Dear E - , It is some time now since I have written to you from this side of the Atlantic. Pray accept my apologies, and at the same time my good wishes for the New Year. As I have never told you anything as yet about our market and post town, I shall begin my letter with a short account of that interesting town, or rather ‘city’ as they call it.

And first, do not confuse this Darien with the Isthmus of Darien, near Panama, in South America. The only thing approaching to an isthmus that we have is a strip of land which formerly joined two parts of General's Island, which island lies between us and the city of Darien. This piece of land had a canal cut through it long before the canal through the great Isthmus of Darien was ever talked about, and was accomplished in this wise - so local tradition tells us. General Oglethorpe, being with his soldiers at Darien, and finding himself hemmed in by the Spaniards, who had blockaded the river Altamaha above and below the town, adopted a bold plan. He sallied forth at night, and with his soldiers cut through General's Island a canal about three-quarters of a mile in length. As their only tools were their swords, and the obstructions in the shape of cypress roots were very great, it was a big undertaking; but they did it, so we are told, and escaped to St. Simon's Island, and the name of that canal to this day bears testimony to the deed, as it is called The General's Cut,’ and it is through that cut that we have to row whenever we want to go to market. Whilst he was about it, I wish he had cut it a little deeper, as, when the tide is low, we get stuck in the cut and have to wait for high water, which is not pleasant, especially on a very hot day (and Christmas week the thermometer stood at 78°, as the muddy banks and low tide are not picturesque or sweet. Having struggled through the cut, we emerge once more into the broad Altamaha, and soon find ourselves at Darien. It is not an imposing city, I am free to confess. It stands on a bluff, i.e. the one piece of high ground between it and Savannah; marshes to the right of it, marshes to the left of it, marshes in front of it. Adjoining the city of Darien is or was the city of Mackintosh, which, however, never existed except on paper. I have seen the plans of that city, and it is marked out with wide streets, fine squares, cemetery, town hall, &c., but it never was seen except on paper, and has lately been incorporated with Darien. The site has a fine frontage of marsh and reeds, and very much resembles Charles Dickens's ‘Eden,’ to which poor Martin and Mark Tapley were allured by the glowing descriptions of the Yankee speculators. I wish it did exist as on paper, as we own the greater part of it. But Darien does exist, and has several wharves along its banks, where occasionally you may see the steamer from Savannah, or a sailing vessel from Liverpool loading timber. It was once a cotton port, but the cotton has gone from it to Savannah; now it is a timber port, and last year did a lively business. This year timber is dull, as the market in Europe is overstocked. The Georgian pine is considered the finest in the world, and therefore there will no doubt be a fresh demand before long. The chief port of Darien is, however, not at Darien, but ten miles down the river, at a place called ‘Doboy,’ and last year there were at one time over sixty vessels waiting to be loaded. Our leading men are the timber merchants, amongst whom are a Northerner, an Irish Canadian, a German, and a Scotchman. They have all come here to make their fortunes, and when they have made them mean to pack up their chattels and go off, as they do not find Darien sufficiently tempting to make it their permanent place of residence. Whilst residing here they do a good deal for the place, and not the least of their meritorious acts is the building of a Protestant Episcopal Church, which they are about to undertake. It is to be built at the expense of three of them, a Presbyterian, Unitarian, and Methodist. This is, to say the least of it, liberal in every sense of the word, and the sort of liberality you are not likely to meet with in the old country. I referred them to our friend Mr. Robinson as an architect, and they have received the plans and specifications from the firm of which he was a member at Manchester. I think, from what I have seen of the plans, that it promises to be an ornament to the town, and the town certainly wants ornamentation. It might be quite a pretty place if it only had fine buildings and well-paved streets, as there are several fine old evergreen oaks scattered about it, and the view of the river, notwithstanding the marshes, has a certain wild picturesqueness about it. At present the main street is a sandy road, with no attempt at paving and no idea of lighting. On each side the buildings are, for the most part, wooden shanties of various dimensions. The only two buildings having any pretensions at all are the hotel called the Magnolia House, and the Masonic Hall, and both these buildings are of wood. They have had two fires lately, which have demolished about a quarter of the city, which, however, will be soon put up again, as it does not take very long to put up these frame houses, and it takes a very short time to burn them down.

