gler's rod, with its line suspending a bucket ready to dip into the fountain below, and bring up the cooling beverage. The planter seldom digs a well;. its waters are too often affected by the mineral impurities of the earth. He uses cistern water.

Neither do you see any barns in the country; the greencane pasture of the woods, the year round, saves him from stowing away fodder for his cattle, and the mildness of the climate precludes the use of them for shelter.

All the buildings you see, are, the plantation-house, a lonely church, a solitary school-house, standing off from the road-side, telling where some northern teacher has been; the gin-house, where the cotton is separated from the seed; here and there a stray rick for corn, or cornleaves for fodder; and, occasionally, a roof over an open stall for horses. These are all the buildings one sees in the country, and they are all built of logs, save very rarely a planter's house.

There are no grist-mills, in town or country. All the corn they use is ground by one-horse-power mills, in the gin-house. The saw-mill is more of a sine qua non; but still you see but very few of them, the country is too ridgy for water-mills. Neither have I seen any bridges over the rivers they are all crossed in ferry-boats.

Life is surely rather primitive here. There is more nature and less art than at the North, more forest and uncultivated land, less husbandry and good tillage. Houses are built more from want and convenience, and less from pride and for sale. They are homes for life, and are never placarded with notices "to sell or rent," like Northern farms and farm-houses. Their best houses are not costly. What man does for comfort and convenience costs him but little. But let him build to suit his pride, and his house rivals the "Taj of India.”

I have noticed many traits of old English life in the South. The plantation-house, like the old English manorhouse, has its broad grounds, but without the carpet of green, between its shady retreat and the road. The beauties of the landscape, about his rural seclusion, have not been violated. The planter also, may be considered a lord in possession of a large estate, and his slaves are his vassals. And, like your English gentleman of landed possessions, he loves the chase, keeps a parliament of hounds, and the requisites for the hunt. His horse is ordered at carly dawn, when from his porch you can hear the winding of his horn, and instantly

"Tray, Blanche, and Sweetheart all,"

are frolicking about him. He soon dashes off into the woods with them, and you may not see him again till night- · fall.

The following, is a wild boar hunt, as narrated to me by Major W.'s oldest son. Some of these hunts are as fierce

as those of Ceylon.

This animal, the bear, the wolf, catamount, and deer, are denizens of the Mississippi forest.

News came to him, he said, last evening, while at the plantation-house, that one of the horses had been badly gashed, his favorite dog killed, and the party driven out of the swamp by a ferocious wild boar.

He instantly ordered his horse, wound his horn to summon his hounds, seized his gun, and vaulting into the saddle, was soon at the edge of the cypress-brake, where the party were

Lead in the leash the gaze-hounds grim,
Attentive, as the bratchet's bay
From the dark covert drove the prey,

To slip them as he broke away."

Having ascertained the position of the enemy, he dashed into the swamp to attack him with his dogs. They were soon upon him. He had chosen, like a true warrior, a vantage ground. And there he stood, bristled, with mouth foaming, and fanged for the onset. Near by him lay the faithful hound he had just killed, and as the others were tarried on, he attacked them with such a wild ferocity, that they fled, and could only summon courage enough to bay him from a distance.

After being foiled for some time, in getting a chance to shoot at him, a lucky shot disabled him, and one or two more brought him down. He was a terrible foe, and had fought many battles with the hounds, generally coming off victorious from both them and the hunters.

An overseer on one of the plantations, during the fall, had killed fourteen bears. He told many thrilling stories of the "hair-breadth 'scapes" he had made while hunting them.

But, to resume, our subject, there is much provincialism in the habits and customs of the South. And finally, should an Englishman seek the hospitality of the planter's roof, he could repose on a mattress spread on an old English bed-stead, the same lofty and rich posts, and richly ornamented canopy, with curtains, that once graced the royal bed-chamber of "Good Old Queen Bess."

The planter's fare is simple, and the chase supplies his table with much of its meat. I am not only pleased with this simple fare of the planter's board, but with their manof sitting at table.

Their tables are usually long, and remain stationary in

the dining-room. This is sometimes a little log building separate from the house.

The father, at meals, takes seat at one end of the table, his eldest son at his right, then the next younger, and so on, down to the "wee bairn"that can "toddle" to his seat.

The mother is seated at the other end of the table, and her eldest daughter at her right, the sister next in age succeeding, down to the youngest. The guests, if gentlemen, are seated at the planter's left hand; if ladies, at his wife's left. If the father is a member of the church, a blessing is asked. I have known those, who did not profess to be Christians, ask blessings at their tables.

The boiled ham, cooked whole always, and which, on extra occasions, is tricked off with cloves, green leaves, and various-colored dainty bits, in a tasteful manner, is placed before the planter; his wife has the tea, coffee, and the delicacies before her. By the aid of servants every one at table is served.

In no place, not even in the most back-woods part of the country, have I ever heard what one often hears in the country, especially at the North, immediately after being seated at table, "Now take hold and help yourself."

The civilities of life generally "roughen" as you go from city into the country. Whether the South claims it as a part of her chivalry or not, is a matter of indifference to me, but, I certainly have not found the politeness and civilities of her town-life changed to boorishness, among the most back-woods planters of her country.

But again. The planter takes his time in eating-don't "bolt it down," as the Yankees do. Leisure and ease are inmates of his roof. He takes no note of time. Your Yankee will take time by the fore-lock, and push business through. But a Southron, never heard of the "old m with the scythe.'

A friend of mine from Dowagiac, Michigan, making a trip to the South, stopped with me a few days; he, being a practical Yankee lawyer, was suprised at the air of indifference with which the planter spoke of time. He was not aware that time here,

"Had lost his glass and was asleep on flowers."

A clock, almanac, and a good fire, are hard things to find in a planter's house. The only chronometer he has, is the cotton-plant, and that "ticks" but once a year. The word, haste, is not in a Southron's vocabulary. He has reversed the old adage, and never does that to-day which can be done to-morrow.

While waiting, a few days, at the Ridge House, for a letter in regard to a school from Dover, ere venturing out again in a new direction, I took a pleasant ride to Satartia. The day was fine, and, in an easy carriage, accompanied by a Southern lady, we rode alternately through beautiful wood-lands, and by fine cotton-plantations.

On coming out of the uplands to the bluffs that wall up a wide border of valley, on both sides of the river, and from which you descend into it, I had one of the most picturesque landscape views, I had yet enjoyed any where in the country.

The long winding strip of valley, that lay spread out below me, looked like a broad strip of variegated green carpet; the village of Satartia, and the planters' houses, five or six in sight, with their little negro villas about them, looked like beautiful raised figures on it; the fences looked like leaden-colored vines traced across it; while the Yazoo river looked like a winding strip of blue watercolored ribbon, running through the middle of it between green fingers.