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Colonel Plickaman read each passage in a pointed way, interjecting, "Do you hear that, Billy Sangaree?" "How do you like yourself now, Major Licklickin?" "Here's something about your white cravat, Parson Butterfut." The delicacy and wit of my touches of character chafed these gentlemen. Their aspect became truly formidable.
He conducted me toward the banks of Bayou La Farouche. On our way, we were compelled to pass not far from the Mellasys mansion. There was a sound of revelry. It was night. I crept cautiously up and peered into the window. There stood the Reverend Onesimus Butterfut, since a prominent candidate for the archbishopric of the Southern Confederacy.
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