river-banks. Caravans of black men and women were seen driving out from the planter's-house to the fields. After them came one or two buggies, or cabriolets, in which were probably the overseers or the masters themselves. I gazed on the whole scene in that spirit of human love in which, to keep one's self in good-humour one believes the best of all men, and in which one endeavours to see every thing and all circumstances on the sunny side.
Two hours later I still sate aft on the piazza, and inhaled the same mild, delicious atmosphere; still beheld the same scene of southern beauty, but gazed upon it with a heart full of bitterness. Yes, for a dark picture had been unfolded before my gaze, a picture which I never shall forget, which perpetually, like a spectre of the abyss will step between me and the memory of that enchantmg veil, which for a moment captivated and darkened my vision.
I sate and gazed upon that beautiful scene, as one looks at the scene of a theatre. I enjoyed with childish delight the decorations. Then came my new friend, the planter, and seated himself in an arm-chair on the piazza. We spoke a few words about the deliciousness of the air, which he enjoyed as much as I did. Then we sate silently contemplating the scenery of the shores. We saw the caravans of slaves and their overseers proceeding over the fields. I said to my neighbour, in that spirit of human-love which I have mentioned,—
“There is a great deal more happiness and comfort in this life (the slaves' life), than one commonly imagines.”
The planter turned to me his beautiful head, with a glance which I shall never forget; there was astonishment, almost reproach in it, and a profound melancholy.
“Oh!” said he in a low voice, “you know nothing of that which occurs on these shores; if you did, you would not think so. Here is much violence and much suffering! At this season in particular, and from the
