“Ashamed! ashamed! a thing little used the way times are,” he mutters, fretting his fingers through his bristly hair, until it stands erect like quills on a porcupine’s back.  This done, he measuredly adjusts his glasses on the tip of his nose, giving his tawny visage an appearance at once strange and indicative of all the peculiarities of his peculiar character.  “It wasn’t that,” he says, “Marston did’nt get dissatisfied with my spiritual conditions; it was the saving made by the negro’s preaching.  But, to my new business, which so touches your sensitive feelings.  If you will honour me, my dear madam, with a visit at my hospital, I am certain your impressions will change, and you will do justice to my motives.”

“Indeed!” interrupts the lady, quickly, “nothing would give me more gratification,—­I esteem any person engaged in a laudable pursuit; but if philanthropy be expressed through the frailties of speculation,—­especially where it is carried out in the buying and selling of afflicted men and women,—­I am willing to admit the age of progress to have got ahead of me.  However, Elder, I suppose you go upon the principle of what is not lost to sin being gained to the Lord:  and if your sick property die pious, the knowledge of it is a sufficient recompense for the loss.”  Thus saying, she readily accepted the Elder’s kind invitation, and, ordering a basket of prepared nourishment, which, together with the carriage, was soon ready, she accompanied him to his infirmary.  They drove through narrow lanes and streets lined with small dilapidated cottages, and reached a wooden tenement near the suburb of the city of C—.  It was surrounded by a lattice fence, the approach being through a gate, on which was inscribed, “Mr. Praiseworthy’s Infirmary;” and immediately below this, in small letters, was the significant notice, “Planters having the cholera and other prevailing diseases upon their plantations will please take notice that I am prepared to pay the highest price for the infirm and other negroes attacked with the disease.  Offers will be made for the most doubtful cases!”

“Elder Praiseworthy!” ejaculates the lady, starting back, and stopping to read the strange sign. “’Offers will be made for the most doubtful cases!’” she mutters, turning towards him with a look of melancholy.  “What thoughts, feelings, sentiments!  That means, that unto death you have a pecuniary interest in their bodies; and, for a price, you will interpose between their owners and death.  The mind so grotesque as to conceive such a purpose should be restrained, lest it trifle with life unconsciously.”

“You see,” interrupts Mr. Praiseworthy, looking more serious than ever, “It’s the life saved to the nigger; he’s grateful for it; and if they ain’t pious just then, it gives them time to consider, to prepare themselves.  My little per centage is small-it’s a mean commission; and if it were not for the satisfaction of knowing how much good I do, it wouldn’t begin to pay