A murmuring noise, as of some one in trouble, is now heard at the door:  the crowd gives way:  a beautiful mulatto girl, in a black silk dress, with low waist and short sleeves, and morocco slippers on her feet, is led in and placed upon the stand Mr. O’Brodereque has just vacated.  Her complexion is that of a swarthy Greek; her countenance is moody and reflective; her feelings are stung with the poison of her degraded position.  This last step of her disgrace broods in the melancholy of her face.  Shame, pain, hope, and fear, combine to goad her very soul.  But it’s all for a bit of fun, clearly legal; it’s all in accordance with society; misfortune is turned into a plaything, that generous, good, and noble-hearted men may be amused.  Those who stand around her are extravagant with joy.  After remaining a few moments in silence, a mute victim of generous freedom, she turns her head bashfully, covers her face with her hands.  Her feelings gush forth in a stream of tears; she cannot suppress them longer.

There is a touching beauty in her face, made more effective by the deplorable condition to which she is reduced.  Again she looks upward, and covers her face with her hands; her soul seems merged in supplication to the God who rules all things aright.  He is a forgiving God!  Can he thus direct man’s injustice to man, while this poor broken flower thus withers under the bane?  Sad, melancholy, doomed! there is no hope, no joy for her.  She weeps over her degradation.

“Stop that whimperin!” says a ruffianly bystander, who orders a coloured boy to let down her hair.  He obeys the summons; it falls in thick, black, undulating tresses over her neck and shoulders.  A few moments more, and she resumes a calm appearance, looks resolutely upon her auditors, with indignation and contempt pictured in her countenance.

“She’ll soon get over that!” ejaculates another bystander, as he smooths the long beard on his haggard face.  “Strip her down!” The request is no sooner made, than Mr. O’Brodereque mounts the stand to perform the feat.  “Great country this, gentlemen!” he speaks, taking her by the shoulders.

“All off! all off, general!” is the popular demand.

The sensitive nature of the innocent girl recoils; she cringes from his touch; she shudders, and vainly attempts to resist.  She must yield; the demand is imperative.  Her dress falls at Mr. O’Brodereque’s touch.  She stands before the gazing crowd, exposed to the very thighs, holding the loose folds of her dress in her hands.  There is no sympathy for those moistened eyes; oh, no! it is a luscious feast-puritans have no part in the sin-for those who, in our land of love and liberty, buy and sell poor human nature, and make it food for serving hell.

Naked she stands for minutes; the assembled gentlemen have feasted their eyes,—­good men have played the part of their good natures.  General O’Brodereque, conscious of his dignity, orders her to be taken down.  The waiter performs the duty, and she is led out midst the acclamations and plaudits of the crowd, who call for the raffle.