the reverse
its synonyme in English, "The Bee." Half of its contents were in
French, half in English: each half was a counterpart--a translation of
the other.

I mechanically took the journal from the hand of the waiter, but without
either the design or inclination to read it. Mechanically my eyes
wandered over its broad-sheet--scarce heeding the contents.

All at once, the heading of an advertisement fixed my gaze and my
attention. It was on the "French side" of the paper.

"Annoncement."

"_Vente importante des Negres_!" Yes--it was they. The announcement
was no surprise to me. I expected as much.

I turned to the translation on the reverse page, in order to comprehend
it more clearly. There it was in all its broad black meaning:--

"_Important Sale of Negroes_!" I read on:--"_Estate in Bankruptcy.
Plantation Besancon_!"

"Poor Eugenie!"

Farther:--

"_Forty able-bodied field-hands, of different ages. Several first-rate
domestic servants, coachman, cooks, chamber-maids, wagon-drivers. A
number of likely mulatto boys and girls, from ten to twenty_," etcetera,
etcetera.

The list followed _in extenso_. I read--

"Lot 1. _Scipio, 48. Able-bodied black, 5 foot 11 inches, understands
house-work, and the management of horses. Sound and without blemish_.

"Lot 2. _Hannibal, 40. Dark mulatto, 5 foot 9 inches, good coachman,
sound and steady_.

"Lot 3. _Cesar, 43. Black field-hand. Sound_," etcetera, etcetera.

My eyes could not wait for the disgusting details. They ran down the
column in search of that name. They would have lit upon it sooner, but
that my hands trembled, and the vibratory motion of the sheet almost
prevented me from reading. It was there at length--_last upon the
list_! "Why last?" No matter--her "description" was there.

Can I trust myself to read it? Down, burning heart, still your wild
throbbings!

"Lot 65. _Aurore. 19. Quadroon. Likely_--_good housekeeper, and
sempstress_."

Portrait sketched by refined pen--brief and graphic.

"Likely," ha! ha! ha! "Likely," ha! ha! The brute who wrote that
paragraph would have described Venus as a likely gal.

'Sdeath! I cannot jest--this desecration of all that is lovely--all
that is sacred--all that is dear to my heart, is torture itself. The
blood is boiling in my veins--my bosom is wrung with dire emotions!

The journal fell from my hands, and I bent forward over the table, my
fingers clutching each other.