As I sighed, I glanced with tender meaning at the young lady. Her feminine heart, I hoped, would interpret and pity me. I fancied, that, at my look, her cheeks, though swarthy, blushed. She was certainly interested, and somewhat confused, and paused a moment in her mastication. Ham was the viand she was engaged upon, and she (playfully, I have no doubt) ate with her knife. I have remarked the same occasional superiority to what might be called Fourchettism and its prejudices in others of established position in society. I lavished a little languid and not too condescending civility upon the party by passing them, when Michel was absent, the salt, the butter, the bread, and other commonplace condiments. Presently I withdrew, that my absence might make me desired. Before I did so, however, I took pains, by the exhibition of the "New York Herald" in my hands, to show that my political sentiments were unexceptionable. I lost no time in consulting the books of the hotel for the names and homes of the strangers. I read as follows:-- _Sachary Mellasys and Lady, } Bayou La Miss Saccharissa Mellasys, } Farouche, Mellasys Plickaman, } La._ Saccharissa Mellasys! I rolled the name like a sweet morsel under my tongue. I forgot that she was not beautiful in form, feature, or complexion. How slight, indeed, is the charm of beauty, when compared with other charms more permanent! Ah, yes! The complexion of Miss Mellasys announced a diet of alternate pickles and _pralines_ during her adolescent years,--the pickles taken to excite an appetite for the _pralines_, the _pralines_ absorbed to occupy the interval until pickle-time approached. Neither her form nor her features were statuesque. But the name glorified the person. Sachary Mellasys was, as I was well aware, the great sugar-planter of Louisiana, and Saccharissa his only child. I am an imaginative man. I have never doubted, that, if I should ever give my fancies words, they would rank with the great creations of genius. At the dulcet name of Mellasys a fairy scene grew before my eyes. I seemed to see an army of merry negroes cultivating the sugar-cane to the inspiring music of a banjo band. Ever and anon a company of the careless creatures would pause and dance for pure gayety of heart. Then they would recline under the shade of the wild bandanna-tree,--I know this vegetable only through the artless poetry of the negro minstrels,--while sleek and sprightly negresses, decked with innocent finery, served them beakers of iced _eau sucré_. As I was shaping this Arcadian vision, Mr. Mellasys passed me on his way to the bar-room. I hastened to follow, without the appearance of intention.