxuriantly as on the
live-oak. The pendants are often four or five feet long, very graceful
and beautiful, but giving the trees a solemn, almost funereal look. The
school was opened in September. Many of the children had, however,
received instruction d