extraordinary woman.'

'Whose negroes are those, Colonel?' I asked, as, after a while, we
passed a gang of about a dozen, at work near the roadside. Some were
tending a tar-kiln, and some engaged in cutting into fire-wood the pines
which a recent tornado had thrown to the ground.

'They are mine, but they are working now for themselves. I let such as
will, work on Sunday. I furnish the "raw material," and pay them for
what they do, as I would a white man.'

'Would'nt it be better to make them go to hear the old preacher;
could'nt they learn something from him?'

'Not much; Old Pomp never read anything but the Bible, and he don't
understand that; besides, they can't be taught. You can't make "a
whistle out of a pig's tail;" you can't make a nigger into a white man.'

Just here the carriage stopped suddenly, and we looked out to see the
cause. The road by which we had come was a mere opening through the
pines; no fences separated it from the wooded land, and being seldom
traveled, the track was scarcely visible. In many places it widened to a
hundred feet, but in others tall trees had grown up on its opposite
sides, and there was scarcely width enough for a single carriage to pass
along. In one of these narrow passages, just before us, a queer-looking
vehicle had upset, and scattered its contents in the road. We had no
alternative but to wait till it got out of the way; and we all alighted
to reconnoitre.

The vehicle was a little larger than an ordinary hand-cart, and was