A good many Israelites have found their way to this remote district, and it is whispered that their tumble-down shanties and Cheap Jack goods were very heavily insured, and thus both fires began in their quarter; and, moreover, that they were not losers by the transaction. Be that as it may, it is certain that the insurance companies have declined insuring any more buildings in the city of Darien. The shops here are unlike any you would be likely to meet with in your town, or any other town in England. They are emporiums of multitudinous articles; and although the articles sold are about four times the price and one-fourth as good as the same kind of article in England, yet the variety, I suppose, in some measure makes up for the inferiority.

The purchaser may go into one shop and purchase furniture for his house; stove to warm it, flour, groceries, and potatoes to satisfy his wants; medicines to heal all sickness, a fine dress and bonnet for his better half, toys for his children, ploughs, harness, and other requirements for the farm, and a drop of bad whisky for himself. The chief customers are the negroes, who delight in spending their money as soon as they get it, and who are not particular as to the quality or quantity or price of the article they wish to purchase, and who always choose the brightest of colours and gaudiest of bonnets for their womankind. Amongst other buildings consumed by the fire was the Post Office; and the postmaster, a genial, accommodating, and very important personage, was for a time rather perplexed as to a temporary post-box for the inhabitants. He has, however, solved the difficulty, and now perambulates the street in a loose coat supplied with large pockets on each side. The citizens soon recognise his genial countenance in the distance, and come out with their letters, which they drop into the receptacles of the perambulating pillar-box. Talking of pillar-box reminds me of pill-box, and this brings me to ‘our doctor.’ But I feel that I cannot do justice to this old citizen in the short time that is left me, and I must give him a letter to himself, as he is quite a character, and full of anecdotes about antebellum times; those good old days when ‘the code of honour’ was the fashion, which meant that a Southern gentleman was scarcely considered one if he was not prepared, on the slightest pretext, to go forth to slay his neighbour or be slain himself, in what is commonly known as a duel. Our doctor has the queerest-looking little wooden edifice for his office, and the most grotesque-looking negro boy for an attendant, that ever practicing physician boasted of. But, as I have already said, he is worthy of a description by himself, and he shall have it.

