The mothers, clad in homespun, were chaste in thought and action; unlettered and ignorant, but pure as ether.  Their literature confined to the Bible, its maxims directed their conduct, and were the daily lesson of their children.  The hard-shell Baptist was the dominant religion; with here and there a Presbyterian community, generally characterized by superior education and intelligence, with a preacher of so much learning as to be an oracle throughout the land.

The Methodists were just then beginning to grow into importance, and their circuit-riders, now fashionably known as itinerants, were passing and preaching, and establishing societies to mark their success, through all the rude settlements of the State.  These were the pioneers of that truly democratic sect, as of the stern morality and upright bearing which had so powerful an influence over the then rising population.

It is more than sixty years since I first listened to a Methodist sermon.  It was preached by a young, spare man, with sallow complexion, and black eyes and hair.  I remember the gleam of his eye, and the deep, startling tones of his voice—­his earnest and fervent manner; and only yesterday, in the Baronne Street (New Orleans) Methodist Church, I listened to an old man, upward of eighty years of age, preaching the ordination sermon of four new bishops of the Methodist Church.  It was he to whom I had first listened:  the eye was still brilliant, the face still sallow, but wrinkled now, and the voice and manner still fervent and earnest; and the great mind, though not the same, still powerful.  It was that venerable, good man, Lovie Pierce, the father of the great and eloquent bishop.  What has he not seen? what changes, what trials, what triumphs!  Generations before his eyes have passed into eternity; the little handful of Methodist communicants grown into a mighty and intelligent body; thousands of ministers are heralding her tenets all over the Protestant world—­mighty in learning, mighty in eloquence—­yet none surpass the eloquence, the power, and the purity of Lovie Pierce.

When I first heard him, Bishop Asbury, William Russell, and he were nursing the seed sown by John Wesley and George Whitefield, a little while before, upon the soil of Georgia.  All but Pierce have long been gathered to their fathers, and have rest from their labors.  He still remains, bearing his cross in triumph, and still preaching the Redeemer to the grandchildren of those who first welcomed him and united with him in the good work of his mission.  How much his labors have done to form and give tone to the character of the people of the State of Georgia, none may say; but under his eye and aid has arisen a system of female education, which has and is working wonders throughout the State.  He has seen the ignorant and untaught mothers rear up virtuous, educated, and accomplished daughters; and, in turn, these rearing daughters and sons, an ornament and an honor to parents and country.