or, old Gid, and an Englishman named Anthony Low
were sitting on the porch overlooking the river when the Catholic priest
from Maryland, Father Brennon, stopped to get a drink of water. And he
was slowly making his way across the yard to the well when the Major
called him, urging him to come upon the porch and rest himself. "Wait,"
the Major added, "and I'll have some water drawn for you."

"I thank you," the priest replied, bowing, "but I prefer to draw it."
When he had drunk out of the bucket, he took a seat on the porch. He was
a man of middle age, grave, and sturdy. His eyes were thoughtful and his
smile was benevolent; his brow was high and broad, his nose large and
strong, and a determined conviction seemed to have molded the shape of
his mouth. His speech was slow, resonant, dignified; his accent of
common words was Southern, but in some of his phrases was a slight burr,
the subdued echo of a foreign tongue.

The Englishman was a stocky young fellow, with light hair and reddish
side whiskers, a man of the world, doggedly careful in his use of
superlatives, but with a habit of saying, "most extraordinary." He had
rented an old plantation and lived alone in a dilapidated log house,
with his briar pipe, Scotch whisky, sole leather hatbox, and tin
bathtub. He had thought that it would be a sort of lark to grow a crop
of cotton, and had hired three sets of negroes, discharging them in turn
upon finding that they laughed at his ways and took advantage of his
inexperience. He had made his first appearance by calling one morning at
the Major's house and asking to be shown about the place. The Major
gladly consented to do this, and together they set out on horseback.

The planter knew much of English hospitality, gathered from old
romances, and now was come the time to show a Britain what an American
gentleman could do. They rode down a lane, crossed a small field, and
halted under a tree; and there was a negro with whisky, mint and sugar.
They crossed a bayou, passed the "quarters," turned into the woods; and
there was another negro with whisky, mint and sugar. They rode across a
large field, and went through a gate, came to a spring; and there
waiting for them was a negro with liquor for a julep. They turned into
the "big" road, trotted along until they came to another spring, at
least three miles from the starting point; and there was a negro with
whisky, sugar and mint. But the Englishman's only comment was, "Ah,
mo