They had
come to the man-market to make their purchases. Methodists were in
search of their brethren. Baptists were looking for those that had
been immersed, while Presbyterians were willing to buy fellow
Christians, whether sprinkled or not. The crowd was soon gazing
at and feasting their eyes upon the lovely features of Clotelle.
"She is handsomer," muttered one to himself, "than the lady that
sat in the pew next to me yesterday."
"I would that my daughter was half so pretty," thinks a second.
Groups are seen talking in every part of the vast building, and the
topic on 'Change, is the "beautiful quadroon." By and by, a tall
young man with a foreign face, the curling mustache protruding
from under a finely-chiseled nose, and having the air of a
gentleman, passes by. His dark hazel eye is fastened on the maid,
and he stops for a moment; the stranger walks away, but soon
returns--he looks, he sees the young woman wipe away the silent
tear that steals down her alabaster cheek; he feels ashamed that
he should gaze so unmanly on the blushing face of the woman. As he
turns upon his heel he takes out his white hankerchief and wipes
his eyes. It may be that he has lost a sister, a mother, or some
dear one to whom he was betrothed. Again he comes, and the
quadroon hides her face. She has heard that foreigners make bad
masters, and she shuns his piercing gaze. Again he goes away and
then returns. He takes a last look and then walks hurriedly off.
The day wears away, but long before the time of closing the sale
the tall young man once more enters the slave-pen.
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