The name of this poor fellow was George Fairchild. After being sent to the workhouse to receive twenty blows with the paddle when he was scarcely able to stand, he was taken down from the frame and supported to the jail, where he remained several weeks, fed at a cost of eighteen cents a day. His crime was “going for whiskey at night,” and the third offence; but there were a variety of pleadings in his favor. His master worked his negroes to the very last tension of their strength, and exposed their appetites to all sorts of temptation, especially those who worked in the night-gang. His master flogged him once, while he was in the jail, himself, giving him about forty stripes with a raw hide on the bare back: not satisfying his feelings with this, he concluded to send him to New Orleans. He had an affectionate wife and child, who were forbidden to see him. His master ordered that he should be sent to the workhouse and receive thirty-nine paddles before leaving, and on the morning he was to be shipped, his distressed wife, hearing the sad news, came to the jail; but notwithstanding the entreaties of several debtors, the jailer could not allow her to come in, but granted, as a favor, that she should speak with him through the grated door. The cries and lamentations of that poor woman, as she stood upon the outside, holding her bond-offspring in her arms, taking a last sorrowing farewell of him who was so dearly cherished and beloved, would have melted a heart of stone. She could not embrace him, but waited until he was led out to torture, when she threw her arms around him, and was dragged away by a ruffian's hand. Poor George Fairchild! We heard him moaning under the acute pain of the paddle, and saw him thrust into a cart like a dog, to be shipped as a bale of merchandise for a distant port, who had suffered with him in the guard-house came up and saluted him with a friendly recognition. Some two weeks had passed since the occurrence, and yet his head presented the effects of bruising, and was bandaged with a cloth. “Good young massa, do give me a' fo' pence, for Is'e mose starve,” he said in a suppliant tone. Tommy put his hand into his pocket, and drawing out a quarter, passed it to the poor fellow, and received his thanks. Leaving a message for Manuel that he would be sure to call and see him when he returned, he passed from the house of misery and proceeded to his vessel.