CHAPTER V. HIS ENCOUNTER WITH OLD FRIENDS.

Our hero, on landing in Cleveland, placed his bundle in one hand, and

stick in the other, and thus leisurely sauntered up the hill and through

the main street of this young mart of trade. Although his body drooped

with sickness, the air of life and thriving industry which surrounded

him, aroused his active mind to exertion. His old companion of travel

resided here, and now was a fitting time to try his professions of

regard. While reading the signs along the street, he mentally ventured

the opinion that “Smith & Co.” were doing an extensive business, for

their name was attached to commercial concerns all over the country; and

as thus ruminating, another, and quite as familiar a name, met his eye,

besides it was a vastly more interesting name--none other than his old

adopted Father's cognomen. He could scarcely bring himself to believe

that the imposing store before him was really occupied by those who were

so endeared to him by past kindness--that was a streak of too good luck

to be possible; nevertheless, thinking he might gratify himself with a

peep at the possessor of so honored a name, he approached the window,

and looked into the interior--can it be?--yes it is!--“plain as a pipe

stem”--sure enough, his old adopted father stood before him! There,

amid the piles of soles and uppers, with spectacles on nose, and head a

little bald, stood that veritable good old soul, who had sheltered his

infant years. Time had not furrowed his brow with the chisel, but

his brush had traced its easy progress; nor had the storm torn away his

locks--the gentle zephyr had plucked the silvery threads away to sport

with them in the sunbeam. Contentment lingered in his quiet smile, and

“well to do in the world,” was legibly written upon his portly person.

John entered the store, and putting on the air of a purchaser, seated

himself upon a settee, and held his foot up to be measured--the old man

adjusted his spectacles, kneeled down upon one knee, stole a glance over

his glasses at his customer, and commenced taking the dimensions of our

hero's foot; but there was an indescribable something about the face,

which drove the foot from his memory, and while he was trying to rake

up from the past some known body on which to fix the head and face, he

forgot that he was holding the foot, until John asked him, if “there

w'as anything uncommon about its shape?” The old man, stammering an

excuse, started to his drawers to select a pair of the right size, but

the stranger's face again so mixed itself up with the figures on his

strap and rule, that he w'as forced to return and measure the foot over

again. John observed his quandary, and smiled at the old man's

efforts to recollect him. At this moment the old lady came to the door

separating the shop from the dwelling, and looking in, spoke to her

husband; our hero recognised her in a moment, he could not refrain

himself, but springing to his feet with a shout, he laughingly held out

his arms, exclaiming “Mother, don't you know me!” If not at the first

glance, the tones of his voice, and the ring of his merry laughter,

called up the vivid remembrance of his boyish days with the rapidity of

thought, and throwing herself into his arms she sobbed with joy, as

if he were in verity her own long lost offspring; the old man, too,

dropping his measure, seized our hero; and here tears of true feeling

mingled in one current--remembrances of the past clustered around, and

joy, deep and holy as dwells within the human breast, held uninterrupted

revel.

The store was closed early that night, and as they were seated round the

evening meal, John would, with sketches of his past history since they

parted, at one moment draw from them shouts of merriment, and then

again, as he dwelt on some hard streak of fortune, “beguile them of

their tears.” Oh, it was a happy night, that night of meeting on the

shore of the broad lake. The gay revel within sumptuous halls affords no

joy like this, for here the fountains of the heart danced to the music

of affection; the air to which they kept time was “past days,” and their

pure current swelled into a flood of nature's kindliest harmony--all was

joy, all happiness. With a motherly care, as in days of his childhood,

the old lady stripped his neck, and washed away the dust of travel, then

conducting him to a neatly furnished chamber, she kissed him good night,

and retired to thank Heaven that her aged eyes had been permitted to see

him again. While our hero slept happily above, the old folks talked long

and earnestly in the chamber beneath him, and before they closed their

eyes in sleep, resolved that he should never again part from them. They

had none in this world to care for, save him, and Heaven, the old lady

said, had sent him back to their roof to be an honor and comfort to

their old age. In the morning they awoke to a renewal of these happy

feelings, and over the breakfast table future plans were freely

discussed. John mentioned his travelling acquaintance, and taking

the card from his vest pocket, showed it to his adopted father, who

immediately recognised the owner as one of his customers, one of the

most wealthy, and of course, respected citizens in Cleveland. To visit

him a new suit was necessary, and after the morning meal the old man

piloted him to a tailoring establishment, and fitted him from head

to foot in a fine suit--in short, he disguised our hero, and it was

pleasant to see with what admiration the aged couple looked through

their spectacles at the change.

“I declare if you don't look like a gentleman, when you're dressed,”

said the old lady.

