In "Georgia Scenes" is an amusing account of a debate in a backwoods "Academy" nearly a century ago. The two brightest boys, after anxious preparation, succeeded in formulating for debate a question utterly meaningless, but which appeared upon hurried reading to touch the very bed-rock of human government. The "conspirators" mentioned were the respective leaders in the debate which closed the public exercises of the annual "Exhibition" of the Academy. The leaders had made careful preparation for the contest, and appeared fully to understand the question, and each in turn highly complimented the able argument of his rival. Much amusement was caused by the remaining speakers, when called in order, who candidly admitted that they didn't understand the question, and patiently submitted to the fine imposed by the rules of the Society. That a boy of but mediocre talents should have failed to participate in the debate, will not be considered remarkable when the question is stated: "Whether, in public elections, the vote of faction should prevail by internal suggestions, _or the bias of jurisprudence?"_ The late General Gordon related to me the above incident, and added that the leaders mentioned were at a later day well known to the country, one the learned Bishop Longstreet of Georgia, the other the eloquent Senator McDuffie of South Carolina. Events almost forgotten, forms long since vanished, were vividly recalled as, after long absence, I revisited the spot inseparably blended with the joyous associations of childhood. The platform from which I was to speak had been erected near the ruins of the old church above mentioned, of which my grandfather had been a ruling elder, my father, mother, and other kindred the earliest members. Upon my introduction to the vast assemblage--the good things suggested by "barbecue" having meanwhile given to all an abundant feeling of contentment--I began by brief reference to the pleasure I experienced in again visiting, after the passing of the years which separated childhood from middle age, scenes once so familiar, and meeting face to face so many of my early associates and friends, and remarked, that in the early days in Illinois the not unusual reply of the Kentucky emigrant, when asked what part of the Old Commonwealth he came from was, "From the Blue Grass," or "From near Lexington," but that my invariable answer to that inquiry had even been, "From the Pennyrile!" Some mention I made of Mr. Caskie, the dreaded school-master of the long ago, caused a momentary commotion in the audience, and immediately a man of white hairs and bowed by the weight of more than fourscore years, was lifted to the front of the platform. With arm about my neck, he earnestly inquired: "Adlai, I came twenty miles to hear you speak; don't you remember me?" The audience apparently appreciated the instant reply: "Yes, Mr. Caskie, _I still have a few marks left to remember you by!"_