They may
be torn from them, and sold like sheep in the shambles. Happy, free
country! How fair, how beautiful the picture of constitutional
rights! how in keeping with every-day scenes of southern life!
"I'ze gwine to be sold; you're gwint to be sold; we're all gwine to
be sold. Wonder what mas'r's gwine t'buy dis child," says Aunt
Rachel, arranging her best dress, making her face "shine just so."
Aunt Rachel endeavours to suit her feelings to the occasion, trims
her bandana about her head with exquisite taste, and lets the
bright-coloured points hang about her ears in great profusion.
"Da'h 's a right smart heap o' dollar in dis old nigger, yet!-if
mas'r what gwine t'buy 'em know how't fotch um out; Mas'r must do
da'h clean ting wid dis child," Rachel says, as if exulting over the
value of her own person. She brushes and brushes, views and reviews
herself in a piece of mirror-several are waiting to borrow it-thinks
she is just right for market, asks herself what's the use of
fretting? It's a free country, with boundless hospitality-of the
southern stamp,--and why not submit to all freedom's dealings? Aunt
Rachel is something of a philosopher.
"Aunte! da' would'nt gin much fo'h yer old pack a' bones if mas'r
what gwine to buy ye know'd ye like I. Ye' h'ant da property what
bring long price wid Buckra," replies Dandy, who views Aunt Rachel
rather suspiciously, seems inclined to relieve her conceit, and has
taken very good care that his own dimensions are trimmed up to the
highest point.
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