“Go, my dear friend, save that child,

“Is the prayer of your affectionate

“Franconia.”

Mrs. Rosebrook reads and re-reads the letter; then heaves a sigh as she lays it upon the table at her side.  As if discussing the matter in her mind, her face resumes a contemplative seriousness.

“And those children are to be sold in the market!  Who won’t they sell, and sanctify the act?  How can I relieve them? how can I be their friend, for Franconia’s sake?  My husband is away on the plantation, and I cannot brave the coarse slang of a slave mart; I cannot mingle with those who there congregate.

“And, too, there are so many such cases-bearing on their front the fallacy of this our democracy-that however much one may have claims over another, it were impossible to take one into consideration without inciting a hundred to press their demands.  In this sense, then, the whole accursed system would have to be uprooted before the remedy could be applied effectually.  Notwithstanding, I will go; I will go:  I’ll see what can be done in the city,” says Mrs. Rosebrook, bristling with animation.  “Our ladies must have something to arouse their energies; they all have a deep interest to serve, and can do much:”  she will summon resolution and brave all.  Rising from her seat, she paces the room several times, and then orders a servant to command Uncle Bradshaw to get the carriage ready, and be prepared for a drive into the city.

Soon Bradshaw has got the carriage ready, and our good lady is on the road, rolling away toward the city.  As they approach a curvature that winds round a wooded hill, Bradshaw intimates to “missus” that he sees signs of a camp a short distance ahead.  He sees smoke curling upwards among the trees, and very soon the notes of a long-metre tune fall softly on the ear, like the tinkling of distant bells in the desert.  Louder and louder, as they approach, the sounds become more and more distinct.  Then our good lady recognises the familiar voice of Elder Pemberton Praiseworthy.  This worthy christian of the Southern Church is straining his musical organ to its utmost capacity, in the hope there will be no doubt left on the minds of those congregated around him as to his very sound piety.  The carriage rounds the curvature, and there, encamped in a grove of pines by the road side, is our pious Elder, administering consolation to his infirm property.  Such people! they present one of the most grotesque and indiscriminate spectacles ever eyes beheld.  The cholera has subsided; the Elder’s greatest harvest time is gone; few victims are to be found for the Elder’s present purposes.  Now he is constrained to resort to the refuse of human property (those afflicted with what are called ordinary diseases), to keep alive the Christian motive of his unctuous business.  To speak plainly, he must content himself with the purchase of such infirmity as can be picked up here and there about the country.