farming."

"Your father is Mr. John Cowles, of Cowles' Farms?"

"The same."

"No doubt your family know every one in this part of the country?"

"Oh, yes, very well."

"These are troublous times," he ventured, after a time. "I mean in
regard to this talk of secession of the Southern States."

I was studying this man. What was he doing here in our quiet country
community? What was his errand? What business had a julep-drinking,
horse-riding parson speaking in a Virginia pulpit where only the gospel
was known, and that from exponents worth the name?

"You are from Washington?" I said at length.

He nodded.

"The country is going into deep water one way or the other," said I.
"Virginia is going to divide on slavery. It is not for me, nor for any
of us, to hasten that time. Trouble will come fast enough without our
help."

"I infer you did not wholly approve of my little effort the other
evening. I was simply looking at the matter from a logical standpoint.
It is perfectly clear that the old world must have cotton, that the