A Bushwhacker discussing the problems of religion,—what will be said of him? Love—feeling my inability to depict that, I accepted the kind offices of our friend Alice. But where, among the bishops and other clergy—regular officers,—am I to find one willing to be associated with a guerilla like myself? Who among them would write a few chapters for this book? But the chapters must be written. The reader will recall, I beg, one of the earlier incidents recorded in this narrative; where the writer calls upon the Don at his rooms in Richmond, to invite him to spend Christmas at Elmington. It will be remembered that I found him reading a small book, which he laid down upon my entrance, and that chancing to glance at the little volume as I passed out of the room, I saw with surprise that it was a copy of the New Testament. With surprise. I would not be understood (not for the world) as casting a slur upon the youth of Virginia. They read their Bibles, of course; but generally, I believe, at the beginning and end of the day. At any rate, whether it was the hour of the evening or the man himself, I was astonished. When I told the girls what I had seen, they were variously affected, according to their several natures. Here, thought Lucy, is one more good young man,—good not being, with her, a term of contempt. Mary’s imagination was fired. Behold, thought she, a high, brave young spirit that hath chosen the better part. Alice, being what neither of the others was, in the main an average Virginia girl,—Alice could not help it,—the little scamp laughed. I don’t know that it occurred to her that these very good young men are, take them “by and large,” no better than the bad young men (and not half so interesting); all I know is that she laughed, and made the others laugh, too, though against their will. And not once only. For weeks afterwards she never spoke of the Don save as Parson (or, rather, Pass’n) Smith. Her merry fancy played countless variations upon this single string; but it snapped one day,—snapped very suddenly, the first Sunday after her and Mary’s arrival at Elmington. “I wonder,” said Alice, as she and the other girls were getting ready for church,—“I wonder whether the Pass’n will go with us? Has any one heard him inquiring about a meeting-house? What a favorite he would be among the sistern of the county!” As they went down-stairs, they could see him leaning against a pillar on the porch. “Look, Mary; your Pass’n has his Sunday face on. How dreadfully serious he looks! Mind, girls, no frivolity! I’ll be bound he says ‘Sabbath.’” “No gentleman ever speaks of Sunday as ‘the Sabbath,’” said Mary, reproachfully. “Very true; and he is a gentleman if he _is_ a pass’n. Hang this glove! Mr. Whacker,” she continued, “here we are; and all ready, for a wonder, in time.”