As you approach the city of Darien in a boat, your attention is drawn to a peculiar-looking erection, standing out alone on the edge of the bluff, and you begin to surmise for what purpose it may be used. It is about the size of a gipsy's caravan, but instead of being set upon wheels, it rests on one side on the bank, the side facing the river being supported by two posts or stilts. There seems to be a door on this side, but as it is about 10 feet from the ground, and has no steps up to it, you come to the conclusion that there must be some other way of egress and ingress. From the river side it presents the appearance of a large Punch and Judy show, and you can almost imagine life-size marionettes going through a performance in the opening which you mistook for the door. On a nearer inspection, you find a board hanging below this opening, on which is inscribed in large letters, ‘THE DOCTOR.’ This is our doctor's office, and probably you will see our doctor sitting in a rocking chair at the opening, smoking a long pipe, and scanning the last paper that the weekly steamer has brought down. On going up the bank and round to the other side of the wooden erection, you find the door, which is on a level with the bank, and you there discern that the opposite door serves as a window, there being no glazed windows about the establishment. Probably, in the doorway, you will find the doctor's sole attendant, a hideous-looking negro boy, marked with small-pox, and without shoes or stockings; his position of rest is generally with his back against one door-post and his legs stuck up against the opposite one. This youth has been reared by the doctor from early infancy, and seems to have a sort of dog-like attachment to him, only he irritates his master not a little by insisting upon calling the people of his own nation gentlemen and ladies. ‘Sare,’ says the boy, ‘dere is a gentleman outside wishes to see you.’ ‘What sort of a gentleman is he?’ says the doctor. ‘He's rather a dark-faced one,’ says the boy, and retires with a malicious chuckle. The boy's duties are devoted chiefly to attending to a lean shaggy white pony which lives under the erection and between the stilts, and which has to draw the old doctor about in a rickety old buggy. On entering the office you receive a hearty welcome from the old gentleman, who bids you take the only other chair, and offers you the pipe of peace. The office is about 12 by 12, with few articles of furniture, an old stove that smokes as hard as its master, a deal table, a few shelves with empty medicine bottles and well-worn magazines lying thereon. The doctor is about three score and ten, small of stature, with grizzly hair and a genial countenance, not much careworn considering the many troubles he has had to go through, for our doctor has seen better days, and delights to tell the patient listener about those better days, when the houses of all the wealthy planters in the neighbourhood were thrown open to him, and when he received a fixed yearly salary from them for attending to their negroes. Those indeed were palmy days for the doctor, and he could boast of fine trotting horses, elegant equipages, and a retinue of slaves. Now, owing to the Yankees, whom he does not love, matters are considerably changed; he has hard work to find clients, his only horse the old grey pony, his only attendant the negro lad. Notwithstanding this let down in the world, our doctor is still cheerful, and can entertain you by the hour with tales of Southern life in former days, enough, indeed, to fill a volume; and curious times they must have been by his account - semi-barbaric, semi-luxurious, taking one back a hundred years or more to the olden times of English society, when hard drinking and sharp duelling were the fashion. Our doctor has had in his medical capacity to be present at many a duel, and many a sad tale he has to tell of the fatal results. He never had to act first part in one, although he was on one occasion very near it, as he thought at the time. It happened thus. There was in the neighbourhood, a very eccentric old general who was a great patron of the little doctor's. The doctor, who passed off as a good mimic, was in the habit of taking off the general's eccentricities behind his back. This coming to the ears of the fire-eating general, he sent a note by a friend to the doctor, in which he demanded instant satisfaction for certain liberties taken by him, the nature of which would be explained to him. The little doctor trembled in his shoes, for he well knew the fiery temper of the general; and, moreover, that he could snuff out a candle with a pistol at twelve paces. He tried to obtain some explanation of the general's intentions from the friend, but he could extract nothing more from him than that the doctor should attend the next evening at the hotel where the general was staying, when he would himself give the explanation and demand satisfaction. There was nothing for it but to obey, and so next evening the doctor went in fear and trembling to see the general, whom he found with a few friends round him. ‘Sir,’ said the general, ‘I understand that you have been in the habit of imitating certain peculiarities of mine behind my back, and I sent my friend the Mayor to demand satisfaction of you for the liberty you have taken. The satisfaction that I require of you,’ and here the little doctor felt his legs tremble under him, ‘is that you forthwith proceed to give your entertainment in my presence, omitting nothing.’ The doctor felt immensely relieved, and proceeded at once to do as he was bid. On another occasion he was on a visit to the same general, when the latter proposed a ride. A couple of steeds were brought out of the stables, one of which was assigned to the doctor. The general shortly appeared, with a vizor on his head and a lance in one hand, whilst in the other hand he had a heavy sabre, which he presented to the doctor, and then, mounting his steed, he informed the doctor seriously that they would have a tournament, and that he would use the lance whilst the doctor should defend himself with the broadsword. The doctor was aghast; he knew not how to use the sword, and yet saw that the general was in earnest. There sat the tall gaunt figure ready to charge, just like Don Quixote, and Sancho Panza shook in his stirrups, but his remonstrances were only met by, ‘Not afraid, sir; I hope not afraid.’ A friend who was by advised the doctor to fly, and he took the advice, turned his steed and fled, whilst the knight fairly couched his steady spear, and fiercely ran at him with rigorous might. Away rode the doctor for very life, with the general close at his heels, and never slacked reins until he reached a neighbouring planter's, when he threw himself off and rushed into the house. The fleetness of his steed had saved him, and he could bear with equanimity the reproaches of this modern Quixote. Many other tales of our doctor could I tell you did time allow, but I have given two specimens illustrating something of the manners and customs of the Southern gentleman in the days of his prosperity.

