you might see the tender mercies of a hardened slaveholder, one who bears the name of being one of the mildest and most merciful masters of which this island can boast.  Oh, my friend, another is screaming under the lash, in the shed-room, but for what I know not.  The scene this morning was truly distressing to me.  It was this:—­After the blessing was asked at the breakfast table, one of the servants, a woman grown, in giving one of the children some molasses, happened to pour out a little more than usual, though not more than the child usually eats.  Her master was angry at the petty and indifferent mistake, or slip of the hand.  He rose from the table, took both of her hands in one of his, and with the other began to beat her, first on one side of her head and then on the other, and repeating this, till, as he said on sitting down at table, it hurt his hand too much to continue it longer.  He then took off his shoe, and with the heel began in the same manner as with his hand, till the poor creature could no longer endure it without screeches and raising her elbow as it is natural to ward off the blows.  He then called a great overgrown negro to hold her hands behind her while he should wreak his vengeance upon the poor servant.  In this position he began again to beat the poor suffering wretch.  It now became intolerable to bear; she fell, screaming to me for help.  After she fell, he beat her until I thought she would have died in his hands.  She got up, however, went out and washed off the blood and came in before we rose from table, one of the most pitiable objects I ever saw till I came to the South.  Her ears were almost as thick as my hand, her eyes awfully blood-shotten, her lips, nose, cheeks, chin, and whole head swollen so that no one would have known it was Etta—­and for all this, she had to turn round as she was going out and thank her master! Now, all this was done while I was sitting at breakfast with the rest of the family.  Think you not I wished myself sitting with the peaceful and happy circle around your table?  Think of my feelings, but pity the poor negro slave, who not only fans his cruel master when he eats and sleeps, but bears the stripes his caprice may inflict.  Think of this, and let heaven hear your prayers.”

In a letter dated St. Helena Island, S.C., Dec. 3, 1832, Mr. G. writes, “If a slave here complains to his master, that his task is too great, his master at once calls him a scoundrel and tells him it is only because he has not enough to do, and orders the driver to increase his task, however unable he may be for the performance of it.  I saw TWENTY-SEVEN whipped at one time just because they did not do more, when the poor creatures were so tired that they could scarcely drag one foot after the other.”

TESTIMONY OF MR. WILLIAM POE

Mr. Poe is a native of Richmond, Virginia, and was formerly a slaveholder.  He was for several years a merchant in Richmond, and subsequently in Lynchburg, Virginia.  A few years since, he emancipated his slaves, and removed to Hamilton County, Ohio, near Cincinnati; where he is a highly respected ruling elder in the Presbyterian church.  He says,—­