The office of our man of fame and fortune is thirty feet long by twenty wide, and sixteen high.  Its walls are brilliantly papered, and painted with landscape designs; and from the centre of the ceiling hangs a large chandelier, with ground-glass globes, on which eagles of liberty are inscribed.  Fine black-walnut desks, in chaste carving, stand along its sides, at which genteelly-dressed clerks are exhibiting great attention to business.  An oil-cloth, with large flowers painted on its surface, spreads the floor, while an air of neatness reigns throughout the establishment singularly at variance with the outer mart, where Mr. Forshou sells his men, women, and little children.  But its walls are hung with badly-executed engravings, in frames of gilt.  Of the distinguished vender’s taste a correct estimation may be drawn when we inform the reader that many of these engravings represented nude females and celebrated racehorses.

“Excuse me, sir!  I didn’t mean it,” Mr. M’Fadden says, in reply to the gentleman’s caution, approaching him as he sits in his elegant chair, a few feet from the street door, luxuriantly enjoying a choice regalia.  “It’s the little point of a very nasty habit that hangs upon me yet.  I does let out the swear once in a while, ye see; but it’s only when I gets a crook in my mind what won’t come straight.”  Thus M’Fadden introduces himself, surprised to find the few very consistent oaths he has made use of not compatible with the man-seller’s pious business habits.  He will be cautious the next time; he will not permit such foul breath to escape and wound the gentleman’s very tender feelings.

Mr. Lawrence M’Fadden addresses him as squire, and with studious words informs him of the nigger preacher property he sold him having actually run away!  “Ye warranted him, ye know, squire!” he says, discovering the object of his visit, then drawing a chair, and seating himself in close proximity.

“Can’t help that-quality we never warrant!” coolly returns the other, turning politely in his arm-chair, which works in a socket, and directing a clerk at one of the desks to add six months’ interest to the item of three wenches sold at ten o’clock.

“Don’t talk that ar way, squire!  I trades a deal in your line, and a heap o’ times, with you.  Now we’ll talk over the legal points.”

“Make them short, if you please!”

“Well! ye warranted the nigger in every particular.  There’s the advertisement; and there’s no getting over that!  Ye must do the clean thing-no possumin-squire, or there ’ll be a long lawsuit what takes the tin.  Honour’s the word in our trade.”  He watches the changes that are fast coming over the vender’s countenance, folds his arms, places his right foot over his left knee, and awaits a reply.  Interrupting the vender just as he is about to give his opinion he draws from his pocket a copy of the paper containing the advertisement, and places it in his hand:  “If ye’ll be good enough to squint at it, ye’ll see the hang o’ my ideas,” he says.