“Now, gentlemen,” continues the vender, “the honourable high sheriff is anxious, and so am I-and it’s no more than a feelin’ of deserving humanity, which every southern gentleman is proud to exercise-that these children be sold to good, kind, and respectable owners; and that they do not fall into the hands, as is generally the case, of men who raise them up for infamous purposes.  Gentlemen, I am decidedly opposed to making licentiousness a means of profit.”

“That neither means you nor me,” mutters Romescos, touching Mr. Seabrook on the arm, shaking his head knowingly, and stepping aside to Graspum, in whose ear he whispers a word.  The very distinguished Mr. Graspum has been intently listening to the outpouring of the vender’s simplicity.  What sublime nonsense it seems to him!  He suggests that it would be much more effectual if it came from the pulpit,—­the southern pulpit!

“Better sell ’um to some deacon’s family,” mutters a voice in the crowd.

“That’s precisely what we should like, gentlemen; any bidder of that description would get them on more favourable terms than a trader, he would,” he returns, quickly.  The man of feeling, now wealthy from the sale of human beings, hopes gentlemen will pardon his nervousness on this occasion.  He never felt the delicacy of his profession so forcibly-never, until now!  His countenance changes with the emotions of his heart; he blushes as he looks upon the human invoice, glances slily over the corner at the children, and again at his customers.  The culminating point of his profession has arrived; its unholy character is making war upon his better feelings.  “I am not speaking ironically, gentlemen:  any bidder of the description I have named will get these children at a satisfactory figure.  Remember that, and that I am only acting in my office for the honourable sheriff and the creditors,” he concludes.

“If that be the case,” Mr. Seabrook thinks to himself, “it’s quite as well.  Our good lady friend will be fully satisfied.  She only wants to see them in good hands:  deacons are just the fellows.”  He very politely steps aside, lights his choice habanero, and sends forth its curling fumes as the bidding goes on.

A person having the appearance of a country gentleman, who has been some time watching the proceedings, is seen to approach Graspum:  this dignitary whispers something in his ear, and he leaves the mart.

“I say, squire!” exclaims Romescos, addressing himself to the auctioneer, “do you assume the responsibility of making special purchasers? perhaps you had better keep an eye to the law and the creditors, you had!” (Romescos’s little red face fires with excitement.) “No objection t’ yer sellin’ the gal to deacons and elders,—­even to old Elder Pemberton Praiseworthy, who’s always singing, ‘I know that my Redeemer cometh!’ But the statutes give me just as good a right to buy her, as any first-class deacon.  I knows law, and got lots o’ lawyer friends.”