On the 25th of March I visited a school at the Central Baptist Church on St. Helena Island, built in 1855, shaded by lofty live-oak trees, with the long, pendulous moss everywhere hanging from their wide-spreading branches, and surrounded by the gravestones of the former proprietors, which bear the ever-recurring names of Fripp and Chaplin. This school was opened in September last, but many of the pupils had received some instruction before. One hundred and thirty-one children were present on my first visit, and one hundred and forty-five on my second, which was a few days later. Like most of the schools on the plantations, it opened at noon and closed at three o'clock, leaving the forenoon for the children to work in the field or perform other service in which they could be useful. One class, of twelve pupils, read page 70th in Willson's Reader, on "Going Away." They had not read the passage before, and they went through it with little spelling or hesitation. They had recited the first thirty pages of Towle's Speller, and the multiplication-table as high as fives, and were commencing the sixes. A few of the scholars, the youngest, or those who had come latest to the school, were learning the alphabet. At the close of the school, they recited in concert the Psalm, "The Lord is my shepherd," requiring prompting at the beginning of some of the verses. They sang with much spirit hymns which had been taught them by the teachers, as,-- "My country, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty"; also,-- "Sound the loud timbrel"; also, Whittier's new song, written expressly for this school, the closing stanzas of which are,-- "The very oaks are greener clad, The waters brighter smile; Oh, never shone a day so glad On sweet St. Helen's Isle! "For none in all the world before Were ever glad as we,-- We're free on Carolina's shore, We're all at home and free!" Never has that pure Muse, which has sung only of truth and right, as the highest beauty and noblest art, been consecrated to a better service than to write the songs of praise for these little children, chattels no longer, whom the Saviour, were he now to walk on earth, would bless as his own. The prevalent song, however, heard in every school, in church, and by the way-side, is that of "John Brown," which very much amuses our white soldiers, particularly when the singers roll out,-- "We'll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree!" The children also sang their own songs, as,-- "In de morning' when I rise, Tell my Jesus. Huddy oh?[A] In de mornin' when I rise, Tell my Jesus, Huddy oh? "I wash my hands in de mornin' glory, Tell my Jesus, Huddy oh? I wash my hands in de mornin' glory, Tell my Jesus, Huddy oh? "Pray, Tony, pray, boy, you got de order, Tell my Jesus, Huddy oh? Pray, Tony, pray, boy, you got de order, Tell my Jesus, Huddy oh? "Pray, Rosy, pray, gal," etc. [Footnote A: How d' y' do?] Also,--