plexed their comforters. And now and then the little creatures wept, as recollections of lost parents and friends came over them.

The scene in the sale-store was more animated than that on board the slaver, and in this sense tended to relieve the sufferings of the victims. The "educated" negroes, belonging to other owners, and also sent in for sale, amused themselves with making sport of the new arrivals, and the night was passed in a sort of savage revelry, fomented not by drink, but by that intoxicating excitement which hangs over all, when uncertainty of fate is impending.

There was a middle-aged man, sitting with others upon a bench, who every now and then attempted to read a book. But the moment he took it out it was knocked from his hand, amid the broad grins of his associ

ates.

"Dere now, Sambo want to make tink dat he a berry learned man, a berry learned man. Hu! hu! Come, Sambo, you know so much, gib us a song, and you niggers, jine de chorus. Hu!

But the man turned from thern, and strove to talk quietly in his native tongue to the women who were caressing the children-Marossi and Ro

setta.

The niggers, however, clamored for a song, and twitted and annoyed the man whom they designated by the very general cognomen "Sambo," but he bore all their jeers with exemplary good-temper. At length, yielding to their importunities, he struck up

"Come and join the joyful strain,

Come and join the heavenly train—

For we are going to Canaan's land, Canaan's land!

"Come and see the heavenly gate,

God lives there, and he is great,

For we are going to Canaan's land, Canaan's land!"

About a dozen verses of this simple character were sung, to one of those peculiar melodies charming to the negroes' ears. There was something in the melody which comforted the spirits even of those who could not understand the words; and after a few ineffectual attempts to break silence, on the part of some of the more boisterous of the company, the whole sunk down into quietude, if not to sleep.

The daybreak was ushered in by the rumbling of heavy carts and wagons, which were pitched in rows against the wall of the long building in which the slaves were located; and by the smacking of whips as the vehicles were being thus disposed of. There is no part of the world where the whip is so vigorously smacked as in America! Soon the doors were thrown open, when a crowd of miscellaneous spectators walked in, some looking gravely, holding books in their hands, and marking the lots as they passed along. Others strolled lazily down the avenue, halting only to look at groups of pretty negresses, and throwing them nuts and candy, just as one treats the monkeys at the Zoological Gardens. Others looked in at the doors, and then turning up their noses at the impurity of the air, wheeled around upon their heels and walked away.

There was one man among the spectators who looked different in many respects from the rest. He was rather a short, thick-set man, with an air of gravity amounting to sternness. He was dressed, too, in somewhat different attire. There was less of that broad portraiture of Yankeeism about him than is common among slave-dealers. His hair was

dark, his complexion sallow, a hard and compressed mouth, with a small twinkling eye which, often could be seen only through the dark lashes which covered it but it shone forth from beneath them like a fiery spark.

Coming up to the bench where sat the negro who was christened Sambo by his companions, and who was jeered by them for reading the book, he eyed him contemplatively. Sambo was reading at the moment, for the activity of the scene had diverted attention from him.

"Who's selling you?" inquired Mr. Harris.

'My good massa die, las' week, and I don' know who sen' me here." "Who was your master?"

"Him Massa Rumbald, ob de Peak Farm. I was his only nigger, Him berry good massa!"

massa.

"You are to be sold alone, I see."

"Iss, mass. "Alone !" said the negro, with a sigh.

"What's your name?"

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Tom, massa.'

"Have you ever been married?"

་་

'How don't you know?"

Dey tare her away from me ye'rs agone." And the man sobbed

"What was your wife's name?"

Susan, massa.'

"And your daughter's ?"

Emmeline, massa!" and the man sobbed again.

"Emmeline! Where did you get that name from?"

"De moder gib de name to de chil' after a kine missus."

"Where were you raised ?"

"In Kentuck, massa."

"Stand up!" Tom stood up.

"Turn round!" Tom turned round, and his examiner felt his ribs, and thumbed him under the ribs to try his breath.

"Who was your father?"

"Don' no, massa; but I've heered he was a wite man.' "Pshaw !-you poor crows often deceive yourselves.'

"Iss, massa," said Tom, not exactly understanding the import of the remark.

"What book is that you have been reading ?".

"De blessed book, massa, de Bible."

