then, when Renty was born, and he made Betty tell all about it, and Mr. K——­ had to own it; but nobody knows anything about this, and so he denies it’—­with which information I rode home.  I always give you an exact report of any conversation I may have with any of the people, and you see from this that the people on the plantation themselves are much of my worthy neighbour Mr. C——­’s mind, that the death of Major ——­ was a great misfortune for the slaves on his estate.

I went to the hospital this afternoon, to see if the condition of the poor people was at all improved since I had been last there; but nothing had been done.  I suppose Mr. G——­ is waiting for Mr. ——­ to come down in order to speak to him about it.  I found some miserable new cases of women disabled by hard work.  One poor thing, called Priscilla, had come out of the fields to-day scarcely able to crawl; she has been losing blood for a whole fortnight without intermission, and, until to-day, was labouring in the fields.  Leah, another new face since I visited the hospital last, is lying quite helpless from exhaustion; she is advanced in her pregnancy, and doing task work in the fields at the same time.  What piteous existences to be sure!  I do wonder, as I walk among them, well fed, well clothed, young, strong, idle, doing nothing but ride and drive about all day, a woman, a creature like themselves, who have borne children too, what sort of feeling they have towards me.  I wonder it is not one of murderous hate—­that they should lie here almost dying with unrepaid labour for me.  I stand and look at them, and these thoughts work in my mind and heart, till I feel as if I must tell them how dreadful and how monstrous it seems to me myself, and how bitterly ashamed and grieved I feel for it all.

To-day I rode in the morning round poor Cripple Jack’s bird field again, through the sweet spicy-smelling pine land, and home by my new road cut through Jones’s wood, of which I am as proud as if I had made instead of found it—­the grass, flowering shrubs, and all.  In the afternoon, I drove in the wood wagon back to Jones’s, and visited Busson Hill on the way, with performances of certain promises of flannel, quarters of dollars, &c. &c.  At Jones’s, the women to-day had all done their work at a quarter past three, and had swept their huts out very scrupulously for my reception.  Their dwellings are shockingly dilapidated and over-crammed—­poor creatures!—­and it seems hard that, while exhorting them to spend labour in cleaning and making them tidy, I cannot promise them that they shall be repaired and made habitable for them.