“And why not, mother?” inquired John. “It is the material which passes

current for gentility. If half mankind, who now move through good

society unquestioned, were placed in my old dusty suit, the world would

never discover their claims to the title--no, no! After all, your fine

suit is the world's standard of a fine gentleman--it will gain the owner

consideration among mixed assemblies--credit in the mart of trade--a

high place in the synagogue, and moreover, it is a general ticket,

entitling its possessor to the world's civility!”

“Well, bless me!” exclaimed the old woman, “if they don't make a change

in your talk--you're gittin' right toploftical.”

After many thanks on our hero's part, and much admiration on the part

of his friends, he received permission to wander forth and see his old

friend of the road, to whose dwelling he was correctly directed by the

shoe dealer. A kiss from his adopted mother, a five dollar bill from the

old man, for pocket money, and out sallied John, his person erect, and

step buoyant with good fortune--sickness had almost fled before his

revived hopes.

The aged pair stood in the store door gazing on his manly form, as he

receded from them, and a feeling of pride glowed in their hearts, the

nearest akin to a parent's, that nature will permit. They knew that

no one could rightfully dispute their claim to him, and proud in their

pre-emption right, they retired into their dwelling with newly awakened

pleasure. Arrived at his travelling acquaintance's mansion, he looked at

the name of “Charles C. Briggs, Attorney at Law,” upon the door plate,

and a glance at the exterior of the building, assured him that the

dweller therein was one of the prosperous class of his profession.

Knocking at the office door in the basement, he was bid enter, and on

doing so found seated at a desk, surrounded with piles of legal lore,

the same old gentleman who had so kindly bid him farewell at Wheeling.

The recognition was mutual, and the old mail's manner truly cordial.

“So, you found me out,” said the attorney.

“Yes,” replied John, “but a precious long tramp I've had to reach you.”

His friend insisted upon his seating himself, and relating an outline

of his adventures, at which he laughed most heartily, and when John had

finished, he clapped him on the back, saying--“You are a lucky dog--in

your first journey you have gathered more lessons of wisdom, than many

meet with in a life time, and your mind may turn them into vast profit.”

“Well, I'd like to realise something out of them,” quietly remarked our

hero, “for I have expended all my capital in learning them.”.

“And so, you have found other friends besides myself in Cleveland,”

remarked the lawyer, “a worthy couple whom I happen to be acquainted

with, also; between us, I think we will persuade you to become a fixture

of society. I know not why, but I like you, and have often wished for

the present meeting. Having no son of my own to assist me in my old

days, and continue my business after me, I have felt a desire to find

one who would fill the vacancy; your intelligence and happy disposition,

on our trip, made me like you, and now I would fain ripen those feelings

into a strong bond of friendship. Come, you must dine with me, and then

we will talk of the future.”

John's heart was swelling with friendship already, and he could almost

have hugged the kind old lawyer, but as this was his first day at his

adopted parents, he was forced to excuse himself for the present, on

promise of returning on the morrow, and with kindling aspirations and

noble resolves, he returned to his parents. There he recounted the

lawyer's words, and made known his intention of studying law with him,

which met with general approval, and the little household put on quite

an air of importance about its acquisition, while its mistress hurried

about, chatting with her new found child with all the garrulousness of

kindly old age.

On the next day, John, according to appointment, placed his legs under

the mahogany of his friend, the lawyer, and while the meal progressed

he amused the company by relating some episodes of his travel and

observation, but every now and then, a strange quietness might be

observed to pass over his demeanor, and his eyes would wander furtively

to the other end of the table, where was seated the fair daughter of

his host, whose dark eyes met his stolen glances, and sent the blood

tingling to his brows. Look another way, John,--there's danger in those

dark eyes! What, you, who have looked unmoved at scores of bright eyes,

to tremble now at a single pair--out upon you--look straight into those

dark orbs, and dare their power--now!--pshaw, man, you shake and stammer

as if a battery of loaded cannon, with the lighted fusees behind them,

were pointed at you. Ah, I see, your merriment is at an end now--busy

thoughts, strange dreams, and bright hopes are coursing through your

bewildered brain. And so they were--that visit had planted new feelings

in his breast. He entered the old lawyer's mansion, as he thought,

the possessor of all he wished on earth--a home, and an opportunity to

rise--yet here was aroused a feeling which absorbed all the rest--he

never felt himself poor before. Before, he was the possessor of a light

heart, but now that heart had been spirited away by a felonious pair of

eyes, and his mind was racked with dread, for fear he might not be

able to compromise with the possessor, and be permitted to keep it

company--here was a “take” in the book of human nature, which was most

“fair copy,” and fain would our hero take unto himself the page. Fear

not, John, all in good time--the fair daughter of your old friend is

troubled, too--a merry printer has, by his gentle manners, and most

winning address, made a deep impression there, and is sadly troubling

the little heart of its fair possessor. She thinks, she would like to

forget him, but in trying to do so she must think of what she would

forget, and thus he ever comes uppermost in her mind, and his pleasing

countenance and coaxing eye gains a firmer footing in her affections.

