[Footnote 10: OVID. _Metamorphoseon_, lib. xi. v. 183.] [Footnote 11: Haec autem erat Gnosticorum doctrina ethica, quod omnem virtutem in prudentia sitim esse credebant, quam Ophitae per _Metem_ (Sophiam) et Serpentem exprimebant, desumpto iterum ex Evangelii praecepto; _estote prudentes ut serpentes_,--ob innatem hujus animalis astutiam?--VON HAMMER, _Fundgruben des Orients_, tom. vi. p. 85.] [Footnote 12: _New Curiosities of Literature._ By GEO. SOANE, London, 1849.] [Footnote 13: _Developpement des Abus introduits dans la Franc Maconnerie._ Ecossois de Saint ANDRE d'Ecosse, &c., &c. Paris, 1780.] [Footnote 14: London. Truebner &. Co., No. 60 Paternoster Row. 1861.] [Footnote 15: 'Tota haec humanae vitae fabula, quae universitatem naturae et generis humani historiam constituit tota prius in intellectu divino praeconcepta fuit cum infinitis aliis.'--LEIBNITZ, _Theodicaea_, part 11, p. 149.] [Footnote 16: Tickner and Fields' edition of Waverley Novels, Boston, 1858.] [Footnote 17: _The Poetry of the East._ By WILLIAM ROUNSEVILLE ALGER. Boston. Whittemore, Niles & Hall, 1856.] A CHORD OF WOOD. Well, New York, you've made your pile Of Wood, and, if you like, may smile: Laugh, if you will, to split your sides, But in that Wood pile a nigger hides, With a double face beneath his hood: Don't hurra till you're out of your Wood. A MERCHANT'S STORY. 'All of which I saw, and part of which I was.' CHAPTER XIX. The moon and the stars were out, and the tall, dark pines cast long, gloomy shadows over the little rows of negro houses which formed the rearguard to Preston's mansion. They were nearly deserted. Not a solitary fire slumbered on the bare clay hearths, and not a single darky stood sentry over the loose pork and neglected hoecakes, or kept at bay the army of huge rats and prowling opossums which beleaguered the quarters. Silence--death's music--was over and around them. The noisy revelry of the dancers had died away in the distance, and even the hoarse song of the great trees had sunk to a low moan as they stood, motionless and abashed, in the presence of the grim giant who knocks alike at the palace and the cottage gate. A stray light glimmered through the logs of a low hut, far off in the woods, and, making our way to it, we entered. A bright fire lit up the interior, and on a rude cot, in one corner, lay the old preacher. His eyes were closed; a cold, clammy sweat was on his forehead--he was dying. One of his skeleton hands rested on the tattered coverlet, and his weazened face was half buried in a dilapidated pillow, whose ragged casing and protruding plumage bespoke it a relic of some departed white sleeper. An old negress, with gray hair and haggard visage, sat at the foot of the bed, wailing piteously; and Joe and half a dozen aged saints stood around, singing a hymn, doleful enough to have made even a sinner weep.