in coarse osnaburgs are busy among the smoke and fire: the scene
presents a smouldering volcano inhabited by semi-devils. Among the
sombre denizens are women, their only clothing being osnaburg
frocks, made loose at the neck and tied about the waist with a
string: with hoes they work upon the "top surface," gather charred
wood into piles, and waddle along as if time were a drug upon life.

Far away to the right the young corn shoots its green sprouts in a
square plat, where a few negroes are quietly engaged at the first
hoeing. Being tasked, they work with system, and expect, if they
never receive, a share of the fruits. All love and respect Marston,
for he is generous and kind to them; but system in business is at
variance with his nature. His overseer, however, is just the
reverse: he is a sharp fellow, has an unbending will, is proud of
his office, and has long been reckoned among the very best in the
county. Full well he knows what sort of negro makes the best driver;
and where nature is ignorant of itself, the accomplishment is
valuable. That he watches Marston's welfare, no one doubts; that he
never forgets his own, is equally certain. From near mid-distance of
the slope we see him approaching on a bay-coloured horse. The sun's
rays are fiercely hot, and, though his features are browned and
haggard, he holds a huge umbrella in one hand and the inseparable
whip in the other. The former is his protector; the latter, his
sceptre. John Ryan, for such is his name, is a tall, athletic man,
whose very look excites terror. Some say he was born in Limerick, on
the Emerald Isle, and only left it because his proud spirit would
not succumb to the unbending rod England held over his poor bleeding
country.

Running along the centre of the slope is a line of cotton-fields, in