tutions, sir,” said one gentleman, in a lofty way; "and no act can be treason if it is sustained by any considerable body of the people."

"We were all for the war," responded a Convention delgate; "I was opposed to secession, but I could n't do any other way than follow the State; and what I did we all did, we all did, sir, we all were for the war; and if you try Mr. Davis you must try all of us, all of us, sir."

"Mr. Davis was always a fourth-rate man," observed the judge; "and the government would give him more prominence than he deserves if it tried him for treason."

"He ought to be hung," answered the colonel, "but not for treason. He was the marplot of our revolution; his obstinacy ruined our cause, and he deserves hanging for that if for anything, though I've no idea he will ever be harmed."

Several of us fell into a chat about the various generals of the two armies. Lee they all considered the greatest man of the age. Grant they did n't call much of a soldier; but one of them said he "told a d-d deal of truth" when he wrote that the South had recruited from the cradle and the grave. Sherman, one more observed, "is a child of hell; he could n't be a gentleman if he would, and I'm d—d if I believe he would if he could." Slocum had always treated the South well, and they hoped he would carry the day in New York. Howard seemed a cer, but “is soft on the nigger." and a d-n mean soldier." Of their own officers they said Jo Johnston was loved like a brother. Bragg is "an old ass who ought to be hung for blundering." Hardee is "only so-so." Beauregard knows something about forts and guns, but nothing about an army. Wheeler and his men were "the G-d d-est set of thieves and cutthroats out of jail."

clever man and a good offiKilpatrick is "a fine officer Sheridan is "a lucky cuss."

At Camak three or four of us had some conversation about the freedmen. They will not work, I was told, and near

Augusta they have taken forcible possession of several plantations and will not allow any white persons thereon. One delegate said a negro woman living ten miles above Augusta was nearly horsewhipped to death last week by her master; and another had heard that a negro man on a plantation some miles below the city was recently shot for claiming his freedom.

The gentlemen pretty generally agreed that Andrew Johnson had disappointed the South, being less harsh than it was expected he would be. Two men thought he was figuring for the Southern vote in 1868, and one of them believed the South and the Democratic party could elect him then.

After five hours' waiting we took the cars for Maysville, and made our thirteen miles in an hour and a half, to find one small hack waiting to carry ten of us to Sparta, twelve miles distant. We managed it, however, the five elderly gentlemen taking the inside. They were all Convention delegates, a railroad president and ex-State judge, a colonel and wealthy planter, a Methodist minister, a doctor, and a farmer. We of the outside were, an ex-Rebel general, who sat with the driver; a negro boy, who sat behind on the baggage; and an ex-editor of one of the Augusta papers, an ex-Rebel quartermaster, and the Yankee correspondent, who sat atop. Our driver was a wide-awake young fellow, who put us along at the rate of five miles an hour. Our position on top the coach was pleasant enough, except that the roof was weak, and there was danger of breaking through; the road was in bad order, and there was a fair prospect that we should turn over; the evening was dark, and there was good chance that the numerous low-hanging boughs under which we passed might brush us off or hang us up like Absolom. However, I made the trip with no worse accident than gaining a hole in my scalp and a bruise over my eye. The editor and the quartermaster did most of the talking.

They gave an hour to the relation of personal incidents of service in the Rebel army. The quartermaster had barely escaped capture on two occasions. At one time he held a white handkerchief in his hand and was ready to surrender, but the soldiers whom he saw did n't see him. He remained in service till the end of the war, and was with Lee at the breaking up of the army of Virginia.

The editor said the war would have closed two years ago but for the women of the South, and the negroes could have closed it in six months at any time by laying down the shovel and the hoe.

The quartermaster expressed surprise that the negroes show so little gratitude to their old owners, and said that those for whom most had been done were now the most ungrateful.

The general remarked that the vote of the State in elect ing the Convention was light, "everybody knew there was a certain disagreeable work to do.”

It was about eight o'clock by the time we were unloaded at Sparta, and we left it at three o'clock this morning. The town itself may be very nice, but its hotel is very bad, and the landlord was very drunk last night, and the talk of the loungers in the office was very hostile to the government. The principal sober man about the house seemed to be Sam, a coal-black negro of twenty-five or thereabouts. He was lively and accommodating, and his orders secured us a passably good supper and a lunch before starting this morning.

A ride of twenty-five miles in an old ambulance in company with the colonel, the editor, and the negro boy, brought me into Milledgeville mid-forenoon of the sixth day from Charleston, at an aggregate expense of a good many bruises, a considerable lameness, a bad cold, a very sore throat, a moderate attack of chills and fever, and fifty-seven dollars in greenbacks. When I next make that trip I shall try some other route.

A

However, the view from the brow of the hill two miles northeast of town was a luxury to eyes and heart aweary of the dull, leaden, eternal monotony of Carolina pine-swamps and Carolina pine-barrens. It was almost a New England scene, the Oconee River glimmering through green trees, woody hills, and rolling fallow lands on either side; forests and meadows alternating to the right and to the left; a gently rising hill beyond the river; the town embowered in its wealth of trees; windows glistening in the sunshine; a church lifting its spire serenely skyward; the white house corners showing among the trees; countrymen driving into town; cows feeding in the fields beyond; the darling New England charm of blue hills rising in the background; and, over all, the calmest and loveliest of October mornings!

Our driver was William, present freedman, former slave, who marched over our road twelve years ago in a negrotrader's chain-gang. "Dat ting come no mo'," said he, with some emphasis. Curiously enough, he found no trouble in making a living, and had no desire to be re-enslaved !

The two delegates concurred in the opinion that the government ought to pay the South at least one hundred million dollars indemnity money; and one of them expressed the belief that Congress would ultimately take this view of the case, and appropriate the money.

I asked some questions about the Georgia school system, and remarked that I hoped the time would soon come when school-houses would be as numerous in Georgia as in Massachusetts.

'Well, I hope it never will come," said one of them; "popular education's all a d-d humbug, in my judgment."

"I think so too," answered the other. "I used to be in favor of it; but since I've seen what it leads to in the North, I'm opposed to it.”

"That's just it," concluded the first; "it's well enough to give boys who are to be professional men a good educa

tion; but reading, writing, and arithmetic are full as much as ought to be taught the common people.”

The capital of Georgia is simply the capital, and nothing more. It has no manufacturing establishments, and is the centre of no trade. Its only railroad connection is with the South; that is, a single track runs up here from Macon. Some time this line will probably be built through to a point on the Augusta and Atlanta Road, but even then the capital will be only a half-way station on a small cross-road.

The quiet and aristocratic little city is regularly laid out, with a deal more show, indeed, than is necessary; for all its business is done in one block, and most of its residences are on one street. It has three principal features, the public square, the state-house, and the hotel. The square is large · and rolling, and will unquestionably some time be handsome. In its centre is the state-house. At one corner is the ruin of the magazine. On one side is the ruin of the arsenal. On another side are the three churches of the place, small, plain, cheap wooden buildings, occupied respectively by the Presbyterians, the Baptists, and the Methodists. The statehouse is a solid and inelegant pile of brick, hidden beneath a dirty-brown stucco. It is at present very much out of repair, but could never have been either graceful or impressive. It would scarcely be an exaggeration to say that the city exists for the benefit of the keeper of the hotel, who has served his State in the army and in Fort Delaware, and is now anxious to serve it in the Legislature; who keeps a good house, unblushingly pockets twenty-eight dollars per week from each customer, and carries himself with the utmost nonchalance, knowing that, whether you will or no, you must be content with his terms or leave the city.