Arrangements were made before the lawyer and out hero parted, that he

should forthwith commence the study of law, and accordingly he set

himself down upon Coke and Littleton, with the determination of becoming

a pillar of the state. A most dangerous neighborhood he chose to study

in--dangerous for the hasty progress of his studies in legal lore, for

long before he was fitted for a single degree, as a student at the bar,

he had become a professor of love; and how soon he learned to look deep

into those eyes, and read the mind within, twine himself around the

tendrils of the fair girl's heart, and plead in choicest language for

permission to nestle there; and how the eyes softly permitted the bold

student to look, and then loved to have him look, and, then consented

that he might gaze at will--aye, for life!

On a clear wintry night, while the wind of the lake whistled merrily

across its congealed bosom, and the stars were looking down with clear

faces into the bright icy mirror beneath--the sound of sweet music, and

the tread of light feet resounded in the mansion of the old lawyer, by

the broad lake side,--a “merrie companie” filled its halls, for

John Earl, the no longer “wandering typo,” was about to become his

son-in-law--or, son-in-love, as well as law--or both--and the bright

eyes of one of Ohio's fairest daughters looked all confidingness and

love, as she stood up before the assembled throng, and whispered herself

into his possession. There was gay doings that night in this western

mansion, and joy that age was a large partaker of; for the old pair, who

sheltered the printer's orphan, years agone, and miles away, were guests

within it, and their hearts swelled with pride, as they looked upon

their adopted child, and his fair bride. The old shoemaker quietly

remarked to his happy son, that no maid in the city stepped upon a more

fairy foot, or wore so small a shoe; but he hoped to live long enough,

to make a smaller size for the Earl family, and then he laughed as if

the job would be a right merry one, and the purchaser of such a shoe, a

favored customer.

Time has progressed since then, and we have listened to John Earl, Esq.,

in the capital of his adopted state, as in clear tones, and patriotic

fervor, he stood advocating the great truths of republican principles,

and we have listened with pride and admiration, when those words proved

that the child of the people, was the people's advocate. He did not, in

his hour of prosperity, forget the lonely widow of the prairie, but

had her and her little ones brought to Cleveland, and having by letters

found her friends, he sent her home rejoicing--the little one to whom

he last bid adieu in the wilderness still remembered him, and with her

little lips pouting for a kiss, was the last again to bid him farewell.

We have traced our hero to the end of his wanderings, and leave him upon

the stage of public action--on the road to eminence; and though many may

read as though these words and scenes were the coinage of the writer's

brain, yet let him assure those who so judge, that there be such

“streaks of life,” in the book of a Typo's biography.

“NOT A DROP MORE, MAJOR, UNLESS IT'S SWEETEN'D.”

|In a small village, in the southern section of Missouri, resides a

certain Major, who keeps a small, cosey, comfortable little inn, famous

for its _sweeten'd drinks_, as well as jovial landlord; and few of the

surrounding farmers visit the neighborhood, without giving the Major a

friendly call, to taste his mixtur! The gay host, with jolly phiz, round

person, bright eye, and military air, deals out the rations, spiced with

jokes, which, if they are not funny, are at least laughed at, for the

Major enjoys them so vastly himself, that his auditors are forced to

laugh, out of pure sympathy.

A good old couple, who resided about six miles from the Major's, for a

long period had been in the habit of visiting him once a month, and as

regularly went home dreadfully _sweeten'd_ with the favorite mixtur',

but of late, we learn, the amicable relations existing between the Major

and his old visitors have been broken off by green-eyed jealousy. On the

last visit, good cause was given for an end being put to any more “sweet

drinking.”

“Uncle Merril, how are you, any how,” was the Major's greeting, “and

I declare if the Missus aint with you, too--just as if he expected she

wouldn't come. What'll you take Missus? shall I sweeten you a little of

about the best Cincinnati rectified that ever was toted into these 'ere

parts?--it jest looks as bright as your eyes!” and here the Major winked

and looked so sweet there was no resisting, and she did take a little

sweeten'd.

The hours flew merrilly by, and evening found the old couple so

overloaded with sweets, that it was with great difficulty they could

be seated on the old grey mare, to return home; but, after many a kind

shake from the host, and just another drop of his sweeten'd, off they

jogged, see-sawing from side to side on the critter, the old lady

muttering her happiness, and the old man too full to find words to

express himself.

