"Buy'n ony nigs, Kirke?" said the trader, inserting his arm in mine, and leading me away from the shanty. "I've got a prime lot-prime!" and he smacked his lips at the last word, in the manner that is common to professional liquor tasters. He scented a trade afar off, and his organs of taste, sympathizing with his olfactories, gave out that token of satisfaction.

"Well, I doan't know. What ye got?"

"Some o' the likeliest property ye ever seed-men and wimmin. All bought round har; haint ben ter Virginny yit. Come 'long, I'll show ye;" and he proceeded toward the group of chattels. He was becoming altogether too familiar; but I called to mind a favorite maxim of good old Mr. Russell -"Necessity has no law "-and quietly submitted.

The negroes were seated on a fallen pine, and were chained together by the wrists, in gangs of four or five, the outside one having one hand secured by a cord bound about the waist. The men wore woollen hats, and the women neat Madras turbans, and both had thick linsey clothing, warm enough for any weather. Their dusky faces were sleek and oily, and their kinky locks combed as straight as nature would permit. The trader had "rigged them up," as a jockey "rigs up" horses for market.

Pausing before a brawny specimen of the yellow species, he said: "Thar, Kirke, luk o' thar; thar's a boy fur ye—a nig thet kin work; 'tend ten thousand boxes (turpentine) easy. He's the sort. Prime stuff, thet (feeling of his arms and thighs); hard-hard as rock-siners like rope. Come o' good stock, he did the old Devereaux blood (a highly respectable family in those parts); they's the raal quality-none on yer

shams and mushrooms, but genuwine 'stockracy-blamed ef they haint. What d'ye say ter him?"

"Well, he moight do, p'raps; but I rather reckon ye've done him up some-'iled his face, greased his wool, and sech like. It's all right, ye knows-onything's far in trade; but ye karn't come it over me, ole feller. I'm up ter sech doin's. I - am, Mr. ," and I paused for him to finish the sentence. "Larkin," he added quickly and good-humoredly; "Jake Larkin, and yours, by ," and he gave my hand another shake. "Yer one on 'em, I swar, and I own up; I hev 'iled 'em a trifle-jest a trifle; but ye kin see through thet. We hev ter do it ter fix the.green 'uns, ye knows."

"Yes, I knows-'iled 'em inside and out, haint

ye?" "No, on my soul; only one glass ter day-true as preachin'."

"Boy," I said to the yellow man, "how much whiskey hev ye drunk ter day? Now, tell the truth."

"Nary drop, massa; hed a moufful o' sperrets-a berry little moufful; dat's all."

""Taint 'nough, Larkin! Come, now, doan't be mean with nigs. Give 'em some more-some o' thet tall brandy o' yourn; a good swig. They karn't stand it out yere in the cold without a little warmin' up."

"Well, I'm blamed ef I won't. Har, you, Jim," speaking to a well-dressed darky lounging near; "har, go ter thet redheaded woodpecker, thar at the cabin, and tell him I'll smash his peepers ef he doan't send me some glasses ter onst-d'ye yere? Go."

The gentlemanly darky went, and soon returned with the glass-ware; and meanwhile Larkin directed another well-clad

negro man to "fotch the jugs." They were strung across the back of a horse which was tied near, and, uncorking one of them, the trader said: "I allers tote my own pizen. 'Taint right to give even nigs sech hell-fire as they sell round har; it gits a feller's stumac used ter Tophet 'fore the rest on him is 'climated."

Well, it does," I replied; "it's the devil's own warmin'

Each negro received a fair quantity of the beverage, and seemed the better for it. A little brandy, "for the stomach's sake," is enjoyed by those dusky denizens of the low latitudes.

When they were all supplied, the trader said to me: "Now, what d'ye say, Kirke? What'll ye give fur the boy?"

"Well, I reckon I doan't want no boy now; and I doan't know as I wants ary 'ooman nother; but if ye've got a right likely gal-one thet'll sew, and nuss good-I moight buy har fur a friend o' mine. His wife's hed twins, and he moight use har ter look arter the young 'uns."

"Young or old?"

"Young and sprightly."

"Now,

'They is high, ye knows; but thar's a gal thet'll suit. Git up, gals;" and a row of five women rose. "No; git up thar, whar we kin see ye." They stepped up on the log. thar's a gal fur ye," he continued, pointing to a clean, tidy mulatto woman, not more than nineteen, with a handsome but meek, sorrow-marked face. "Luk at thet!" and he threw up her dress to her knees, while the poor girl reached down her shackled hands in the vain effort to prevent the indignity. He

was about to show off other good points, when I said: "Never mind; I see what she is. Let 'em git down."

They resumed their seats, and he continued: "Thet's jest the gal ye wants, Kirke. Good at nussin', wet or dry. Good at breedin', too; hed two young 'uns a'ready. Ye kin (The rest of this discourse will not bear

*

repeating.)
"No, thank you."

"Well, jest as ye say. She's sound, though; sold fur no fault. Har young massa's ben a-usin' on har-young 'uns are his'n. Old man got pious; couldn't stand sech doin's, nohow-ter home; so he says ter me, 'Jake,' says he, 'take har ter Orleans; she's jest the sort; ye'll make money sellin' har ter some o' them young bloods.' Ha ha! thet's religion fur ye! I doan't know, Kirke, mebbe ye b'long ter the church, and p'raps ye're one o' the screamin' sort; but onyhow, I say, d-n sech religion as thet. Jake Larkin's a spec'lator, but he wouldn't do a thing like thet; ef he would, d-n him."

(The dealer in negroes never applies the term "trader" to himself; he prefers the softer word, "speculator." The phrase negro trader," is used only by the rest of the community, who are "holier than he.")

"I doan't b'lieve ye would, Larkin; yer a good feller, at bottom, I reckon."

"Well, Kirke, ye're a trump. Come, hev another drink.”

"No; excuse me; karn't stand more'n one horn a day: another'd lay me out flatter'n a stewpan. But ter business. How much fur thet gal-cash down? Come, talk it out.”

"Well, at a word-twelve hun'red."

"Too much-bigger'n my pile; couldn't put so much inter

one gal, nohow. Wouldn't give thet money fur ary nig in Car❜lina."

"Oh, buy me, good massa.

Mister Larkin 'll take less'n dat,

I reckon; do buy me," cried the girl, who had been eying me very closely during the preceding dialogue.

"I would, my good girl, if I could; but you'll not exactly

suit my friend."

"Buy har fur yourself, then, Kirke.

She'll suit you.

She's sound, I tell ye; ye'd make money on har."

"Not much, I reckon," I replied, "dryly.

"Why not? She'll breed like a rabbit.

"I wouldn't own her for the whole State. If I had her, I'd free her on the spot!" The cool bestiality of the trader disgusted me, and I forgot myself.

He started back surprised, then quietly remarked: “Ye're a Nuthuner, I swar; no corncracker ever held sech doctrines as them."

"Yes," I replied, dropping the accent which my blunder had rendered useless; "I am a Northerner; but I want a nurse, notwithstanding, for a friend.”

"Whar d'ye live?" asked the trader, in the same free, good-natured tone as before.

"In New York."

"In York! What! yer not Mr. Kirke, of Randai Kirke & Co.? But, blamenation, ye ar! How them whiskers has altered yet I thort I'd seed ye afore. Haint ye come it over me slick? Tuk in clean-swollered whole. But thar's my hand, Mr. Kirke; I'm right glad ter see ye."

"Where have you met me, my good fellow? I don't remember you."