Dear E - , About the middle of last month a looked-for freshet began to make its appearance at the head of our Island, and very gradually to flow over the rice-fields, until it reached our settlement and came up to the steps of the piazza. Higher and higher the water rose, and bit by bit the land disappeared. The cellar was cleared out of its contents; the negroes in the old houses, moved their goods and chattels to the new houses we built last year, and to the uninhabited overseer's house; our mules and horses were put in the rice mill, our sheep and cows were sent off to St. Simon's Island, and the chickens and rabbits had to get up into the trees. The water had risen 3 ft. 6 in. in our garden round the house, and a boat had to be tied to our doorstep to enable us to get away at all. The general aspect was not a cheerful one, and so we made up our minds to go away for awhile, until the waters had subsided. An English friend being with us, we thought a trip to Florida, the Paradise of America (I believe Paris is the Paradise of Americans), would be the pleasantest. So on February 18 we took passage on board the ‘Lizzie Baker’ at Darien, and the next day found ourselves steaming up the St. John's River in Florida, and a magnificent river it is, the most beautiful in the Southern States. In some places half a mile wide, in others a mile, and sometimes as much as six miles broad. The water is of a clear brown peaty colour, such as you see in parts of Scotland and Ireland. The banks along both sides of it are fringed with woods of pine, evergreen oak, magnolia, bay, wild orange, palm, and many other trees, whilst every few miles is situated some pretty colony, which has sprung up within the last few years to accommodate the many visitors who flock down every winter to this semi-tropical climate, to avoid the bitter cold of a Northern winter, and who, leaving at the beginning of the week New York or Philadelphia, with the thermometer at 20° below zero, find themselves at the end of the week transported to a Southern clime with Fahrenheit at 70° above 0. Every year the number of visitors increases, and the large hotels, and boarding-houses, and steamers can scarcely accommodate the crowds. The first place the steamers stop at after entering the St. John's River is Jacksonville, a flourishing city, the great starting point for all travellers in Florida. Fifteen miles above Jacksonville you come to Mandarin, where Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe resides, since the war, in the middle of a pretty orange grove. Ten miles further is Hibernia, after which you come to Magnolia, one of the prettiest spots on the St. John's River, where some Boston gentlemen have built very pleasant cottages in park-like grounds. Green Cove Springs lies just beyond, and here you find a warm sulphur spring which discharges 3,000 gallons of water per minute, at a temperature of 78°. Continuing up the river you come to Tocoi, at which place you can take the train for St. Augustine, which lies about fifteen miles to the east. Passing on in the steamer by several pretty orange plantations, you arrive at Palatka, a thriving town, and from this place you are transferred to smaller steamers, which take you to many places of great interest and beauty, through a chain of lakes which forms the Upper St. John's River. The sportsman finds his way to Enterprise, and from thence to the Indian River, the happy hunting grounds of enthusiastic hunters, in the waters of which are found endless variety of fish, turtles, lobsters, oysters, whilst in the vicinity of its shores are deer, wild turkey, an occasional bear, and many other smaller game. As, however, we did not get further than Palatka, it is chiefly of the northern part of the peninsula that I will tell you, reserving an account of the southern and less explored portion for a future time, if I shall be fortunate enough to explore it hereafter. I wish more particularly to tell you something of the ancient city of St. Augustine, the most ancient, the most interesting, and one of the most attractive places in the whole of the United States. The history of St. Augustine goes back to the time of Ponce de Leon, who discovered Florida in 1512, and since that date to the close of the late civil war, St. Augustine has been the scene of many a hard-fought battle and the stage of many a romantic drama. Thrilling tales and tragic episodes are told in connection with Florida, and this ancient city in particular. How the veteran cavalier Ponce de Leon set out in search of the Fountain of Youth, and expected to find it in the newly discovered and beautiful land of flowers, and to obtain a fresh lease of youthful vigour and enjoyment, which would enable him to gain the affections of a beautiful young signora whose hand he had sought in vain in his own country. How after many years of fruitless search, wounded in body, sick at heart, and empty of purse, he died in Cuba. How he was succeeded by other bold Spanish cavaliers, who were constantly rebuffed by the brave Indians of the country. How Panfilo de Narvaez was hemmed in on every side by the Indians, and almost starved to death; and how the commander was lost at sea in escaping, and how few of his gallant band ever reached their home again.

Time would fail me to tell of Cabeça de Vaca, the first discoverer of the Mississippi, and the gallant De Soto, who explored Florida and tried to reach Mexico, but struggled on with his disheartened followers as far as the banks of the Mississippi, where body and spirit gave way, and he passed from this world, second to none of his age in deeds of knightly prowess. Or of the bloodthirsty and bigoted papist Menendez, who so barbarously and treacherously massacred the poor Huguenots at Anastasia Island, opposite St. Augustine, and also at Fort Caroline, on the banks of the St. John's; or of the terrible vengeance that fell upon the Spanish colonists at the hands of the Frenchman, Dominic de Gorgues; and how, later on, Menendez was attacked in his fort at St. Augustine by our Sir Francis Drake. Are not all these mighty deeds recorded by the ancient chroniclers of Spanish history?

