The sun had set, and I began to be anxious to find a place of rest for
the night, after a day's ride under a sultry sun. I was travelling in
South Carolina, and was now not far from a branch of the Cooper river.
The country here is a dead level, and its surface is covered with thinly
scattered pines. I came to an old church--it stood solitary; not a house
in sight: it was built of wood, and much decayed. The breezes of evening
were gently sighing through the tops of the long-leaved pines which
stood near; while still nearer stood several large live-oaks, which
spread out their aged arms, as if to shelter what was sacred. On their
limbs hung, in graceful folds, the long grey moss, as if a mantle of
mourning, waving over a few decayed tombs at the east side of the
church. These oaks give the place a very sombre and awful appearance;
they seemed to stand as silent mourners over the dust of generations
that had sunk into the grave, and waiting in solemn expectation that
others would soon come and lie beneath their shade in the long sleep of
death. The time of day, and the sacredness of the spot, were so
congenial to my own feelings, that I involuntarily stopped my horse.

My curiosity was now excited by seeing a very aged negro standing and
gazing steadily on a small decaying tomb. He seemed to be intent, and
did not observe me; his woolly locks were whitened by age; his
countenance was manly, though it bore the marks of sorrow; he was
leaning on his smooth-worn staff, the companion of many years. I was
somewhat surprised on seeing this aged African silently meditating among
the vestiges of the dead, and accordingly roused him from his reverie.
He started at first, but his confidence was soon gained. There is a
spring in the bosom of every Christian, which throws a joy into his
heart whenever he meets a fellow-christian during his pilgrimage here
below. I found the old negro to be an eminent Christian, and we were
soon acquainted. I inquired what motive induced him, at that hour of the