which the young plants, sickly in spots, have reached a stage when
they require much nursing. Among them are men, women, and children,
crouched on the ground like so many sable spectres, picking and
pulling at the roots to give them strength. John Ryan has been
keeping a sharp eye on them. He will salute you with an air of
independence, tell you how he hated oppression and loved freedom,
and how, at the present day, he is a great democrat. Now, whether
John left his country for his country's good, is a question; but
certain it is he dearly delights to ply the lash,-to whip mankind
merely for amusement's sake. In a word, John has a good Irish heart
within him, and he always lays particular emphasis on the good, when
he tells us of its qualities; but let us rather charge to the State
that spare use he makes of its gentler parts.

John Ryan, his face indicating tyranny stereotyped, has just been
placing drivers over each gang of workmen. How careful he was to
select a trustworthy negro, whose vanity he has excited, and who
views his position as dearly important. Our driver not unfrequently
is the monster tyrant of his circle; but whether from inclination to
serve the interests of his master, or a knowledge of the fierce
system that holds him alike abject, we know not. At times he is more
than obedient to his master's will.

Excuse, reader, this distant view of the plantation at early spring,
and follow us back to the Ashly. Here we will still continue along
the river-bank, pass borders of thick jungle, flowering vines, and
rows of stately pines, their tops moaning in the wind,-and soon find
we have reached Marston's landing. This is situated at the
termination of an elevated plat extending from thence to the
mansion, nearly a mile distant. Three negroes lay basking on the