The interrogator took the book out of Tom's hand; its pages were thumbed and turned down, and the edges were rubbed into a sort of woolly roughness by repeated transits to and from Tom's pocket. Inside

the cover was written this inscription :-"Presented to Thomas Brown, as a reward for good conduct. The laborer is worthy of his hire." There was no name subscribed; and this is not subject for wonder, since penalties exist against teaching the black population to read or write. The book was handed back with the simple utterance of a meditative “hum,” and then Mr. Harris walked away, holding down his head, and making an entry in his memorandum-book.

Presently he returned again, and said to Tom: "Do you know anything of this lot?"

"No, massa; I only know dat dey came by de great ship."

Mr. Harris walked away again, and presently returned, bringing with him a man of the broad Yankee species, whose habiliments were loose enough to envelop a family. "Here," says Mr. Harris, "is a lot of fine women, and as you raise niggers, they are just the thing for you. But you won't want the little ones to take all the way to Orleans. Now suppose you put in for the women, and I'll take the young ones off your hands at a fair rate?"

"Wa'll, I don't mind," said the breeder of immortal souls, with a true nasal twang. "But I reck'n the young uns 'll run up the lot a piece: that boy's a catch," said he, lifting the little fellow up by a grip just under the arm-pits, and holding him dangling by his side; "and this gal's a likely-looking lot for a domestic, or the likes o' that," said he, thrusting the fingers of his broad hand into her fine woolly hair, and bearing her head down on to her shoulder. The children began to cry aloud.

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Wa'll, I'll tell ye what I'll do now. When the lot is knocked down, we'll take 'em at so much a head, and the two young 'uns shall count four."

"That's a hard bargain," replied Mr. Harris.

Wa'll, that's as you think; it's you that wants 'em : it makes no matter to me. If I buys the batch of women, and takes the run of the lot, I must make something somehow, I reckon ;" and, with this exposition of his feelings, he flung down the boy, stuck his hands into his deep breeches pockets, and was indifferently walking away.

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Well," said Mr. Harris, "I agree; so I'll keep near to the lot, and look out for you."

Already the noise and bustle of the sale had commenced. The ejaculations of the auctioneer, the contention of the bidders, the cries of the victims as they were torn from each other, and hurried to the wagons outside, the smacking of whips, and the curses of the slave-drivers, made up a very animated scene, worthy the patronage of a certain embodiment of evil, who was doubtless there in many shapes.

"Lot fifty-nine !" shouted the auctioneer. "Tom Brown, a well made, healthy, strong mulatto, aged forty. A good servant, and a Christian!" This was the description read from the advertisement.

"How much for Tom Brown? Now, gen'lemen, there's as likely a lot as has passed through my hands for a season."

Tom was on the block, looking anxiously about, whilst a crowd drew near him, and began to pinch and nudge him, opening his mouth, examining his teeth, and compressing his ribs.

"One hundred fifty-one hundred and fifty-two hundred! fiftytwo hundred and fity! two hundred and fifty! Gentlemen, don't pause; here's a lot, as is worth a thousand! Three hundred fifty-three hundred and fifty. All done? Gen'lemen, ra'lly now, one would think

there was no cotton in the country. Go-a-head, gen'lemen, for this fine lot! Four hundred-four hundred! Go-a-head, gen'lemen, go-a-head! Four-hundred! F-o-u-r hundred! Four h-u-n-dred! F-o-u-r h-u-nd-r-e-d! Gen'lemen—(knock)—gone! Mr. Harris-four hundred dollars!" "Here, you," said Mr. Harris, reaching forward over the heads of a crowd, and nobbing Tom with his stick-" come here!" and setting Tom down in his old place, he bade him wait till fetched.

It was remarkable that no reference was made to Tom's being a Christian more than once by the auctioneer, and that was when he read the printed description given by his late owner. What think you, Christian reader, would the repetition of this qualification have enhanced the value of the lot? "Going a Christian-for four hundred dollars!" Who, ou this side of the Atlantic, will bid another fifty?

