them with due solemnity to the festival of prayer.  The preacher comes when the spirit prompts, or as circumstances may impel or permit.  The news of his arrival passes from farm to farm, from house to house; placards announce it from the trees on the roadside, parallel, it may be, with an advertisement for strayed oxen, as we have seen it numberless times; and a day does not well elapse before it is in possession of everybody who might well avail themselves of its promise for the ensuing Sunday.  The parson comes to the house of one of his auditory a night or two before; messages and messengers are despatched to this and that neighbor, who despatch in turn to other neighbors.  The negroes, delighting in a service and occasion of the kind—­in which, by-the-way, they generally make the most conspicuous figures—­though somewhat sluggish as couriers usually, are now not merely ready, but actually swift of foot.  The place of worship and the preacher are duly designated, and, by the time appointed, as if the bell had tolled for their enlightenment, the country assembles at the stated place; and though the preacher may sometimes fail of attendance, the people never do.

The spot appointed for the service of the day was an old grove of gigantic oaks, at a distance of some five or six miles from the village of Chestatee.  The village itself had not been chosen, though having the convenience of a building, because of the liberal desire entertained by those acting on the occasion to afford to others living at an equal distance the same opportunities without additional fatigue.  The morning was a fine one, all gayety and sunshine—­the road dry, elevated, and shaded luxuriantly with the overhanging foliage—­the woods having the air of luxury and bloom which belonged to them at such a season, and the prospect, varied throughout by the wholesome undulations of valley and hill, which strongly marked the face of the country, greatly enlivened the ride to the eye of our young traveller.  Everything contributed to impart a cheering influence to his senses; and with spirits and a frame newly braced and invigorated, he felt the bounding motion of the steed beneath him with an animal exultation, which took from his countenance that look of melancholy which had hitherto clouded it.

As our two friends proceeded on their way, successive and frequent groups crossed their route, or fell into it from other roads—­some capriciously taking the by-paths and Indian tracks through the woods, but all having the same object in view, and bending to the same point of assemblage.  Here gayly pranced on a small cluster of the young of both sexes, laughing with unqualified glee at the jest of some of their companions—­while in the rear, the more staid, the antiques and those rapidly becoming so, with more measured gait, paced on in suite.  On the road-side, striding on foot with step almost as rapid as that of the riders, came at intervals, and one after the other, the now trimly-dressed slaves of this or that plantation—­all devoutly bent on the place of meeting.  Some of the whites carried their double-barrelled guns, some their rifles—­it being deemed politic, at that time, to prepare for all contingencies, for the Indian or for the buck, as well as for the more direct object of the journey.