LATE in the afternoon of a chilly day in February, two gentlemen were sitting in a well-furnished room in a town in Kentucky. One of the parties, however, when critically examined, did not seem to be a gentleman. He was a short, thickset man, with coarse features and a swaggering air. His hands, large and coarse, were plentifully bedecked with rings. His conversation was in free and easy defiance of all the rules of grammar, and was garnished at frequent intervals with various profane expressions.

  His companion, Mr. Shelby, had the appearance of a gentleman; and the arrangements of the house indicated easy and even opulent circumstances.

  "That is the way I should arrange the matter," said Mr. Shelby.

  "I can't make the trade that way—I positively can't, Mr. Shelby," said the other.

  "Why, the fact is, Haley, Tom is an uncommon fellow; he is certainly worth that sum anywhere—steady, honest, and capable, manages my whole farm like a clock. You ought to let him cover the whole balance of the debt; and you would, Haley, if you had any conscience."

  "Well, I've got just as much conscience as any man in business can afford to keep; but this yer, you see, is a leetle too hard on a fellow—a leetle too hard."

  "Well, then, Haley, how will you trade?" said Mr. Shelby.

  "Haven't you got a boy or gal that you could throw in with Tom?"

  Just then the door opened, and a small quadroon boy, between four and five years of age, entered the room.

  "Come here, Jim Crow," said Mr. Shelby. "Show this gentleman how you can dance and sing." The boy commenced one of those wild, grotesque songs common among the negroes, his hands and feet keeping time to the music.

  "Bravo!" said Haley

  "Now, Jim, walk like old Uncle Cudjoe, when he has the rheumatism," said his master.

  Instantly the flexible limbs of the child assumed the appearance of deformity and distortion, as, with his back humped, and his master's stick in his hand, he hobbled about the room, his childish face drawn into a doleful pucker, and spitting from right to left in imitation of an old man.

  "Now, Jim," said his master, "show us how old Elder Robbins leads the psalm." The boy drew his chubby face down to a formidable length, and commenced toning a psalm through his nose, with imperturbable gravity.

  "Hurrah! what a young 'un!" said Haley; "Tell you what," said he, "fling in that chap, and I'll settle the business—"

  At this moment the door was pushed gently open, and a beautiful young quadroon girl apparently about twenty-five, entered the room.

  "Well, Eliza?" said her master.

  "I was looking for Harry, please, sir."

  "Well, take him away, then," said Mr. Shelby; and the girl withdrew.

  "By Jupiter!" said the trader, turning to him in admiration, "there's an article now! You might make your fortune on that ar gal in Orleans."

  "I don't want to make my fortune on her," said Mr. Shelby.

  "Come, how will you trade about the gal? What shall I say for her—What will you take?"

  "Mr. Haley, she is not to be sold." said Shelby. "My wife would not part with her for her weight in gold."

  "Well, you must let me have the boy, though," said the trader.

  "I would rather not sell him," replied Mr. Shelby, thoughtfully; "the fact is, I hate to take him from his mother."

  "O, you do? La! yes—something of that ar natur. I understand, perfectly. It is mighty onpleasant getting on with women, sometimes. I always hates these yer screaching screamin' times. But as I manages business, I generally avoids 'em. Now, what if you get the girl off for a day or a week, or so; then the thing's done quietly—all over before she comes home. Your wife might give her some new earrings, or a new gown, to make up with her.

  "Lor' bless ye, yes. These critters ain't like white folks, you know. They gets over things, if you only manage right. Now, they say," said Haley, assuming a confidential air, "that this kind o' trade is hardening to the feelings, but I never found it so. Fact is, I never could do things up the way some fellers manage the business. I knew a real handsome gal once, in Orleans, as was entirely ruined by this sort of handling. The fellow that was trading for her didn't want her baby; and she was one of your real high sort, when her blood was up. I tell you, she squeezed up her child in her arms, and talked, and went on real awful. It kinder makes my blood run

   cold to think on't; and when they carried off the child, and locked her up, she jest went raving mad, and died in a week. Clear waste of a thousand dollars, jest for want of management—that's where 'tis. It's a' ways best to do the humane thing, sir, that's been my experience." The trader leaned back in his chair, and folded his arms, with an air of virtuous decision.

  The subject appeared to interest the gentleman deeply, for while Mr. Shelby was thoughtfully peeling an orange, Haley broke out afresh.

