of healthy young negroes before next fall,"
said Mr. Trail, obsequiously.

"We are averse to the purchase of negroes from Africa," said the young
gentleman, coldly. "My grandfather and my mother have always objected to
it, and I do not like to think of selling or buying the poor wretches."

"It is for their good, my dear young sir! for their temporal and their
spiritual good!" cried Mr. Trail. "And we purchase the poor creatures
only for their benefit; let me talk this matter over with you at my own
house. I can introduce you to a happy home, a Christian family, and a
British merchant's honest fare. Can't I, Captain Franks?"

"Can't say," growled the Captain. "Never asked me to take bite or sup at
your table. Asked me to psalm-singing once, and to hear Mr. Ward preach:
don't care for them sort of entertainments."

Not choosing to take any notice of this remark, Mr. Trail continued in
his low tone: "Business is business, my dear young sir, and I know,
'tis only my duty, the duty of all of us, to cultivate the fruits of the
earth in their season. As the heir of Lady Esmond's estate--for I speak,
I believe, to the heir of that great property?--"

The young gentleman made a bow.

"--I would urge upon you, at the very earliest moment, the propriety,
the duty of increasing the ample means with which Heaven has blessed
you. As an honest factor, I could not do otherwise; as a prudent man,
should I scruple to speak of what will tend to your profit and mine? No,
my dear Mr. George."

"My name is not George; my name is Henry," said the young man as he
turned his head away, and his eyes filled with tears.

"Gracious powers! what do you mean, sir? Did you not say you were my
lady's heir? and is not George Esmond Warrington, Esq.----"

"Hold your tongue, you fool!" cried Mr. Franks, striking the merchant a
tough blow on his sleek sides, as the young lad turned away. "Don't
you see the young gentleman a-swabbing his eyes, and note his black
clothes?"

"What do you mean, Captain Franks, by laying your hand on your owners?
Mr. George is the heir; I know the Colonel's will well enough."

"Mr. George is there," said the Captain, pointing with his thumb to the
deck.

"Where?" cries the factor.

"Mr. George is there!" reiterated the Captain, again lifting up his
finger towards the topmast, or the sky beyond. "He is dead a year, sir,
come next 9th of July. He would go out with General Braddock on that
dreadful business to the