“Gentlemen!” interrupts the vender, “we have had enough discussion, moral, legal, and otherwise.  We will now have some selling.”

The honourable sheriff desires to say a word or two upon points not yet advanced.  “The sheriff! the sheriff!” is exclaimed by several voices.  He speaks, having first adjusted his spectacles, and relieved himself of three troublesome coughs.  “The institution-I mean, gentlemen, the peculiar institution-must be preserved; we cannot, must not, violate statutes to accommodate good-feeling people.  My friend Graspum is right, bob and sinker; we’d get ourselves into an everlasting snarl, if we did.  I am done!” The sheriff withdraws his spectacles, places them very carefully in a little case, wipes his mouth modestly, and walks away humming an air.

“Now, gentlemen,” says the vender, bristling with renewed animation “seeing how you’ve all recovered from a small shock of conscience, we will commence the sale.”

Aunt Rachel is now placed upon the stand.  Her huge person, cleanly appearance-Auntie has got her bandana tied with exquisite knot-and very motherly countenance excite general admiration, as on an elevated stand she looms up before her audience.  Mr. Forshou, the very gentlemanly vender, taking up the paper, proceeds to describe Aunt Rachel’s qualities, according to the style and manner of a celebrated race-horse.  Auntie doesn’t like this,—­her dignity is touched; she honours him with an angry frown.  Then she appeals to the amiable gentleman; “come, mas’r, sell ‘um quick; don’ hab no nonsense wid dis child!  Sell ’um to some mas’r what make I housekeeper.  Old mas’r,—­good old Boss,—­know I fus’ rate at dat.  Let ’um done gone, mas’r, fo’h soon.”  Rachel is decidedly opposed to long drawn-out humbuggery.

The bids now commence; Rachel, in mute anxiety, tremblingly watches the lips they fall from.

“Give you a first best title to this ar’ old critter, gentlemen!” says the vender, affecting much dignity, as he holds up his baton of the trade in flesh.  “Anybody wanting a good old mother on a plantation where little niggers are raised will find the thing in the old institution before you.  The value is not so much in the size of her, as in her glorious disposition.”  Aunt Rachel makes three or four turns, like a peacock on a pedestal, to amuse her admirers.  Again, Mr. Wormlock intimates, in a tone that the vender may hear, that she has some grit, for he sees it in her demeanour, which is assuming the tragic.  Her eyes, as she turns, rest upon the crispy face of Romescos.  She views him for a few moments-she fears he will become her purchaser.  Her lip curls with contempt, as she turns from his gaze and recognises an old acquaintance, whom she at once singles out, accosts and invites beseechingly to be her purchaser, “to save her from dat man!” She points to Romescos.