Oh, the trials! the trials! they make the salt water come into my eyes
when I think of the days in which I was afflicted--the times that are
gone; when I mourned and grieved with a young heart for those whom I
loved.

It was night when I reached my new home. The house was large, and built at
the bottom of a very high hill; but I could not see much of it that night.
I saw too much of it afterwards. The stones and the timber were the best
things in it; they were not so hard as the hearts of the owners.[3]

[Footnote 3: These strong expressions, and all of a similar character in
this little narrative, are given verbatim as uttered by Mary
Prince.--_Ed._]

Before I entered the house, two slave women, hired from another owner, who
were at work in the yard, spoke to me, and asked who I belonged to? I
replied, "I am come to live here." "Poor child, poor child!" they both
said; "you must keep a good heart, if you are to live here."--When I went
in, I stood up crying in a corner. Mrs. I---- came and took off my hat, a
little black silk hat Miss Pruden made for me, and said in a rough voice,
"You are not come here to stand up in corners and cry, you are come here
to work." She then put a child into my arms, and, tired as I was, I was
forced instantly to take up my old occupation of a nurse.--I could not
bear to look at my mistress, her countenance was so stern. She was a stout
tall woman with a very dark complexion, and her brows were always drawn
together into a frown. I thought of the words of the two slave women when
I saw Mrs. I----, and heard the harsh sound of her voice.

The person I took the most notice of that night was a French Black called