"The philosophy of the thing is coming out, just as I
said-precisely," ejaculates Mr. Scranton, raising his methodical
eyes, and whispering to a legal gentleman who sits at his right.
"Serious philosophy, that embraces and sanctions the sale of such
lovely children,--making property of one's children against his
wishes! I'm a great Southern rights man, but this is shaving the
intermixture a little too close," rejoins the other, casting a
solicitous look at Marston, who has been intently and nervously
examining the bill of sale.
"Any objections to make to it?" says the learned gentleman, bowing
politely and extending his hand, as he concludes by inquiring how it
happened, in the face of such an array of evidence, that he sold the
girl, Ellen Juvarna?
"No objection, none!" is Marston's quick response. His head droops;
he wipes the tears from his eyes; he leaves the court in silence,
amid murmurs from the crowd. The female witnesses left before him;
it was well they did so.
That this is the original bill of sale, from one Silenus to Hugh
Marston, has been fully established. However painful the issue,
nothing remained but to give the case to the jury. All is silent for
several minutes. The judge has rarely sat upon a case of this kind.
He sits unnerved, the pen in his hand refusing to write as his
thoughts wander into the wondrous vortex of the future of slavery.
But the spell has passed; his face shades with pallor as slowly he
rises to address the jury.
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