in the way of a puffect encomium, we all know that there isn’t anothah man among us who cuts as wide a swath among the ladies.  The’foh, if you have any appreciation of virtue, any magnanimity of heaht; if you set a propah valuation upon the descendants of Virginia, that mothah of Presidents; if you believe in the pure laws of Kentucky as the pioneer bride of the Union; if you love America an’ love the worl’—­make me a gen’rous, high-toned offah foh ole King Sol’mon!”

He ended his peroration amid a shout of laughter and applause, and feeling satisfied that it was a good time for returning to a more practical treatment of his subject, proceeded in a sincere tone:—­

“He can easily earn from one to two dollahs a day, an’ from three to six hundred a yeah.  There’s not anothah white man in town capable of doin’ as much work.  There’s not a niggah ban’ in the hemp factories with such muscles an’ such a chest. Look at ’em!  An’, if you don’t b’lieve me, step fo’ward and feel ’em.  How much, then, is bid foh ’im?”

“One dollah!” said the owner of a hemp factory, who had walked forward and felt the vagrant’s arm, laughing, but coloring up also as the eyes of all were quickly turned upon him.  In those days it was not an unheard-of thing for the muscles of a human being to be thus examined when being sold into servitude to a new master.

“Thank you!” cried the sheriff, cheerily.  “One precinc’ heard from!  One dollah!  I am offahed one dollah foh ole King Sol’mon.  One dollah foh the king!  Make it a half.  One dollah an’ a half.  Make it a half.  One dol-dol-dol-dollah!”

Two medical students, returning from lectures at the old Medical Hall, now joined the group, and the sheriff explained: 

“One dollah is bid foh the vagrant ole King Sol’mon, who is to be sole into labah foh a twelvemonth.  Is there any othah bid?  Are you all done?  One dollah, once—­”

“Dollah and a half,” said one of the students, and remarked half jestingly under his breath to his companion, “I’ll buy him on the chance of his dying.  We’ll dissect him.”

“Would you own his body if he should die?”

“If he dies while bound to me, I’ll arrange that.”

“One dollah an’ a half,” resumed the sheriff, and falling into the tone of a facile auctioneer he rattled on:—­

“One dollah an’ a half foh ole Sol’mon—­sol, sol, sol,—­do, re, mi, fa, sol,—­do, re, mi, fa, sol!  Why, gentlemen, you can set the king to music!”

All this time the vagrant had stood in the centre of that close ring of jeering and humorous bystanders—­a baffling text from which to have preached a sermon on the infirmities of our imperfect humanity.  Some years before, perhaps as a master-stroke of derision, there had been given to him that title which could but heighten the contrast of his personality and estate with every suggestion of the ancient sacred magnificence;