Mr. Ford Fosdick, a gentleman of the learned profession, very straight of person, and most bland of manners, is what may be called escheator in ordinary to the state.  Keeping a sharp eye on her interests, he has anticipated the commands of his august master, presents his polite person very unexpectedly in his honour’s court-room.  Fosdick, in addition to an excellent reputation for being the very best gentleman “nigger grabber” the state ever had, is well thought of in fashionable circles, having fought two duels of the most desperate character.  He is of middle stature, with a face finely oval, and to which are added features of much softness, altogether giving him more the appearance of a well-ordained divine, than the medium of those high functions by which the state’s “grab-all” of homeless negroes distinguishes himself.  If the state tolerated an ignominy, Ford Fosdick—­between whom there exists a mutual partnership—­found in it an apology for the part he played; for—­let no man blush when we tell it—­the sum total for which friendless, homeless, and ownerless negroes sold for in the market was equally divided between them.  Generous as was this copartnership, there were few well-disposed persons independent enough to sanction it; while here and there an outspoken voice said it was paying a premium for edging Fosdick’s already sharp appetite for apprehending the wretched, who—­God save the state’s honour!—­having no means of protecting themselves, would be sold for the sovereign interests of his own pocket, instead of the peace of the dear people, of which the state was ever jealous.  Mr. Fosdick is present,—­thanks his honour the mayor:  he thinks he has seen the negro before; that he is a prowler not a doubt can exist.  Quite indifferent as to his own interests, he says the city is literally beset with such vermin:  in his own mind, however, he has not a doubt but that something handsome will be realised from the sale of the old fellow.  There is now a most fearful case in the city,—­a negro belonging to Mr. Grabguy has become mad with disobedience:  they have chained him to the floor, but he sets everything at defiance, threatens the lives of all who come near him,—­says he will die or be free.  Against this there is little hope for old Bob; his crooked story will not suit the high considerations of these amiable worthies of state:  he must be siezed and dragged to the workhouse, there to await the result.  It is a profitable morning’s work for Mr. Ford Fosdick, who makes a large note in his ledger, and will soon carry out a very acceptable item on behalf of his dear self.  So, while Bob eats his corn-grits in a cell, and his heart beats high with purity, Mr. Ford Fosdick revels in luxury he thinks not ill-gotten.