s--of an
inherent element of manhood superior to the bitter accident of slavery;
and to which, even in their degraded condition, they might be made to
refer that vital self-respect which can survive all external pressure of
mere circumstance, and give their souls to that service of God, which is
perfect freedom, in spite of the ignoble and cruel bondage of their
bodies.

My new apartment is what I should call decidedly airy; the window, unless
when styled by courtesy, shut, which means admitting of draught enough to
blow a candle out, must be wide open, being incapable of any intermediate
condition; the latch of the door, to speak the literal truth, does shut;
but it is the only part of it that does; that is, the latch and the
hinges; everywhere else its configuration is traced by a distinct line of
light and air. If what old Dr. Physic used to say be true, that a draught
which will not blow out a candle will blow out a man's life, (a Spanish
proverb originally I believe) my life is threatened with extinction in
almost every part of this new room of mine, wherein, moreover, I now
discover to my dismay, having transported every other article of bed-room
furniture to it, it is impossible to introduce the wardrobe for my
clothes. Well, our stay here is drawing to a close, and therefore these
small items of discomfort cannot afflict me much longer.

Among my visitors to-day was a poor woman named Oney, who told me her
husband had gone away from her now for four years; it seems he was the
property of Mr. K----, and when that gentleman went to slave-driving on
his own account, and ceased to be the overseer of this estate, he carried
her better half, who was his chattel, away with him, and she never expects
to see him again. After her departure I had a most curious visitor, a
young lad of the name of Renty, whose very decidedly mulatto tinge
accounted, I suppose, for the peculiar disinvoltura of his carriage and
manner; he was evidently in his own opinion a very superior creature; and
yet, as his conversation with me testified, he was conscious of some flaw
in the honour of his 'yellow' complexion. 'Who is your mother, Renty?'
said I (I give you our exact dialogue); 'Betty, head-man Frank's wife.' I
was rather dismayed at the promptness of this reply, and hesitated a
little at my next question, 'Who is your father?' My sprightly young
friend, however, answered, without an instant's pause, 'Mr. K----.' Here I
came to a halt, a