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 _naivete_.

"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 sent