Yours very sincerely, &c.


_Philadelphia, 27th February, 1794._

DEAR FRIEND,

On the fourth instant I left Annapolis on my way to this city. After
travelling eight miles, we passed through a long and dreary wood; here we
met two negroes conveying a coffin on a sort of sledge. On inquiry, one of
them informed us, the coffin contained the corpse of his mother; that on
the death of his old master, his parents were sold to different planters,
which his father took so much to heart, that he died soon after; his
mother only survived him about five months; and they were now complying
with her last request, which was, to be carried to a plantation about
eight miles thence, and there buried with her husband. There seemed a
great degree of dejection in the poor fellow's countenance; and I could
not help telling him, by way of consolation, that his father and mother
were gone to a better place, where there was no distinction of colour, and
where no white man would dare again to part them; but as _words_ are
_wind_, we agreed to administer some more _solid_ consolation, which the
black man received with a look of gratitude, then cast his eye towards his
mother's corpse, and shed a silent tear. Why was not _Sterne_ present at
this scene?

I slept at an inn, about twenty miles from Annapolis, where we supped in
the American fashion on fried squirrels and coffee, the former excellent.

_Feb. 5th_.--Arrived at Baltimore, and hired a caravan with four