I had been anxious to enlist his sympathies on behalf of my extreme desire, to have some sort of garden, but did not succeed in inspiring him with my enthusiasm on the subject; he said there was but one garden that he knew of in the whole neighbourhood of Darien, and that was our neighbour, old Mr. C——­’s, a Scotchman on St. Simon’s.  I remembered the splendid gardinias on Tunno’s Island, and referred to them as a proof of the material for ornamental gardening.  He laughed, and said rice and cotton crops were the ornamental gardening principally admired by the planters, and that, to the best of his belief, there was not another decent kitchen or flower garden in the State, but the one he had mentioned.

The next day after this conversation, I walked with my horticultural zeal much damped, and wandered along the dyke by the broad river, looking at some pretty peach trees in blossom, and thinking what a curse of utter stagnation this slavery produces, and how intolerable to me a life passed within its stifling influence would be.  Think of peach trees in blossom in the middle of February!  It does seem cruel, with such a sun and soil, to be told that a garden is worth nobody’s while here; however, Mr. O——­ said that he believed the wife of the former overseer had made a ‘sort of a garden’ at St. Simon’s.  We shall see ‘what sort’ it turns out to be.  While I was standing on the dyke, ruminating above the river, I saw a beautiful white bird of the crane species alight not far from me.  I do not think a little knowledge of natural history would diminish the surprise and admiration with which I regard the, to me, unwonted specimens of animal existence that I encounter every day, and of which I do not even know the names.  Ignorance is an odious thing.  The birds here are especially beautiful, I think.  I saw one the other day, of what species of course I do not know, of a warm and rich brown, with a scarlet hood and crest—­a lovely creature, about the size of your northern robin, but more elegantly shaped.

This morning, instead of my usual visit to the infirmary, I went to look at the work and workers in the threshing mill—­all was going on actively and orderly under the superintendence of head-man Frank, with whom, and a very sagacious clever fellow, who manages the steam power of the mill, and is honourably distinguished as Engineer Ned, I had a small chat.  There is one among various drawbacks to the comfort and pleasure of our intercourse with these coloured ‘men and brethren,’ at least in their slave condition, which certainly exercises my fortitude not a little,—­the swarms of fleas that cohabit with these sable dependants of ours are—­well—­incredible; moreover they are by no means the only or most objectionable companions one borrows from them, and I never go to the infirmary, where I not unfrequently am requested to look at very dirty limbs and bodies in very dirty draperies, without coming away with a strong inclination