size, and singularly handsome. His figure was herculean, and the head had the features of a Jupiter; but majesty and gentleness were there converted into a hardness which was really horrible. One might just as well have talked about justice and humanity to a block of stone as to that man. One could see by the cold expression of that dark blue eye, by those firmly-closed lips, that he had set his foot upon his own conscience, made an end of all hesitation and doubt, and bade defiance both to heaven and hell. He would have money. If he could, by crushing the whole human race in his hand, have converted them into money, he would have done it with pleasure. The whole world was to him nothing excepting as a means of making money. The whole world might go to rack and ruin so that he could but rise above it,—a rich man, as the only rich and powerful man in the world. If I wanted to pourtray the image of perfected, hardened selfishness, I would paint that beautiful head. That perfectly dark expression of countenance, the absence of light, life, joy, was only the more striking, because the complexion was fair; and the cheeks, although somewhat sunken, had a beautiful bloom. He seemed to be about fifty.
After having visited three slave-houses, or camps, and seen some of the rooms in which the slaves were lodged for the night—and which were great garrets without beds, chairs, or tables—I proceeded to the hospital of New Orleans. It is a large institution, and appears to me well managed. There were some cholera patients in it. One young man and a young girl lay dying. I laid my hand upon their foreheads, but they felt it not. They had already sunk into the last sleep.
I dined on this day, the 30th of December, at the house of my countryman, Mr. S., who wished to give me a real New Orleans dinner; and in particular a favourite soup in Louisiana, called gumbo, prepared from a kind of groat somewhat resembling sago.
