P.S.--This Mr. Wheatley, who has just left me, is certainly a very amusing man. I cannot tell much about his principles; and he seems to vent his scoffs and jests at everything. But he has a good deal of originality of thought, no bad conceit of himself, and some very strong and fixed opinions, springing rather, I suspect, from the suggestions of his own mind than from anything which has been instilled into him by others. He always seems to set out from the beginning of things; and then flies along his chain of deductions like an electric current, skipping a few links here and there, I doubt not, and getting on to another chain which leads him far away. But with men whom I may never meet again, I have got into a way of amusing myself with their characters, rather than combating their arguments. I was never born for an apostle; and I do not think, if I had the power of depriving men of their opinions or even of their prejudices, I should do much good to myself, or them, or society. Indeed, I have come to the conclusion, that the great bulk of men's prejudices is part of their property, which we have no right to take from them. We may tax them to a certain extent for the benefit of society, but we must prove that benefit before we make it our plea; and the rest we have no right to meddle with at all. The self-conceited desire to do so, is the origin of all fanaticism and of the host of evils to which it gives rise. P.S. No. 2.--Eleven o'clock Friday night.--I have just made a funny sort of acquaintance with my friend the negro pig-carrier. In going out about two hours ago, I heard a loud dispute at the foot of the stairs, and found another fellow as black as himself abusing no other person than Mr. Zedekiah Jones; for such is his euphonious name. I did not stop to listen; but one vituperative epithet was applied to him by his opponent, which I never should have expected to hear addressed by one negro to another. "You're a damn'd black free nigger!" cried the little scrubby fellow who was contending with him. "You're black as I am," retorted Zedekiah, "and nigger too. I could'nt help being free. Ole massa 'mancipate me whether I like or no." The accusation and excuse were strangely characteristic; and a few minutes ago old Zedekiah came up to my room to ask if I had any boots or shoes to clean. It seems he is a sort of supernumerary shoeblack, or porter of the house. I shall get something of his history from him to-morrow, for he appears to be a good kind of merry creature; but, it being late to-night, I satisfied myself with obtaining his name. No letter has come yet, so I shall have to stay here another day. CHAPTER II.