ad been a slave. Yes! that fine-looking gentleman seated near
Mr. Garie and losing nothing by the comparison that their proximity would
suggest, had been fifteen years before sold on the auction-block in the
neighbouring town of Savanah--had been made to jump, show his teeth, shout
to test his lungs, and had been handled and examined by professed negro
traders and amateur buyers, with less gentleness and commiseration than
every humane man would feel for a horse or an ox. Now do not doubt me--I
mean that very gentleman, whose polished manners and irreproachable
appearance might have led you to suppose him descended from a long line of
illustrious ancestors. Yes--he was the offspring of a mulatto field-hand by
her master. He who was now clothed in fine linen, had once rejoiced in a
tow shirt that scarcely covered his nakedness, and had sustained life on a
peck of corn a week, receiving the while kicks and curses from a tyrannical
overseer.

The death of his master had brought him to the auction-block, from which,
both he and his mother were sold to separate owners. There they took their
last embrace of each other--the mother tearless, but heart-broken--the boy
with all the wildest manifestations of grief.

His purchaser was a cotton broker from New Orleans, a warm-hearted, kind
old man, who took a fancy to the boy's looks, and pitied him for his
unfortunate separation from his mother. After paying for his new purchase,
he drew him aside, and said, in a kind tone, "Come, my little man, stop
crying; my boys never cry. If you behave yourself you shall have fine times
with me. Stop crying now, and come with me; I am going to buy you a new
suit of clothes."

"I don't want new clothes--I want my mammy," exclaimed the child, with a
fresh burst of grief.

"Oh dear me!" said the fussy old gentleman, "why can't you stop--I don't
want to hear you cry. Here," continued he, fumbling in his pocket--"here's
a picayune."

"Will that buy mother back?" said the child brightening up.

"No, no, my little man, not quite--I wish it would. I'd purchase the old
woman; but I can't--I'm not able to spare the money."

"Then I don't want it," cried the boy, throwing the money on the ground.
"If it won't buy mammy, I don't want it. I want my mammy, and nothing
else."

At length, by much kind language, and by the prospect of many fabulous
events to occur hereafter, invented at the moment by the old gentleman, the
boy was coaxed into a more q