If I could, I would have no slavery, would set all the blacks free, making full compensation to the owners, and less to the absentee owners.
I look out on a world of summer beauty and of heat.

I see the sheep in hundreds on the far hills of pasturage--sheep with short hair, small and sweet as any that ever came from the South Downs.

I see the natives in their Madras handkerchiefs.

I see upon the road some planter in his ketureen--a sort of sedan chair; I see a negro funeral, with its strange ceremony and its gumbies of African drums.
I see yam-fed planters, on their horses, making for the burning, sandy streets of the capital.

I see the Scots grass growing five and six feet high, food unsurpassed for horses--all the foliage too -- beautiful tropical trees and shrubs, and here and there a huge breeding-farm.