fully situated in a grove just at the entrance to Lovers' Lane.
The services were conducted by old Mr. George, who used to come out to the Tallassee plantation, as far back as I can remember, and hold mission services for father's and Mr. Nightingale's negroes, sometimes in Uncle Jacob's cabin, sometimes in the little log chapel on Mr. Nightingale's Silver Lake place. He teaches in the little schoolhouse all the week to support his family — a full baker's dozen-and holds church services on Sundays for the refugees and soldiers of the faith that have stranded here.
He has spent his life in mission work, laying the foundation of churches for other men to build on. There is something very touching in the unrewarded labor of this good man, grown gray in the service of his God.
The churches he builds up, as soon as they begin to prosper, ask the bishop for another pastor.
He wore no surplice, and his threadbare silk gown was, I verily believe, the same that he used to wear in the old p