“No mystery,” chimed in the monk; “no mystery, God help us, but mucha, mucha miseria, hijo mio; much misery, sir, and more impending, and none to help save only”--He did not finish the sentence, but taking off his shovel hat, and shewing his finely turned bald head, he looked up to heaven, and crossed himself, the tears trickling down his wrinkled cheeks. “But,” continued he, “you will come, Mr Cringle?” “Certainly,” said I, “tomorrow I will call, if my friend Don Ricardo will be my guide.” This being fixed, we strolled about until dinnertime, friend Aaron making his remarks regarding the people and their domiciles with great naivety. “Strange now, Tom, I had expected to see little else amongst the slave population here than misery and starvation; whereas, so far as I can observe, they are all deucedly well cared for, and fat, and contented; and from the enquiries I was making amongst the captains of the merchantmen”--(“Masters,” interjected Captain Transom, “Master of a merchantman, Captain of a man-of-war.”) “Well, captains of merchantmen,--masters, I mean,--I find that the people whom they employ are generally free; and, farther, that the slaves are not more than three to one free person, yet they export a great deal of produce, Captain Transom--must keep my eyes about me.” And so he did, as will be seen by and by. But the dinner hour drew near, and we repaired to Don Ricardo’s, where we found a party of eight assembled, and our appearance was the signal for the repast being ordered in. It was laid out in the entrance hall. The table was of massive mahogany, the chairs of the same material, with stuffed bottoms, covered with a dingy-coloured morocco, which might have been red once. But devil a dish of any kind was on the snow-white table-cloth when we sat down, and our situations, or the places we were expected to fill at the board, were only indicated by a large knife and silver fork and spoon laid down for each person. The company consisted of Don Ricardo Campana, la Senora Campana, and a brother of hers, two dark young men, who were Don Ricardo’s clerks, and three young women, ladies, or senoras, as I ought to have called them, who were sitting so far back into the shade, at the dark end of the room, when we entered, that I could not tell what they were. Our hostess was, although a little woman, a good looking dark Spaniard, not very polished, but very kind; and seeing that our friend Aaron was the most helpless amongst us, she took him under her especial care, and made many a civil speech to him, although her husband did not fail to advertise her, that he understood not one word of Spanish, that is, of all she was saying to him. However, he replied to her kindnesses by his never-failing exclamation of “mucho, mucho,” and they appeared to be getting on extremely well. “Bring dinner,” quoth Don Ricardo, “trae la comida;” and four black female domestics entered, the first with a