One tale I will relate to the credit of an Indian maiden. Juan Ortiz, a follower of Narvaez, a youth of eighteen, having been captured by the Indians, was taken before a savage chief who was bitterly hostile to the Spaniards, and who at once ordered Ortiz to be stretched out upon a sort of wooden grid iron, and to be broiled alive. The cruel chief, Hirihigua, had a beautiful daughter about the same age as Ortiz, who seeing the dreadful fate to which the young Spaniard was doomed, threw herself at her father's feet and implored him to spare the life of the captive youth, urging upon him that this smooth-checked boy could do him no injury, and that it was more noble for a brave and great warrior like himself to keep the youth a captive. Her intercession was successful, and the young Spaniard was loosed, and his wounds cared for by the gentle hands of her who had saved his life. But some months later, his life being again in peril, his fair deliverer again came to his rescue, and at the dead of night conducted him out of the camp, and put him on the way to reach a friendly chief, Mucoso, who received him well, and protected him for many years from the rage of Hirihigua. What adds to the romance is that Hirihigua's daughter was affianced to Mucoso, and that owing to the latter's refusal to surrender Ortiz the alliance was broken off, and thus the fair Indian sacrificed her love to her humanity, and the brave chief his bride to his sense of honour.

Dear E - , It is with much pleasure that I indite this epistle to you to tell you about the happy results of our work amongst the negroes during the last two winters. Last Christmas I gave notice that, as the Bishop of the Diocese intended to hold a Confirmation at Darien in the early spring, I should be glad if any of our people who felt disposed to join our Communion would give me their names, in order that I might prepare them for the Apostolic laying on of hands, and baptise such as had not been already baptised.

I soon found that I had a very good class, many of whom seemed in earnest about the matter and attended regularly, and listened attentively to what I had to say. Owing to the good instruction that they had had for some years, I found a fair number of them knew the Catechism well, and seemed to understand the explanation of it also; answering, indeed, with more intelligence, I must confess, than many agricultural young people who have been prepared by me in England. On Easter Day I gave notice that I was prepared to take the names of those who sincerely wished, of their own free will, to be baptised and confirmed, and the consequence was that I had fourteen names for baptism and twenty-two for confirmation. As they had all been brought up in the Baptist persuasion, I also gave notice that I was prepared, if they preferred it, to immerse them instead of pouring water over them, and I gave them some days to think over the matter, having previously explained the reason why our Church, whilst it left the manner of baptising to the discretion of the minister, usually considered the latter method, i.e., of pouring on the water, sufficient for the purpose. After consulting amongst themselves, they all agreed to be baptised by pouring on of water, and Low Sunday was the day appointed, and a red-letter day it may be marked in the calendar of our little church, for such an event as this had not happened before in our neighbourhood. On Low Sunday, then, fourteen black youths met me in a room at the overseer's house which served as a vestry, and from there marched two-and-two into the church, singing - ‘Onward, Christian soldiers, marching as to war.’ The church was prettily decorated for the occasion; the font, which was an extemporized one of wood and porcelain, was completely covered with our beautiful hanging moss, adorned with the wild blue iris and sweetly-scented tea-roses. On the communion table was a cross of moss and orange flowers, each side of which were vases of iris and Cape jessamine, whilst distributed about were more flowers, perfuming the air with their sweet fragrance. The hymns sung were - ‘Soldiers of Christ, arise,’ and the baptismal hymn, ‘In token that thou shalt not fear.’ The behaviour of the youths was devout and solemn throughout. After the second lesson I performed the baptismal service, and admitted fourteen young and promising negroes into the Church of Christ. At the close of the service I delivered a short address on the text, ‘See, here is water; what cloth hinder me to be baptised?’ (Acts viii. 36), dwelling particularly on the fact that the Ethiopian baptised by Philip was the first individual convert to Christianity baptised after our Blessed Lord's ascension. I also reminded them how, more than five years ago, when I had visited the Island as a perfect stranger to them, I had been asked to preach to them, and had selected the same subject, viz., Philip and the Ethiopian; and how, at the conclusion of the service, one of their old veterans, Commodore Bob by name, who soon after that was called to his account, had come up and shaken me by the hand and said that he had had a vision of Philip coming to him, and that there would be a great movement upon that Island. The old man's prophecy had, I believed, come true, although he was no longer amongst us to witness it. This was the movement, and it rested with them to show whether it was destined to be a successful one or not.

