the iron railing before my window, and peep in, exclaiming, “Buon dios, Signora” good morning, missis! which, spite of their good-tempered, joyous countenances, splendid eyes and teeth, does not always amuse me, that is, when I wish to be quiet. But it is, after all, really a joy to see how fearless the negro children are on this plantation. The good, motherly lady and her daughters have produced this effect, and the children are evidently well cared for, and the elder ones well clad. They run about freely, and accompany us on our walks, sometimes in little troops. I frequently see the elder children carrying the younger ones, riding astride upon the left hip, whilst they hold them up with the left arm thrown round the bead-encircled bodies of the little creatures. I see them in this way move about, and even run, with great ease; the girls are particularly dextrous in this respect, and as I thus see them, I frequently cannot help admiring their beautiful and perfectly developed frames.
The slaves on this plantation seem to me well fed and full of enjoyment. Neither is their bohea locked up and prison-like; it is left freely open, and I have seen dwelling-rooms there full of possessions like the dwellings of the slaves in America. The good lady of the plantation is fond of her people, and takes good care of the feeble and the sick.
From her gentle lips I have written down the following words:—
“It is a great sin to call the slaves wicked, there are among them both bad and good, as among all people. It is rare to meet with such as are wicked, and many are very good!
“They who consider the whip necessary to drive the negroes to work, which they would do willingly with reasonable treatment, do not understand them, and frequently make them wicked. I cannot tell you what I have suffered; nay, indeed, I have been ill for weeks from the
