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 bank; they were sent to wait our coming.  Tonio!  Murel!  Pompe!-they ejaculate, calling one another, as we surprise them.  They are cheerful and polite, are dressed in striped shirts and trousers, receive us with great suavity of manner, present master’s compliments, tell us with an air of welcome that master will be “right glad” to see us, and conclude by making sundry inquiries about our passage and our “Missuses.”  Pompe, the “most important nigger” of the three, expresses great solicitude lest we get our feet in the mud.  Black as Afric’s purest, and with a face of great good nature, Pompe, in curious jargon, apologises for the bad state of the landing, tells us he often reminds Mas’r how necessary it is to have it look genteel.  Pompe, more than master, is deeply concerned lest the dignity of the plantation suffer.

Planks and slabs are lain from the water’s edge to the high ground on the ridge, upon which we ascend to the crown, a piece of natural soil rising into a beautiful convex of about six rods wide, extending to the garden gate.  We wend our way to the mansion, leaving Pompe and his assistants in charge of our luggage, which they will see safely landed.  The ridge forms a level walk, sequestered by long lines of huge oaks, their massive branches forming an arch of foliage, with long trailing moss hanging like mourning drapery to enhance its rural beauty.  At the extreme of this festooned walk the mansion is seen dwindling into an almost imperceptible perspective.  There is something grand and impressive in the still arch above us-something which revives our sense of the beauty of nature.  Through the trunks of the trees, on our right and left, extensive rice fields are seen stretching far into the distance.  The young blades are shooting above the surface of the water, giving it the appearance of a frozen sheet clothed with green, and protected from the river by a serpentine embankment.  How beautiful the expanse viewed from beneath these hoary-headed oaks!

On the surface and along the banks of the river aligators are sporting; moccason snakes twist their way along, and scouring kingfishers croak in the balmy air.  If a venerable rattlesnake warn us we need not fear-being an honourable snake partaking of the old southerner’s affected chivalry;-he will not approach disguised;-no! he will politely give us warning.  But we have emerged from the mossy walk and reached a slab fence, dilapidated and broken, which encloses an area of an acre of ground, in the centre of which stands the