sword. "I am Mister Midshipman Button--no madman, not a bit of it.
As brave a man as South Carolina ever sent into the world. A man of
pluck, Sir, and genuine, at that." Again he turns and makes several
thrusts at the lamp-post, demanding that it surrender and get down on
its knees, in abject obedience to superior prowess.

"Button, Button, my dear fellow, is it you? What strange freak is this?"
inquires Mr. Snivel, extending his hand, which the little energetic man
refuses to take.

"Mister Midshipman Button, if you please, gentlemen," replies the man,
with an air of offended dignity. "I'm a gentleman, a man of honor, and
what's more, a Carolinian bred and born, or born and bred--cut it as you
like it." He makes several powerful blows at the lamp-post, and succeeds
only in breaking his sword.

"Poor man," says the judge, kindly, "he is in need of friends to take
care of him, and advise him properly. He has not far to travel before he
gets into the mad-house."

The man overhears his remarks, and with a vehement gesture and flourish
of his broken sword, says, "Do you not see, gentlemen, what work I have
made of this Northern aggressor, this huge enemy bringing oppression to
our very doors?" He turns and addresses the lamp-post in a tone of
superiority. "Surrender like a man, and confess yourself vanquished,
Northern aggressor that you are! You see, gentlemen, I have gained a
victory--let all his bowels out. Honor all belongs to my native state--I
shall resign it all to her." Here the man begins to talk in so wild a
strain, and to make so many demands of his imaginary enemy, that they
called a passing guardsman, who, seeing his strange condition, replaced
his hat, and assisted them in getting him to a place of safety for the
night, when sleep and time would restore him to a sound state of mind.

CHAPTER III.

IN WHICH THE READER IS PRESENTED WITH A VARIED PICTURE.

Tom has passed a restless night in jail. He has dreamed of bottled
snakes, with eyes wickedly glaring at him; of fiery-tailed serpents
coiling all over him; of devils in shapes he has no language to
describe; of the waltz of death, in which he danced at the mansion of
Madame Flamingo; and of his mother, (a name ever dear in his thoughts,)
who banished him to this region of vice, for what she esteemed a moral
infirmity. Further on in his dream he saw a vision, a horrible vision,
which was no less than a dispute for his person between Madame Flami