And here we may refer again to Cervantes, whose pen was dipped in his own dark experience. In his Life in Algiers, he has displayed the horrors of the white slave market. The public crier exposes for sale a father and mother with their two children. They are to be sold separately, or, according to the language of our day, "in lots to suit purchasers." The father is resigned, confiding in God; the mother sobs; while the children, ignorant of the inhumanity of men, show an instinctive trust in the constant and wakeful protection of their parents--now, alas! impotent to shield them from dire calamity. A merchant, inclining to purchase one of the "little ones," and wishing to ascertain his bodily condition, causes him to open his mouth. The child, still ignorant of the doom which awaits him, imagines that the inquirer is about to extract a tooth, and, assuring him that it does not ache, begs him to desist. The merchant, in other respects an estimable man, pays one hundred and thirty dollars for the youngest child, and the sale is completed. Thus a human being--one of those children of whom it has been said, "Of such is the kingdom of heaven"--is profanely treated as an article of merchandise, and torn far away from a mother's arms and a father's support. The hardening influence of custom has steeled the merchant into insensibility to this violation of humanity and justice, this laceration of sacred ties, this degradation of the image of God. The unconscious heartlessness of the slave dealer, and the anguish of his victims, are depicted in the dialogue which ensues after the sale.[133] [Illustration] MERCHANT. Come hither, child; 'tis time to go to rest. JUAN. _Signor, I will not leave my mother here, To go with any one._ MOTHER. _Alas! my child, thou art no longer mine, But his who bought thee._ JUAN. _What! then, have you, mother, Forsaken me?_ MOTHER. _O Heavens! how cruel are ye!_ MERCHANT. _Come, hasten, boy._ JUAN. Will you go with me, brother? FRANCISCO. I cannot, Juan, 'tis not in my power;-- May Heaven protect you, Juan! MOTHER. O my child, My joy and my delight, God won't forget thee! JUAN. O father! mother! whither will they bear me Away from you? MOTHER. Permit me, worthy Signor, To speak a moment in my infant's ear. Grant me this small contentment; very soon I shall know nought but grief. MERCHANT. What you would say, Say now; to-night is the last time. MOTHER. To-night Is the first time my heart e'er felt such grief. JUAN. _Pray keep me with you, mother, for I know not Whither he'd carry me._ MOTHER.