_Sachary Mellasys and Lady, } Bayou La
Miss Saccharissa Mellasys, } Farouche,
Mellasys Plickaman, } La._
Saccharissa Mellasys! I rolled the name like a sweet morsel under
my tongue. I forgot that she was not beautiful in form, feature, or
complexion. How slight, indeed, is the charm of beauty, when compared
with other charms more permanent! Ah, yes!
The complexion of Miss Mellasys announced a diet of alternate pickles
and _pralines_ during her adolescent years,--the pickles taken to excite
an appetite for the _pralines_, the _pralines_ absorbed to occupy the
interval until pickle-time approached. Neither her form nor her features
were statuesque. But the name glorified the person.
Sachary Mellasys was, as I was well aware, the great sugar-planter of
Louisiana, and Saccharissa his only child.
I am an imaginative man. I have never doubted, that, if I should ever
give my fancies words, they would rank with the great creations of
genius. At the dulcet name of Mellasys a fairy scene grew before
my eyes. I seemed to see an army of merry negroes cultivating the
sugar-cane to the inspiring music of a banjo band. Ever and anon a
company of the careless creatures would pause and dance for pure
gayety of heart. Then they would recline under the shade of the wild
bandanna-tree,--I know this vegetable only through the artless poetry of
the negro minstrels,--while sleek and sprightly negresses, decked with
innocent finery, served them beakers of iced _eau sucré_.
As I was shaping this Arcadian vision, Mr. Mellasys passed me on his
way to the bar-room. I hastened to follow, without the appearance of
intention.
My reader is no doubt aware that at the fashionable bar-room the cigars
are all of the same quality, though the prices mount according to the
ambition of the purchaser. I found Mr. Mellasys gasping with efforts to
light a dime cigar. Between his gasps, profane expressions escaped him.
"Sir," said I, "allow a stranger to offer you a better article."
At the same time I presented my case filled with choice
Cabañas,--smuggled. My limited means oblige me to employ these judicious
economies.
Mr. Mellasys took a cigar, lighted, whiffed, looked at me, whiffed
again,--
"Sir," says he, "dashed if that a'n't the best cigar I've smoked sence I
quit Bayou La Farouche!"
"Ah! a Southerner!" said I. "Pray, allow the harmless weed to serve as a
token of amity between our respective sections."
Mr. Mellasys grasped my hand.
"Take a drink, Mr. ----?" said he.
"Bratley Chylde," rejoined I, filling the hiatus,--"and I shall be most
happy."
The name evidently struck him. It was a combination of all aristocracy
and all plutocracy. As I gave my name, I produced and presented my card.
I was aware, that, with the uncultured, the possession of a card is a
proof of gentility, as the wearing of a coat-of-arms proves a long line
of distinguished ancestry.
Mr. Mellasys took my card, studied it, and believed in it with
refreshing _naiveté_.
"I'm proud to know you, Mr. Chylde," said he. "I haven't a card;
but Mellasys is my name, and I'll show it to you written on the
hotel-books."
"We will waive that ceremony," said I. "And allow me to welcome you to
Newport and the Millard. Shall we enjoy the breeze upon the piazza?"
Before our second cigar was smoked, the great planter and I were on the
friendliest terms. My political sentiments he found precisely in accord
with his own. Indeed, our general views of life harmonized.
"I dare say you have heard," said Mellasys, "from some of the bloated
aristocrats of my section that I was a slave-dealer once."
"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."