While the other lots are being sold, we may just say a few words about Mr. Harris, who is not altogether a stranger to us. He has lately lost one or two valuable negroes, who became fugitives; and he has come to the conclusion that it arose entirely from his having been too indulgent, and allowing his slaves too much liberty. There was one George Harris, whom he used to permit to go on to a neighboring plantation, and whom he hired to a Mr. Wilson, a manufacturer. This man actually had the audacity to learn to read and write, to marry, and to invent machines, without his, Mr. Harris's, knowledge, assistance or consent; and, finally, he took it into his head to run away, and carry off his wife with him. Such were the fruits of indulgence. Moreover, the same slave, George Harris, had the awful audacity to assume his master's name. Why this was his mother could best tell, were she alive to plead his cause. It may seem a wicked charge to bring against a man evidently so indulgent as Mr. Harris has always been, and a piece of great presumption, too, to think that a man of Mr. Harris's complexion, although a little sallow and hard about the features, should be accused by a black woman of such an atrocity. How dare a creature of dark skin to libel a man of fairer hue? It may seem, we add, a wicked charge, to be thus framed and brought; yet there are precedents upon record too numerous to be overthrown, and confirmed by that mingling of color which proves, in God's own way, that He is no respecter of persons. However this may have been, Mr. Harris is a somewhat altered man; he has joined a Christian churchwe won't say what church-out of commiseration with the brethren on this side of the Atlantic. We will add, in justice to one body, that he had not become a member of the Society of Friends-probably for the very strongest reason. However, certain it is that he is a member of some church, and that he pays his tribute, and that it is looked upon as a fit offering in the cause of religious truth! Well, this Mr. Harris, having settled his views upon religion, has also settled his views upon property. He has read that "the powers which be are ordained of God," and putting his own interpretation upon the passage, he of course looks upon himself as one of the powers, and is determined in future to uphold his authority. He has therefore bought Tom, hoping to find in him a suitable manager for his plantation, to introduce a new discipline; and he has bought a few young slaves, that they may be more readily brought up to whatever that discipline ordains. He believes that slaves have souls-at least, he knows nothing to the contrary; and looking upon the affairs of the body and the concerns of the soul as utterly distinct, he sees no reason for allowing the one to interfere with the other. He consoles himself by believing that he looks after the bodily welfare of his slaves,

and that he keeps temptation out of the way of their souls; and therefore at the present time he is at peace.

But where is he? Oh! here he comes, bringing with him Rosetta and Marossi, whom he delivers over to the care of Tom whilst he goes to settle with the New Orleans breeder.

The children, having already been familiarized with Tom, rushed towards him, rejoiced to get away from the strange people by whom they were surrounded.

The Captain of the slaver, having disposed of his lots, is delighted, upon looking over his book, to see that he has cleared about fifteen thousand dollars, and, as he leaves the sale-room, he is followed by a number of men who look upon him as a most enterprising and respectable fellow,-onɑ whose acquaintance is worthy of being cultivated.

CHAPTER IV

IN WHICH WE GO A LONG WAY IN A SHORT TIME.

THE distance from Charleston to Mr. Harris's plantation, in the State of Kentucky, was about as far, good reader, as from John o' Groat's to the Land's End, and halfway back again! In America, distance is very ittle considered. The Yankee, accustomed to his own broad country, with its wild woods and prairies, lakes and swamps, intersecting broad settlements and rapidly growing towns and cities, looks upon this little island as a mere handful of earth, and taunts us with wanting elbow room. There is one thing, we confess, we cannot find room for here, and that is slavery-traffic in human bodies to the sacrifice of human souls. And from our hearts we deplore the humiliating fact that so vast a country as America-a country boasting of free institutions, and having a constitution in which the rights of mankind are nobly asserted, should be stained by so foul a spot, her name a byeword among nations, a reproach upon the tongues of honest men!

Mr. Harris, having settled his affairs in Charleston, had sundry boxes, baggages, bodies and souls, lumped together, and loading a respectable wagon, started off in high glee. Sometimes the goods were transferred to cars on railways, sometimes to boats on canals, and then to wagons again. We have nothing particular to note in the course of this journey beyond the few facts that will immediately follow.

Tom was lolling upon some boxes and bags in the wagon, when the children commenced playing with him. As he dropped off to sleep, they would pull his woolly locks, and then hide themselves away; or they would try to tickle the palms of his hands, which, however, were too hardened to suffer inconvenience from such an operation. Waking up, and pleased with the merriment of the children, he commenced snapping his fingers and thumbs, and exclaiming "Rosetta! Misse Rosetta, eh! eh! Marossi-Massa Marossi-eh, eh; you tink I not know who tickle my face, eh! eh!" "Tom!" said his master.

"Iss, massa!"

"How do you know these children's names?"

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