“Oh, march, de angel, march! oh, march, de angel, march!  My soul arise in heab’n, Lord, Fur to hear de ven Jordan roll!”

The “Mr. Fuller” referred to was their former minister, to whom they seem to have been much attached.  He is a Southerner, but loyal, and is now, I believe, living in Baltimore.  After the sermon the minister called upon one of the elders, a gray-headed old man, to pray.  His manner was very fervent and impressive, but his language was so broken that to our unaccustomed ears it was quite unintelligible.  After the services the people gathered in groups outside, talking among themselves, and exchanging kindly greetings with the superintendents and teachers.  In their bright handkerchiefs and white aprons they made a striking picture under the gray-mossed trees.  We drove afterward a mile farther, to the Episcopal Church, in which the aristocracy of the island used to worship.  It is a small white building, situated in a fine grove of live-oaks, at the junction of several roads.  On one of the tombstones in the yard is the touching inscription in memory of two children,—­“Blessed little lambs, and art thou gathered into the fold of the only true shepherd?  Sweet lillies of the valley, and art thou removed to a more congenial soil?” The floor of the church is of stone, the pews of polished oak.  It has an organ, which is not so entirely out of tune as are the pianos on the island.  One of the ladies played, while the gentlemen sang,—­old-fashioned New-England church-music, which it was pleasant to hear, but it did not thrill us as the singing of the people had done.

During the week we moved to Oaklands, our future home.  The house was of one story, with a low-roofed piazza running the whole length.  The interior had been thoroughly scrubbed and whitewashed; the exterior was guiltless of whitewash or paint.  There were five rooms, all quite small, and several dark little entries, in one of which we found shelves lined with old medicine-bottles.  These were a part of the possessions of the former owner, a Rebel physician, Dr. Sams by name.  Some of them were still filled with his nostrums.  Our furniture consisted of a bedstead, two bureaus, three small pine tables, and two chairs, one of which had a broken back.  These were lent to us by the people.  The masters, in their hasty flight from the islands, left nearly all their furniture; but much of it was destroyed or taken by the soldiers who came first, and what they left was removed by the people to their own houses.  Certainly, they have the best right to it.  We had made up our minds to dispense with all luxuries and even many conveniences; but it was rather distressing to have no fire, and nothing to eat.  Mr. H. had already appropriated a room for the store which he was going to open for the benefit of the freed people, and was superintending the removal of his goods.  So L. and I were left to our own resources.  But Cupid the elder came