the ship's deck.

"You have the advantage of me, sir," replied the tall man.

"Why, don't you know me? My name is Jennings; I sold you a splendid
negro woman some years ago."

"Yes, yes," answered the Natchez man. "I remember you now, for the woman
died in a few months, and I never got the worth of my money out of her."

"I could not help that," returned the slave-trader; "she was as sound as
a roach when I sold her to you."

"Oh, yes," replied the parson, "I know she was; but now I want a young
girl, fit for house use,--one that will do to wait on a lady."

"I am your man," said Jennings, "just follow me," continued he, "and
I will show you the fairest little critter you ever saw." And the two
passed to the stern of the boat to where the trader had between fifty
and sixty slaves, the greater portion being women.

"There," said Jennings, as a beautiful young woman shrunk back with
modesty. "There, sir, is the very gal that was made for you. If she had
been made to your order, she could not have suited you better."

"Indeed, sir, is not that young woman white?" inquired the parson.

"Oh, no, sir; she is no whiter than you see!"

"But is she a slave?" asked the preacher.

"Yes," said the trader, "I bought her in Richmond, and she comes from an
excellent family. She was raised by Squire Miller, and her mistress was
one of the most pious ladies in that city, I may say; she was the salt
of the earth, as the ministers say."

"But she resembles in some respect Agnes, the woman I bought from you,"
said Mr. Wilson. As he said the name of Agnes, the young woman started
as if she had been struck. Her pulse seemed to quicken, but her face
alternately flushed and turned pale, and tears trembled upon her
eyelids. It was a name she had heard her mother mention, and it brought
to her memory those days,--those happy days, when she was so loved and
caressed. This young woman was Clotelle, the granddaughter of Agnes.
The preacher, on learning the fact, purchased her, and took her home,
feeling that his daughter Georgiana would prize her very highly.
Clotelle found in Georgiana more a sister than a mistress, who, unknown
to her father, taught the slave-girl how to read, and did much toward
improving and refining Clotelle's manners, for her own sake. Like
her mother fond of flowers, the "Virginia Maid," as she was sometimes
called, spent many of her leisure hours in the garden. Beside the
flowers which sprang up from the ferti