"Yes, sir."
"What would you consider a fair price for a woman thirty years old, with a young-one two years old?"
"Depends altogether on her physical condition, you know.—Has she any other children?"
"Yes; four."
"Well—I reckon about seven to eight hundred."
"I bought one yesterday—gave six hundred and fifty."
"Well, sir, if she's tolerable likely, you did well."
This morning I visited a farm, situated on the bank of James River, near Richmond.
The labour upon it was entirely performed by slaves. I did not inquire their number, but I judged there were from twenty to forty. Their "quarters" lined the approach-road to the mansion, and were well-made and comfortable log cabins, about thirty feet long by twenty wide, and eight feet wall, with a high loft and shingle roof. Each divided in the middle, and having a brick chimney outside the wall at either end, was intended to be occupied by two families. There were square windows, closed by wooden ports, having a single pane of glass in the centre. The house-servants were neatly dressed, but the field-hands wore very coarse and ragged garments.
During the three hours, or more, in which I was in company with the proprietor, I do not think ten consecutive minutes passed uninterrupted by some of the slaves requiring his personal direction or assistance. He was even obliged, three times, to leave the dinner-table.
"You see," said he, smiling, as he came in the last time, "a farmer's life, in this country, is no sinecure." Then turning the conversation to slavery, he observed, in answer to a remark of mine, "I only wish your philanthropists would con-
