My poor sister was sold first: she was knocked
down to a planter who resided at some distance
in the country. Then I was called upon the stand.
While the auctioneer was crying the bids, I saw
the man that had purchased my sister getting her
into a cart, to take her to his home. I at once
asked a slave friend who was standing near the
platform, to run and ask the gentleman if he
would please to wait till I was sold, in order
that I might have an opportunity of bidding her
good-bye. He sent me word back that he had
some distance to go, and could not wait.

I then turned to the auctioneer, fell upon my
knees, and humbly prayed him to let me just step
down and bid my last sister farewell. But, instead
of granting me this request, he grasped me by the
neck, and in a commanding tone of voice, and with
a violent oath, exclaimed, "Get up! You can do
the wench no good; therefore there is no use in
your seeing her."

On rising, I saw the cart in which she sat
moving slowly off; and, as she clasped her hands
with a grasp that indicated despair, and looked
pitifully round towards me, I also saw the large
silent tears trickling down her cheeks. She made
a farewell bow, and buried her face in her lap.
This seemed more than I could bear. It appeared
to swell my aching heart to its utmost. But