Prosperity, as the estate of Mr. Canes was called, lay some five or six miles distant, nearer the shore than Prospect Pen. It was a valuable property, with a large mansion, one of the best residences in that part of the island. All the country side had received invitations; the splendour and opulence of the preparations excelled every thing of the kind in the memory of the oldest inhabitants. The whole exterior of the house, jalousies, and piazzas were all on purpose newly painted, and every establishment for many leagues around was laid under contribution for the loan of plate, china, and glasses, London porter, and English preserves, to embellish and enrich the supper.

I went in the same carriage, an open car, with Mr. Beans and Miss Jemima; their domestic servants, to assist, all dressed in their gaudiest, had set off some time before.

On approaching Prosperity House, every thing indicated festivity. The sun was gloriously setting; the field negroes belonging to the property, with many others from the neighbouring estates, were assembled near the house, joyously talking and laughing all together, every one as black and shining as if freshly come from under the brushes of Day and Martin. It is impossible to conceive a more riant and happy scene.