The hour of sale has arrived,—­the crier rings his bell, the purchasers crowd up to the stand, the motley group of negroes take the alarm, and seem inclined to close in towards a centre as the vender mounts the stand.  The bell, with the sharp clanking sound, rings their funeral knell; they startle, as with terror; they listen with subdued anxiety; they wait the result in painful suspense.  How little we would recognise the picture from abroad.  The vender, an amiable gentleman dressed in modest black, and whose cheerful countenance, graced with the blandest smile, betokens the antipodes of his inhuman traffic, holding his hat in his left hand, and a long paper in his right, makes an obsequious bow to those who have honoured him with their company.  He views them for a few moments, smiles, casts his eye over the paper again,—­it sets forth age and quality—­and then at his marketable people.  The invoice is complete; the goods correspond exactly.  The texture and quality have been appraised by good judges.  Being specified, he commences reading the summons and writs, and concludes with other preliminaries of the sale.

“Now, gentlemen,” says Mr. Forshou—­for such is his name—­as he adjusts his hat, lays the document on the desk at his right hand, pulls up the point of his shirt-collar, sets his neatly-trimmed whiskers a point forward, and smooths his well-oiled hair:  “We-will-proceed-with-the-sale-of this lot of negroes, according to the directions of the sheriff of the county.  And if no restrictions are imposed, gentlemen can make their selection of old or young to suit their choice or necessities!  Gentlemen, however, will be expected to pay for separating.”  Mr. Forshou, by way of interpolation, reminds his friends that, seeing many of his very best customers present, he expects sharp and healthy bids.  He will further remind them (smiling and fretting his hands, as if to show the number of diamond rings he can afford to wear), that the property has been well raised, is well known, and ranges from the brightest and most interesting, to the commonest black field hand.  “Yes, gentlemen,” he adds, “by the fortune of this unfortunate sale we can accommodate you with anything in the line of negro property.  We can sell you a Church and a preacher-a dance-house and a fiddler-a cook and an oyster-shop.  Anything!  All sold for no fault; and warranted as sound as a roach.  The honourable sheriff will gives titles-that functionary being present signifies his willingness-and every man purchasing is expected to have his shiners ready, so that he can plunk down cash in ten days.  I need not recount the circumstances under which this property is offered for sale; it is enough to say that it is offered; but, let me say, gentlemen, to enlarge upon it would be painful to my feelings.  I will merely read the schedule, and, after selling the people, put up the oxen, mules, and farming utensils.”  Mr. Forshou, with easy contentment, takes up the list and reads at the