My mother was a mighty cheerful, good-humoured old woman —­I may call her old woman, for her son was above thirty; I say she was very pleasant, good company, and used to entertain me, in particular, with abundance of stories to divert me, as well of the country we were in as of the people.

Among the rest, she often told me how the greatest part of the inhabitants of the colony came thither in very indifferent circumstances from England; that, generally speaking, they were of two sorts; either, first, such as were brought over by masters of ships to be sold as servants.  ’Such as we call them, my dear,’ says she, ‘but they are more properly called slaves.’  Or, secondly, such as are transported from Newgate and other prisons, after having been found guilty of felony and other crimes punishable with death.

‘When they come here,’ says she, ’we make no difference; the planters buy them, and they work together in the field till their time is out.  When ‘tis expired,’ said she, ’they have encouragement given them to plant for themselves; for they have a certain number of acres of land allotted them by the country, and they go to work to clear and cure the land, and then to plant it with tobacco and corn for their own use; and as the tradesmen and merchants will trust them with tools and clothes and other necessaries, upon the credit of their crop before it is grown, so they again plant every year a little more than the year before, and so buy whatever they want with the crop that is before them.

‘Hence, child,’ says she, ’man a Newgate-bird becomes a great man, and we have,’ continued she, ’several justices of the peace, officers of the trained bands, and magistrates of the towns they live in, that have been burnt in the hand.’

She was going on with that part of the story, when her own part in it interrupted her, and with a great deal of good-humoured confidence she told me she was one of the second sort of inhabitants herself; that she came away openly, having ventured too far in a particular case, so that she was become a criminal.  ‘And here’s the mark of it, child,’ says she; and, pulling off her glove, ‘look ye here,’ says she, turning up the palm of her hand, and showed me a very fine white arm and hand, but branded in the inside of the hand, as in such cases it must be.

This story was very moving to me, but my mother, smiling, said, ’You need not think a thing strange, daughter, for as I told you, some of the best men in this country are burnt in the hand, and they are not ashamed to own it.  There’s Major ——­,’ says she, ’he was an eminent pickpocket; there’s Justice Ba——­r, was a shoplifter, and both of them were burnt in the hand; and I could name you several such as they are.’