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"I leave it to you, gentlemen," said she, "whether I am vulgar, as this fellow's correspondence asserts." "Certainly not," said Judge Pyke. "You are one of the most high-toned beauties in the sunny South, the land of the magnolia and the papaw." "Your dignity," said Major Licklickin, "is only surpassed by your grace, and both by your queenly calmness."
I endeavored to show them, on general and personal grounds, how utterly devoted I was to the "Peculiar Institution." "Billy Sangaree," said Judge Pyke, "do you and Major Licklickin stand by the low-lived Abolitionist, and if he says another word, blow out his Black Republican heart." They did so. I was silent. Saccharissa gave me a glance expressive of continued devotion.
Culprit," continued he, in a voice of thunder, "cut for the North Star, and here's passage-money for you." He stuck a half-eagle into the tarry integument of my person. Billy Sangaree, Major Licklickin, and others of the more inebriated, imitated him. My dignity of bearing had evidently made a favorable impression. I departed amid cheers, some ironical, some no doubt sincere.
Prisoner at the Bar, rise to receive sentence." I thought it judicious to fall upon my knees and request forgiveness; but my persecutors were blinded by what no doubt seemed to them a religious zeal. "Git up!" said Major Licklickin; and I am ashamed, for his sake, to say that there was an application of boot accompanying this remark.
"Bring the cotton!" now cried Mellasys Plickaman. A bag of that regal product was brought. "Roll him in it!" said Billy Sangaree. "Let the Colonel work his own tricks," Major Licklickin said. "He's an artist, he is." I must admit that he was an artist. He fabricated me an elaborate wig of the cotton. He arranged me a pair of bushy white eyebrows.
Do you know I think you are a little too severe in calling her a mean, spiteful, slipshod, vulgar, dumpy little flirt?" "Read that again!" shrieked Saccharissa. "You are beginning to find out your Aminadab!" says Plickaman. I moved my lips to deny my name; but the pistol of Billy Sangaree was at my right temple, the pistol of Major Licklickin at my left.
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.
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