Around the spring grew _mint_ in exuberance, that was as much cared for as the foxhounds. Mayhap in that arbor Tench Francis tinkled the sides of his glass in mixing _sugar_ and _grass with spirits_, sipped and read letters from his gay and brilliant nephew, [2]Sir Phillip Francis, the supposed author of the letters of Junius, then one of England’s Counsel for India; maybe told all about his duel with Warren Hastings, then Governor-General of India; for we know that his cousin, the beautiful Anne Francis, visited “Otwell” with her husband, James Tilghman, who met there his brother, Matthew, the great patriot, and his wife, who was charming Anne Lloyd. There, too, Tench Tilghman, aide-de-camp to Washington, and his wife, spent happy hours. Later his daughter married the host, and there in luxury and loving kindness lived “OLE MARS an’ OLE MISS.” ’Twas a very cold Sunday in December. The sun shone brightly, but the wind was on a frolic. High-crested, white-capped waves leaped upon and lashed the shore. Ole Miss, as usual, had service for the house servants in the brick kitchen. She said the Lord’s prayer, read the 63d psalm, commented upon their deportment for the past week and then they were dismissed. Pawson Demby was to preach in the new Zion church, and the servants were now on the lawn looking for the Plimhimmon, Bondfield and Job’s Content boats. In those days visiting was done for the most part by water, the numerous creeks, coves and bays making distance so great by land. The servants used the eight-oared barges, boats of burden, with sails and generally two masts, called a pinnace; they carried to the large schooners wheat, corn and other cereals for the Baltimore market, and in return brought hogsheads of molasses, sugar, coffee, rice, boots and shoes for the servants. [Illustration: TENCH TILGHMAN. ] Presently Little Billy sang out, “Heah dey come!” and sure enough, rounding Wind Mill Point and turning into Otwell Creek, were three barges—tip-tap-toe—each pulled by eight lusty oars. The angry roar of the waves, the struggling boats, the landscape and the breaking billows made it a picturesque sight. Soon they were at the wharf. Most of them were house servants, and it would be for me a hopeless task to describe their raiment, the old-time courtesies, graceful bows and how-dys with which they greeted one another. Those negroes were environed for generations with kindness, culture, refinement and Christian teaching, so that many of them had finished manners, knew perfectly “How ter wait On Marster’s table an’ han’ de plate, Pars de bottle when he dry And brush away de blue-tail fly.” They were dependent, kind, obedient, full of music, contentment, and happiness. The venom of the politician and carpetbagger had not stung them.