rapidly. The other morning the following conversation occurred between the slave and his mistress.
She.—“Dear Richard, don't drive us down street; it is so long and so sandy, we shall never get along. Do you hear, Richard?”
He.—“Yes, I will drive that way, missis.”
She.—“Ah, dear Richard, can't you drive another; for instance, along street?”
He.—“No, missis. I have something to get in street.”
She.—“Ah, dear Richard, cannot I avoid going there?”
He.—“No, missis. I want to go there, missis.”
And spite of renewed prayers, his mistress was obliged to yield, and we were driven the way which the obstinate Richard chose. These faithful old servants are more obstinate than ours, but then their eyes beam with a something so kind, with such a cordial life that one cannot help letting them have their way sometimes. They desire all for the good of the family.
Among other persons here who have shown me much kindness, and in whose society I have had pleasure, is the minister of the Lutheran church, the clever, natural-historian, Mr. Bachman, a cheerful and agreeable man, and a universal favourite.
The master of the house where I am staying, Mr. William Howland, is now returned home. He is a man of refined, gentlemanly demeanour, and evidently a kind and beloved head of the family; one who seems particularly to enjoy being able to live, now for a time, quietly at home with his family. The children seem to dance in the evening more gaily than ever, since Justina is at home, and Justina is a noble young girl, well-grown and with a noble exterior, but too pale in complexion. She has a fine talent for the piano, and in the evening, when the dancing is over, she and her sister, Illione, sing to the piano negro-songs, which amuse their father as
