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Derby Deblore, my other self, my Pylades, my Damon, my fidus Achades in New York; but, unless they found Derby and compelled him to testify, they could not alienate my Saccharissa. I gave her a touching glance, as Mellasys Plickaman closed his reading of my private papers.
"And now, Colonel, read the letter upon which our sentence is principally based, that traitorous document which you and our patriotic postmaster arrested." The ruffian, with a triumphant glance at me, took from his pocket a letter from Derby Deblore. He cleared his throat by a plenteous expectoration, and then proceeded to read as follows: "Dear Bratley, Nigger ran like a hound.
All her bright visions of fashionable life were destroyed forever. She would now fall into the society from which I had endeavored to lift her. Poor thing! knowing, too, that I, and my friend Derby Deblore, perhaps the most elegant young man in America, regarded her as a Hottentot Venus. Poor thing!
"Continue, Colonel," said Judge Pyke, severely. Plickaman resumed the reading of my friend's letter. "Well, Bratley," Deblore went on, "I hope you'll be able to stand Bayou La Farouche till you're married. I couldn't do it. I roar over your letters. But I swear I respect your powers of humbug. I suppose, if you didn't let out to me, you never could lie so to your dear Saccharissa.
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