So long as my Saccharissa was on my side, I felt no special fear of what my foes might do. I knew the devoted nature of the female sex. "_Elles meurent, ou elles s'attachent_,"--beautiful thought! These riflers of journals would, I felt confident, be unable to produce anything reflecting my real sentiments about my betrothed. I had spoken of her and her family freely--one must have a vent somewhere--to Mr. 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. She gave me a touching glance,--or rather, a glance which her amorphous features meant to make touching,--and, waving musk from her handkerchief through the apartment, cried,-- "Never mind, Arthur dear! I don't like you a bit the less for saying what barbarous creatures these men are. They may do what they please,--I'll stand by you. You have my heart, my warm Southern heart, my Arthur!" "Arthur!" shouted that atrocious Plickaman,--"the loafer's name's Aminadab, after that old Jew, his grandfather." Saccharissa looked at him and smiled contemptuously. I tried to smile. I could not. Aminadab _was_ my name. That old dotard, my grandfather, had borne it before me. I had suppressed it carefully. "Aminadab's his name," repeated the Colonel. "His own mother ought to know what he was baptized, and here is a letter from her which the postmaster and I opened this morning. Look!--'My dear Aminadab.'" "Don't believe it, Saccharissa," said I, faintly, "It is only one of those tender nicknames, relics of childhood, which the maternal parent alone remembers." "Silence, culprit!" exclaimed Judge Pyke. "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. Marshall and the rest only saw his heels. I'm going on to Toronto to see how he does there. Keep your eyes peeled, when you come through Kentucky. There's more of the same stock there, only waiting for somebody to say, 'Leg it!' and they'll go like mad." Here the audience interrupted,--"Hang him! hang him! tar and feathers a'n't half bad enough for the dam' nigger-thief!"