“Such a rumor has reached me,” rejoined I.  “And I was surprised to find, that, in some minds of limited intelligence and without development of the logical faculty, there was a prejudice against the business.”

“You think that buyin’ and sellin’ ’em is just the same as ownin’ ’em?”

“I do.”

“Your hand!” said he, fervently.

“Mr. Mellasys,” said I, “let me take this opportunity to lay down my platform,—­allow me the playful expression.  Meeting a gentleman of your intelligence from the sunny South, I desire to express my sentiments as a Christian and a gentleman.”

Here I thought it well to pause and spit, to keep myself in harmony with my friend.

“A gentleman,” I continued, “I take to be one who confines himself to the cultivation of his tastes, the decoration of his person, and the preparation of his whole being to shine in the salon.  Now to such a one the condition of the laboring classes can be of no possible interest.  As a gentleman, I cannot recognize either slaves or laborers.  But here Christianity comes in.  Christianity requires me to read and interpret my Bible.  In it I find such touching paragraphs as, ’Cursed be Canaan!’ Canaan is of course the negro slave of our Southern States.  Curse him! then, I say.  Let us have no weak and illogical attempts to elevate his condition.  Such sentimentalism is rank irreligion.  I view the negro as a man permanently upon the rack, who is to be punished just as much as he will bear without diminishing his pecuniary value.  And the allotted method of punishment is hard work, hard fare, the liberal use of the whip, and a general negation of domestic privileges.”

“Mr. Chylde,” said Mr. Mellasys, rising, “this is truth! this is eloquence! this is being up to snuff!  You are a high-toned gentleman! you are an old-fashioned Christian! you should have been my partner in slave-driving!  Your hand!”

The quality of the Mellasys hand was an oleaginous clamminess.  My only satisfaction, in touching it, was, that it seemed to suggest a deficient circulation of the blood.  Mr. Mellasys would probably go off early with an apoplexy, and the husband of Miss Mellasys would inherit without delay.

“And now,” continued the planter, “let me introduce you to my daughter.”

I felt that my fortune was made.

I knew that she would speedily yield to my fascinations.

And so it proved.  In three days she adored me.  For three days more I was coy.  In a week she was mine.

III.

THE SUNNY SOUTH.

We were betrothed, Saccharissa Mellasys and I.

In vain did Mellasys Plickaman glower along the corridors of the Millard.  I pitied him for his defeat too much to notice his attempts to pick a quarrel.  Firm in the affection of my Saccharissa and in the confidence of her father, I waived the insults of the aggrieved and truculent cousin.  He had lost the heiress.  I had won her.  I could afford to be generous.