I might go on and tell of many others, whose poverty was well known, and yet suffered years of imprisonment for debt; but I find I have digressed. I must relate an amusing affair which took place this morning between Manuel Pereira, the steward of the English brig Janson, which put into this port in distress, and the jailer. He is the man about whom so much talk and little feeling has been enlisted--a fine, well-made, generous-hearted Portuguese. He is olive-complexioned--as light as many of the Carolinians--intelligent and obliging, and evidently unaccustomed to such treatment as he receives here. Manuel appeared before the jailer's office this morning with two junks of disgusting-looking meat, the neck-bones, tainted and bloody, in each hand. His Portuguese ire was up. “Mister Poulnot, what you call dis? In South Carolina you feed man on him, ah? In my country, ah yes! we feed him to dog. What you call him? May-be somethin' what me no know him. In South Carolina, prison sailor when he shipwreck, starve him on nosin', den tell him eat this, ah! I sails 'round ze world, but never savage man gives me like zat to eat! No, I starve 'fore I eat him, be gar! Zar, you take him,” said he, throwing the pieces of meat upon the floor in disdain. “Meat! Yes, it's what's sent here for us. You mustn't grumble at me; enter your complaints to the sheriff, when he comes,” said the jailer, with an expression of mortification on his countenance. “Meat, ah! You call dat meat in South Carolina? I call him bull-neck, not fit for dog in my country. I see, when Capitan come, vat he do,” said Manuel, turning about and going to his room in a great excitement. “You'd better be careful how you talk, or you may get locked up when the sheriff comes.” It seems that the Captain had received a note from him, addressed by one of the white prisoners on the same floor, and reached the jail just as Manuel had ascended the stairs. He rang the bell and requested to see Manuel. “Manuel Pereira?” inquired the jailer. “Yes,” said the Captain, “he is my steward.” He heard the Captain's voice, and immediately returned to the lobby. The tears ran down his cheeks as soon as he saw his old protector. “Well, Manuel, I am glad to see you, but sorry that it is in imprisonment. Tell me what is the matter. Don't they use you well here?” inquired the Captain. Stepping within the office door, he caught up the pieces of meat, and bringing them out in his hands, held them up. “There, Capitan, that no fit for man, is it?” said he. “Law send me prison, but law no give not'ing to eat. What I do dat people treat me so? Ah, Capitan, bull neck, by gar, yes-bull born in South Carolina, wid two neck. Ils sont reduits l'extremit,” said he, concluding with broken French. “That cannot be; it's against the law to kill bulls in South Carolina,” interrupted the jailer jocosely.