When we arose from this refreshing rest we found that the session of court had brought this throng, and we were soon surrounded with visitors, who kept us constantly conversing and almost incessantly weaving baskets for their amusement.  These people not only bought large stores of my work, but their talk sent crowds of people from far and near, all of whom made purchases of some kind.  Such was the interest of every member of the bar and every attendant upon court that the four days I spent there completely exhausted me, physically and mentally.

Finding there were no other important towns beyond Evergreen, I returned to Montgomery and repaired to Savannah, Georgia, where I was treated with the most genial generosity, and should have been repaid for a trip to that place in a visit to its cemetery, whose reputation has been spread throughout the length and breadth of our land, and whose strange, sad beauty is so infinitely beyond the conceptions of imagination, but which—­

    “To be remembered
    Needs but to be seen.”

Its grounds are densely grown with trees of live oak, whose huge and spreading branches, seeming to bear the size and strength of a century’s growth; with the dark, drooping moss, which, as it mingles its weird, fantastic drapery with the bending, swaying, weeping willow, seems like a pall for the graves hidden in its sombre shades; while the millions of birds which dwell therein lull their warbling notes to the measure of a low funeral song; and every sound of Nature’s many-voiced music seems to murmur a requiem for the dead.  As I sat subdued and listening, the low, rustling sound of the wind seemed as a sigh of sorrow escaping the breast of the bereaved, and I could picture in the far away land of Palestine that sacred spot which had so often been described to me, even the “Church of the Holy Sepulchre.”

This most benevolent city of Georgia, without solicitation, presented me passes to Jacksonville and Tallahassee, Fla.  The former was at that time quite an unimportant place, but has since become a popular resort.

While in Tallahassee I met with great sympathy and kindness from Governor Rood, who bought a book and handed me five dollars.  When change was tendered to him he quietly and respectfully declined, and said with his usual delicacy that it was worth that much to him.

The Sheriff of the county was also very generous.  Wishing to present me with ten dollars, and fearing to wound me by so doing, he ordered that amount of bead-work.

Tallahassee was certainly the most quiet Capital City I had ever visited, resting in its placid loveliness apparently undisturbed by the usual wrangle of legislation.

We returned via Live Oaks, at which place we encountered one of those severe thunderstorms known only to tropical lands, and in which the angry “war of elements” strikes terror to the hearts of those unschooled to it.  All through its thundering and lightning, its wind and torrent, I was in such a state of nervous excitement, that when the last lurid light faded, the last crash was echoed by a low reverberating moan and died away, I gave one deep sigh of intense relief and sank exhausted from the reaction.