aded they are, after they imbibe these ridiculous notions. When I
behold the Southern country, and am convinced that it is _impossible_ to
manumit the slaves, I conclude that here, at least, they are in their
natural condition. Heretofore, I feel that I have only done my duty in
retaining mine, while I give them every means of comfort, and innocent
enjoyment, that is in my power. Now I have seen the result of the Abolition
efforts, I am _more_ convinced that my duty has been, and will be, as I
have said. Could they be colonized from Virginia, I would willingly consent
to it, as in our climate, white labor would answer; but _farther_ South,
_only the negro_ can labor, and this is an unanswerable objection to our
Southern States becoming free. Those servants that are free, the benevolent
and generous Abolitionists ought to take North, build them colleges, and
make good to them all the promises they held out as baits to allure them
from their owners and their duties."

Mr. Weston found he had not two very attentive listeners in the young
ladies, for they were returning the many salutations they received, and
making remarks on their numerous acquaintances. The carriage began slowly
to ascend Capitol Hill, and they all remarked the beautiful prospect, to
which Washingtonians are so much accustomed that they are too apt not to
notice it. Their ride was delightful. It was one of those lovely spring
days when the air is still fresh and balmy, and the promise of a summer's
sun lights up nature so joyfully.

There were many visitors at the burial-ground, and there had been several
funerals that day. A woman stood at the door of the house, at the entrance
of the cemetery, with a baby in her arms; and another child of two years
old was playing around a large bier, that had been left there until it
should be wanted again.

Mrs. Weston met with an acquaintance, soon after they entered the ground,
and they stopped to converse, while Mr. Weston and the younger ladies
walked on. Near a large vault they stopped a moment, surprised to see two
or three little boys playing at marbles. They were ruddy, healthy-looking
boys, marking out places in the gravel path for the game; shooting,
laughing, and winning, and so much occupied that if death himself had come
along on his pale horse, they would have asked him to wait a while till
they could let him pass, if indeed they had seen him at all. Mr. Weston
tried to address them several times, but