in this way. The books enable me to kill
time famously. All honour to the men who make books!

_July 21st_.--Scipio's opinion of the new overseer is not improved. His
name is "Larkin." Scipio says that he is well-known in the village as
"Bully Bill Larkin"--a soubriquet which may serve as a key to his
character. Several of the "field-hands" complain (to Scipio) of his
severity, which they say is daily on the increase. He goes about
constantly armed with a "cowhide," and has already, once or twice, made
use of it in a barbarous manner.

To-day is Sunday, and I can tell from the "hum" that reaches me from the
negro "quarters," that it is a day of rejoicing. I can see the blacks
passing the Levee road, dressed in their gayest attire--the men in white
_beaver_ hats, blue long-tailed coats, and shirts with enormous ruffles;
the women in gaudy patterns of cotton, and not a few in silks brilliant
enough for a ball-room! Many carry silk parasols, of course of the
brightest colours. One would almost be tempted to believe that in this
slave-life there was no great hardship, after all; but the sight of Mr
Larkin's cowhide must produce a very opposite impression.

_July 24th_.--I noticed to-day more than ever the melancholy that seems
to press upon the spirit of Mademoiselle. I am now convinced that
Antoine's death is not the cause of it. There is some _present_ source
of distraction, which renders her ill at ease. I have again observed
that singular glance with which she at first regarded me; but it was so
transitory, I could not read its meaning, and my heart and eyes were
searching elsewhere. Aurore gazes upon me less timidly, and seems to be
interested in my conversation, though it is not addressed to her. Would
that it were! Converse with her would perhaps relieve my heart, which
burns all the more fiercely under the restraint of silence.

_July 25th_.--Several of the "field-hands" indulged too freely on
yesternight. They had "passes" to the town, and came back late. "Bully
Bill" has flogged them all this morning, and very severely--so as to
draw the blood from their backs. This is rough enough for a _new_
overseer; but Scipio learns that he is an "old hand" at the business.
Surely Mademoiselle does not know of these barbarities!

_July 26th_.--The doctor promises to let me out in three days. I have
grown to esteem this man--particularly since I made the discovery that
he is _not_ a friend of Gayarre.