I glanced out at the crevice of the partially open door, and distinctly recognized the gentleman who had spoken to me of the magnolia, and who (I had learned) was James Trueman, of Boston, a man of high standing and social position, and a successful practitioner of law in his native State. The other was a gentleman from Virginia, one of the very first families (there are no second, I believe), by the name of Winston, a man reputed of very vast possessions, a land-holder, and an extensive owner of slaves. I had frequently observed him in company with Mr. Trueman, and had inquired of Henry who and what he was. I felt a little reluctant to remain in my position and hear this conversation, not designed for me; yet a singular impulse urged me to remain. I felt (and I scarce know why) that it had a bearing upon the great moral and social question that so agitated the country. Whilst I was debating with myself about the propriety of a retreat, I caught a few words, which determined me to stay and hear what I believed would prove an interesting discussion. "Let us, my dear Mr. Winston," began Mr. Trueman, "indulge for a few moments in a conversation upon this momentous subject. Both of us have passed that time of life when the ardor and impetuosity of youthful blood might unfit us for such a discussion, and we may say what we please on this vexed question with the distinct understanding, that however offensive our language may become, it will be regarded as _general_, neither meant nor understood to have any application to ourselves." "I am quite willing and ready to converse as you propose," replied the other, in a quick, unpleasant tone, "and I gladly accept the terms suggested, in which you only anticipate my design. It is well to agree upon such restraint; for though, as you remind me, our advancing years have taken much of the fervor from our blood, and left us calm, sober, thoughtful men, the agitating nature of the subject and the deep interest which both of us feel in it, should put us on our guard. If, then, during the progress of the conversation, either of us shall be unduly excited, let the recollection of the conditions upon which we engage in it, recall him to his accustomed good-humor." "Well, we have settled the preliminaries without difficulty, and to mutual satisfaction. And now, the way being clear, our discussion may proceed. I assume, then, in the outset, that the institution of slavery, as it exists in the South, is a monstrous evil. I assume this proposition; not alone because it is the universal sentiment of the 'rest of mankind;' but also, because it is now very generally conceded by slave-holders themselves."