  "It don't look well, now for a feller to be praisin' himself; but I say it jest because it's the truth. I believe I'm reckoned to bring about the finest droves of niggers that is brought in—at least, I've been told so; if I have once, I reckon I have a hundred times—all in good case—fat and likely, and I lose as few as any man in the business. And I lays it all to my management, sir; and humanity, sir, I may say, is the great pillar of my management."

  "It is a happy thing to be satisfied," said Mr. Shelby, with a slight shrug.

  "Well," said Haley, "what do you say?"

  "I will think the matter over and talk with my wife. Call up again this evening, between six and seven, and you shall have my answer," said Mr. Shelby, and the trader bowed himself out of the apartment.

  Mr. Shelby was a fair average kind of a man, good-natured and kindly, and disposed to easy indulgence of those around him. He had, however, speculated largely and quite loosely; had involved himself deeply, and his notes to a large amount had come into the hands of Haley; and this small piece of information is the key to the preceeding conversation.

  Now, it had happened that Eliza had caught enough of the conversation to know that a trader was making offers to her master for somebody; but her mistress just then calling, she was obliged to hasten away. Still she thought she heard the trader make an offer for her boy; could she be mistaken?

  "Eliza, girl, what ails you to-day?" said her mistress, noting that she seemed to be in trouble.

  Eliza started. "O, missis!" she said, raising her eyes and bursting into tears.

  "Why, Eliza, child, what ails you?" asked Mrs. Shelby again.

  "O! missis, missis," said Eliza, "there's been a trader talking with master in the parlor. Do you suppose he would sell my Harry?"

  "Sell him! No, you foolish girl. You know your master never deals with those southern traders, and never means to sell any of his servants, as long as they behave well."

  Reassured by her mistress' confident tone, Eliza laughed at her fears.

  Eliza had been brought up from girlhood by her present mistress, and was a petted and indulged favorite. She had been married to a bright and talented young mulatto man, who was a slave on a neighboring estate, and

  He was shown the machinery by George, who talked so fluently, held himself so erect, looked so handsome and manly, that his master began to feel an uneasy sense of inferiority. What business had his slave to be marching round the country, inventing machines, and holding up his head among gentlemen? He'd soon put a stop to it.

  Although the factory owner offered to increase George's wages, he was taken home, and put to a life of toil and drudgery, rendered more bitter by every little smarting vexation and indignity which tyrannical ingenuity could devise.

  Mrs. Shelby had gone on a visit, and Eliza stood on the veranda, looking after the retreating carriage, when a hand was laid on her shoulder. She turned around, and a bright smile lit up her fine eyes.

  "George, is it you? How you frightened me! Well, I am so glad you've come. Missis is gone to spend the afternoon, so come into my little room, and we'll have the time all to ourselves.

  "How glad I am—why don't you smile? And look at Harry—how he grows. Isn't he beautiful?" said Eliza, lifting his long curls and kissing him.

  "I wish he had never been born!" said George, bitterly. "I wish I had never been born myself!"

  "George! George! how can you talk so? What dreadful thing has happened, or is going to happen?"

  "I have been patient, but things are growing worse and worse. It was only yesterday, as I was busy loading stones into a cart, that young Mas'r Tom stood there, slashing his whip so near the horse that the creature was frightened. I asked him to stop as pleasant as I could—he just kept right on. I begged him again, and then he turned on me and began striking me. I held his hand, and then he screamed and kicked and ran to his father, and told him I was fighting him. He came in a rage, and said he'd teach me who was my master; and he tied me to a tree, and cut switches for the young master, and told him he might whip me till he was tired, and he did do it! And yesterday he told me that I should take Mina for a wife, and settle down in a cabin with her, or he would sell me down river."

  "Why—but you were married to me, by the minister, as much as if you'd been a white man!" said Eliza, simply.

  "Don't you know a slave can't be married? There is no law in this country for that. I can't hold you for my wife, if he chooses to part us. So, Eliza, my girl," said the husband, mournfully, "bear up now, and good-bye for I'm going."

  "Going, George? Going where?"

  "To Canada," said he, "and when I'm there, I'll buy you. That's all my hope. You have a kind master, that won't refuse to sell you. I'll buy you and the boy."

  "O, George, for my sake, do be careful! Don't do anything wicked; don't lay hands on yourself, or anybody else! You are tempted too much—too much; but don't—go you must—but go carefully, prudently; pray God to help you."

  "Well, now, Eliza, hear my plan. I'm going home quite resigned, you understand, as if all was over. I have got some preparations made, and there are those that will help me; and in the course of a week or so, I shall be among the missing some day. Pray for me, Eliza; perhaps the good Lord will hear you."

  "Pray yourself, George, and go on trusting in Him; then you won't do anything wicked."