He had heard much of T. Norman Gadsden, whose fame sounded for being the greatest negro-seller in the country, yet he had not seen him, though he had witnessed several negro-sales at other places.  On looking over the papers after breakfast, his eye caught a flaming advertisement with “T.  Norman Gadsden’s sale of negroes” at the head.  There were plantation negroes, coachmen, house-servants, mechanics, children of all ages, with descriptions as various as the kinds.  Below the rest, and set out with a glowing delineation, was a description of a remarkably fine young sempstress, very bright and very intelligent, sold for no fault.  The notice should have added an exception, that the owner was going to get married.

He repaired to the place at the time designated, and found them selling an old plantation-negro, dressed in ragged, gray clothes, who, after a few bids, was knocked down for three hundred and fifty dollars.  “We will give tip-top titles to everything we sell here to-day; and, gentlemen, we shall now offer you the prettiest wench in town.  She is too well-known for me to say more,” said the notorious auctioneer.

A number of the first citizens were present, and among them the Captain recognised Colonel S—­, who approached and began to descant upon the sale of the woman.  “It’s a d—­d shame to sell that girl, and that fellow ought to be hung up,” said he, meaning the owner; and upon this he commenced giving a history of the poor girl.

“Where is she?  Bring her along!  Lord! gentlemen, her very curls are enough to start a bid of fifteen hundred,” said the auctioneer.

“Go it, Gadsden, you’re a trump,” rejoined a number of voices.

The poor girl moved to the stand, pale and trembling, as if she was stepping upon the scaffold, and saw her executioners around her.  She was very fair and beautiful-there was something even in her graceful motions that enlisted admiration.  Here she stood almost motionless for a few moments.

“Gentlemen, I ought to charge all of you sevenpence a sight for looking at her,” said the auctioneer.  She smiled at the remark, but it was the smile of pain.

“Why don’t you sell the girl, and not be dogging her feelings in this manner?” said Colonel S—.

Bids continued in rapid succession from eleven hundred up to thirteen hundred and forty.  A well-known trader from New Orleans stood behind one of the city brokers, motioning him at every bid, and she was knocked down to him.  We learned her history and know the sequel.

The Captain watched her with mingled feelings, and would fain have said, “Good God! and why art thou a slave?”