“Now, good neighbour Graspum,” says our Mr. Grabguy, as he stands in Graspum’s warehouse examining a few prime fellows, “I’ve got a small amount to invest in stock, but I wants somethin’ choice-say two or three prime uns, handy at tools.  I wants somethin’ what ’ll make mechanics.  Then I wants to buy,” he continues, deliberately, “a few smart young uns, what have heads with somethin’ in ’um, that ye can bring up to larn things.  White mechanics, you see, are so independent now-a-days, that you can’t keep ’um under as you can niggers.

“I’ve bin thinkin’ ‘bout tryin’ an experiment with nigger prentices; and, if it goes, we can dispense with white mechanics entirely.  My word for it, they’re only a great nuisance at best.  When you put ’um to work with niggers they don’t feel right, and they have notions that our society don’t respect ’um because they must mix with the black rascals in following their trades; and this works its way into their feelings so, that the best on ’um from the north soon give themselves up to the worst dissipation.  Ah! our white mechanics are poor wretches; there isn’t twenty in the city you can depend on to keep sober two days.”

“Well, sir,” interrupts Graspum, with an air of great importance, as, with serious countenance, he stands watching every change in Mr. Grabguy’s face, at intervals taking a cursory survey of his merchandise, “can suit you to most anything in the line.  You understand my mode of trade, perfectly?” He touches Mr. Grabguy on the arm, significantly, and waits the reply, which that gentleman makes with a bow.  “Well, if you do,” he continues, “you know the means and markets I have at my command.  Can sell you young uns of any age, prime uns of various qualities-from field hands down to watch-makers, clergymen!” He always keeps a good supply on hand, and has the very best means of supply.  So Mr. Grabguy makes a purchase of three prime men, whom he intends to transform into first-rate mechanics.  He declares he will not be troubled hereafter with those very miserable white workmen he is constrained to import from the north.  They are foolish enough to think they are just as good as any body, and can be gentlemen in their profession.  They, poor fools! mistake the south in their love of happy New England and its society, as they call it.

Having completed his bargain, he hesitates, as if there is something more he would like to have.  “Graspum!” he says, “What for trade? can we strike for that imp o’ yours at Mrs. Tuttlewill’s?” Without waiting for Graspum’s reply, he adds-"That chap ’s goin to make a tall bit of property one of these days!”

“Ought to,” rejoins Graspum, stoically; “he’s got right good stock in him.”  The man of business gives his head a knowing shake, and takes a fresh quid of tobacco.  “Give that ‘sprout’ a chance in the world, and he’ll show his hand!” he adds.

“That’s what I wants,” intimates our tradesman.  He has had his eye on the fellow, and knows he’s got a head what ’ll make the very best kind of a workman.  But it will be necessary to take the stubborn out without injuring the “larning” part.  Mr. Grabguy, with great unconcern, merely suggests these trifling matters for the better regulating of Mr. Graspum’s price.