The Sun.
London, England, 1861-06-06 00:00:00

negroes pulling upon a stretched rope, in the
manner usual in the ferryboats in Switzerland,
ready for our reception. Another drive through a
more open country, and we reach a fine grove of
pine and olive oak, which melts away into a shrub-
bery, guarded by a rustic gateway, passing through
which we are brought by a sudden turn into
the planter's house, buried in trees which dispute
with the green sward, and with wild flower-beds
every yard of the space which lies between the hall-
door and the waters of the Pedee ; and in a few
minutes, as we gaze over the expanse of fields, just
tinged with green by the first life of the early rice
crops, marked by the deep water-cuts, and bounded
by a fringe of unceasing forest, the chimneys of the
steamer we had left at Georgetown gliding, as it
were, through the fields, indicate the existence
of another navigable river still beyond. Leav-
ing with regret the verandah which commanded
so enchanting a foreground of flowers, rare shrub •
bery, and bearded live oaks, with each grace-
ful sylvan outline distinctly pencilled upon the
waters of the river, we enter the house and are re-
minded by its low-browed, old-fashioned rooms of
the country houses yet to be found in parts of Ire-
land, or on the Scottish border, with additions
made by the luxury and love of foreign travel of
more than one gEneration of educated Southern
planters. Paintings from Italy illustrate the walls
in juxtaposition with interesting portraits of
early Colonial Governors and their lovely woman-
kind, limned with no uncertain hand, and full of
the vigour of touch and naturalness of drapery of
which Copley has left us too few exemplars, and
one portrait of Benjamin West claims for itself such
honour as his own pencil can give. An excellent
library filled with collections of French and English
classics, and with those ponderous editions of Vol-
taire, Rousseau, the " Memoires pour Servir," books
of travel and history such as delighted our fore-
fathers in the last century, and many works of
American and general history afford ample occupa-
tion for a rainy day. But, alas I these, and all
things good which else the house affords can be
enjoyed but for a brief season. Just as nature has
expanded every charm, developed every grace, and
clothed the scene with all the beauty of opened
flower, of ripening grain, and of mature vegetation,
on the wings of the wind the poisoned breath comes
borne to the home of the white man, and he must
fly before it or perish. The books lie unopened on
their shelves, the flower blooms and dies unheeded,
and, pity 'tis 'tis true, the old Madeira garnered
'neath the roof settles down for a fresh lease of life,
and sets about its solitary task of acquiring a finer
flavour for the infrequent lips of its banished master
and his welcome visitors. This is the story, at least,
that we hear on all sides, and such is the tale re-
peated to us beneath the porch when the fall moon
enhances, while softening, the loveliness of the
scene, and the rich melody of hundreds of mocking-
birds fills the grove.
Within these hospitable doors Horace might ban-
quet better than he did with Nasidienus, and drink
such wine as can be only found among the descen-
dants of an ancestry who, improvident enough in all
else, learnt the wisdom of bottling up choice old Bual
and Sercial ere the demon of oldiumhad dried up
their generous sources for ever. To these must be
added excellent bread, ingenious varieties of the
palette, compounded now of rice and now of Indian
meal, delicious butter and fruits,. all good of their
kind. What more is needed for one who agrees with
Mr. Disraeli in thinking bread and wine man's two
first luxuries and his best ? And is there anything
better rising up from the bottom of the social bowl ?
My black friends who attend on me are grave as
Mussulman Khitmutgars. They are attired in
liveries, sind wear white cravats and Berlin gloves.
At night, when we retire, off they go to their outer
darkness in the small settlement of negrohood,
which is separated from our house by a wooden
palisado. Their fidelity is undoubted. The house
breathes an air of security. The doors and win-
dows are unlocked. There is but one gun, a fow-
ling-piece, on the premises. No planter hereabouts
has any dread of his slaves. But I have seen
within the short time I have been in this part of
the world several dreadful accounts of murder and
violence, in which masters suffered at the hands of
their slaves. There is something suspicions in the
oeuGaimmos2.4. ...rwsr "
afraid of our slaves." The curfew and the night
patrol in the streets, the prisons and watch-houses,
and the police regulations prove that strict super-
vision, at all events, is needed and necessary, My
host is a kind man and a good master. If slaves
are happy anywhere they should be so with him.
These people are fed by their master. They have
upwards of half-a-pound per diem of fat pork, and
corn in abundance. They rear poultry, and sell
their chickens and eggs to the house. They are
clothed by their master. He keeps them in sick-
ness as in health. Now and then there are gifts of
tobacco and molasses to the deserving. There was
little labour going on in the fields, for the rice has
been just exerting itself to get its head above
water. These fields yield plentifully ; for the
waters of the river are fat, and they are let in
whenever the planter requires it by means of flood-
gates and small canals through which the flats can
carry their loads of grain to the river for loading
the steamers.