The following Friday, Bishop Beckwith, of Georgia, came to lay his hands upon them, accompanied by the Rev. Mr. Clute, rector of the parish; and a most impressive ceremony it was - perhaps one of the most impressive that I have yet witnessed. In addition to the fourteen youths that I had baptised the previous Sunday, there were six young women who had been baptised in the Baptist church, and one old veteran, Captain Angus (our negro foreman), who was a Wesleyan. We all met in our vestry room, and marched into the church, preceded by a white banner with a red cross on it, borne by a bright-looking mulatto boy, singing as we entered a favourite song of the negroes, the chorus of which was -

The church was crowded, not only with negroes, but with many of the planters and their families from the other plantations. The singing was most creditably performed by our coloured choir, who sang, besides the chants, ‘Soldiers, arise,’ and ‘Pilgrims of the night,’ and for a processional, ‘Onward, Christian soldiers.’ The ceremony of laying on of hands was performed by the Bishop placing his hands on each candidate separately, and pronouncing the blessing in the most impressive manner. The address to the candidates at the conclusion must have made a deep impression on those just confirmed, as perhaps there is no more eloquent preacher or one with a finer delivery than Bishop Beckwith amongst the many eloquent Bishops in this country. His subject was the laying on of hands by the Apostles after Philip had baptised the Christian converts at Samaria, and from this passage of Scripture he showed how there were different orders in the ministry, and whilst some could only baptise, by others, like the Apostles and their successors the Bishops, the laying on of hands could alone be performed. On Sunday all the candidates and many of the old people partook of the Holy Communion, the number of communicants amounting to thirty-five. In the afternoon I went over to Darien to witness the Confirmation of some more coloured people, to the number of ten, and had it not been for the heavy rain I understand there would have been several more. The service took place in an old warehouse, but the negroes are now engaged putting up an Episcopalian church for themselves, on a good site close to the town which we have been able to let them have, and I have no doubt but that when it is finished it will be well filled every Sunday.

The work has begun well, and there is every reason to look for good results. Hitherto the Anglican Episcopal Church has made but little progress amongst the coloured people, and they have been left for the most part to the mercies of illiterate and often worthless Baptist preachers of their own colour. The Roman Catholic Church is beginning to make strenuous efforts for the conversion of the negroes, and the Anglican Church must not be behind in her efforts. If she succeeds, and I believe she will, notwithstanding the opposition that is raised against her by interested black Baptists, she will do more to civilise the negroes and to make good Christians and worthy citizens of them, than all the Fifteenth Amendments, Civil Rights Bills, or Freedmen's Bureaux that have been passed or established for his supposed benefit.

The negro, of course, is naturally tractable and docile, and is easily influenced for good or evil. Unprincipled men have tried to make use of him as a mere political tool, to increase the power of the executive party in the South: but I believe he is beginning to have his eyes opened to the real facts, and to find out that his best friends are the Southerners amongst whom he dwells, and who know and understand him, and who are ready to help him out of a difficulty.

P.S. - There are two churches for coloured members of the Protestant Episcopal Communion in Savannah. St. Augustine's is the High Church, and St. Stephen's is the Low Church; for already, even amongst the coloured people, there are different shades of religion, just as there are different shades of colour. The High Church is served by Mr. Love, who is quite black, and his congregation are almost all of the darkest hue as to complexion. His church is elaborately decorated at the east end, and bright banners and May flowers and candlesticks are used in the celebration of the service. Moreover, he has a capital choir of small darkies in cassocks and surplices, who performed Tallis's full choral service very creditably. Mr. Love himself is intelligent and well-educated, and is, I believe, a British subject, having been born and educated in the West Indies. He seems, however, to preach rather over the heads of his congregation, and not to be satisfied with the simplest kind of address, most suitable to the capacity of his hearers. Last year he had fifty-five baptisms, twelve confirmations, and forty communicants on his list. There are good Sunday schools attached to this church. The minister of the other church is Mr. Atwell, and his services, as well as his church, are of a simpler kind. He is a mulatto, and his congregation are chiefly mulattoes; he seems to be a simple-minded, honest sort of man, and anxious for the religious advancement of his people. The Sunday I was there his wife played the organ, but the singing was not up to the usual standard of negro excellence. His baptisms last year numbered thirty-two, and the confirmations twelve. His communicants amounted to a hundred and twenty-one, and his Sunday scholars to eighty-six. He has a sewing class and Sunday School Library Association attached to his church, and has a special children's service once a month. The ministrations of both these coloured clergymen seem to be progressive, and it is to be hoped that in many cities in Georgia and throughout the South similar churches may be established, and as there are but few of them now, they are very much needed.