e approached the counter.

'Har, you lousy sorrel-top,' said the trader to the red-faced and
red-headed bar tender; 'har, give us some mugs.'

'Sorrel-top' placed two glasses on the counter, and my new acquaintance
proceeded to rinse them thoroughly. They were of a clear grass-green
color, and holding one up to the light, the trader said: 'Now luk a'
them. Them's 'bout as green as the fellers that drink out on 'em--a
man's stumac's got ter be of cast iron ter stand the stuff they sell
har.'

'It's better'n you kin 'ford ter drink,' exclaimed the bar tender, in
high dudgeon.

'Who spoke ter ye--take thet!' rejoined the trader, discharging the
contents of the glass full in the man's face. The sorrel-crowned worthy
bore the indignity silently, evidently deeming discretion the better
part of valor.

'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 together 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--_Necessitus non arbit legum_--and quietly submitted.

The negroes were seated on a fallen pine, in a remote quarter of the
ground, 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' his 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 respectabl