[Illustration: 0267]

“Sich another man as that Major,” says she, “ain't nowhere--and sich a

mixture as he does make, is temptin' to temperance lecturers. He is an

amazin' nice man, and, if any thing, he sweetens the last drop better

than the first. Good gracious! what a pleasin' creatur' he is!”

Ever and anon these enconiums on the Major and his mixture broke from

the old lady, until of a sudden, on passing a small rivulet, a jolt of

the mare's silenced them, and the old man rode on a short distance in

perfect quietness. At length he broke out with--“Old woman, you and that

'ere Major's conduct, to-day, war rayther unbecomin'--his formalities

war too sweet to be mistook, and you ain't goin' thar agin in a hurry.”

Silence, was the only answer.

“Oh, you're huffy, are you?” continued the old man. “Well, I guess you

can stay so, till you give in,” and on he jogged, in a silently jealous

mood. On arriving at the farm, he called to a negro to lift the

old woman off, but Sam, the nigger, stood gazing at him in silent

astonishment.

“Lift her oft', you Sam, do you hear?--and do it carefully., or some of

her wrath'll bile out. In spite of the Major's sweetenin' she's mad as

thunder.”

“Why, de lor', massa, de ole 'oman aint dar,” replied Sam, his eyes

standing out of his countenance. “Jest turn round, massa, and satisfy

you'self dat de ole 'oman clar gone an missin--de lor'!”

And sure enough, on a minute examination by the old man, she was “found

missing.” The Major was charged at once with abduction, instant measures

were taken for pursuit, and a party despatched to scour the roads. On

proceeding about two miles on the road to the Major's, the party were

suddenly halted at the small rivulet, by finding the Missus with her

head lying partly in the little stream, its waters laving her lips, and

softly murmuring--“Not a drop more, Major, _unless it's sweeten'd!_”

NETTLE BOTTOM BALL; OR, BETSY JONES' TUMBLE IN THE MUSH PAN.

|Well, it are a fact, boys,” said Jim Sikes, “that I promised to tell

you how I cum to git out in these Platte diggins, and I speculate you

mout as well have it at onst, kase its bin troublin' my conscience

amazin' to keep it kiver'd up. The afarr raised jessy in Nettle Bottom,

and old Tom Jones' yell, when he swar he'd 'chaw me up,' gives my meat a

slight sprinklin' of ager whenever I think on it.

“You see, thar wur a small town called Equality, in Illimse, that some

speckelators started near Nettle Bottom, cos thar wur a spontaneos salt

lick in the diggins, and no sooner did they git it agoin' and build some

stores and groceries thar, than they wragon'd from Cincinnate and other

up-stream villages, a pacel of fellers to attend the shops, that looked

as nice, all'ays, as if they wur goin' to meetin' or on a courtin'

frolic; and 'salt their picters,' they wur etarnally pokin' up their

noses at us boys of the Bottom. Well, they got up a ball in the village,

jest to interduce themselves to the gals round the neighborhood, and

invited a few on us to make a contrary picter to themselves, and so

shine us out of site by comparison. Arter that ball thur wran't any

thin' talked on among the gals but what nice fellers the clerks in

Equality wur, and how nice and slick they wore their har, and their

shiny boots, and the way they stirrupp'd down their trowsers. You

couldn't go to see one on 'em, that she wouldn't stick one of these

fellers at you, and keep a talkin' how slick they looked. It got to be

parfect pizen to hear of, or see the critters, and the boys got together

at last to see what was to be done--the thing had grown parfectly

alarmin'. At last a meetin' was agreed on, down to old Jake Bents'.

“On next Sunday night, instead of takin' the gals to meetin', whar they

could see these fellers, we left 'em at home, and met at Jake's, and I

am of the opinion thur was some congregated wrath thar--whew wan't they?

“'Oil and scissors!' says Mike Jelt, 'let's go down and lick the town,

rite strait!'

“'No!' hollered Dick Butts, 'let's kitch these slick badgers comin' out

of meetin', and tare the hide and feathers off on 'em!'

“'Why, darn 'em, what d'ye think, boys,' busted in old Jake, 'I swar

if they ain't larnt our gals to wear starn cuskins; only this mornin' I

caught my darter Sally puttin' one on and tyin' it round her. She tho't

I was asleep, but I seed her, and I made the jade repudiate it, and no

mistake--quicker.'

“The boys took a drink on the occasion, and Equality town was

slumberin', for a short spell, over a contiguous yearthquake. At last

one of the boys proposed, before we attacked the town, that we should

git up a ball in the Bottom, and jest out-shine the town chaps, all

to death, afore we swallowed 'em. It was hard to gin in to this

proposition, but the boys cum to it at last, and every feller started to

put the afarr agoin'.

“I had been a long spell hankerin' arter old Tom Jones' darter, on the

branch below the Bottom, and she was a critter good for weak eyes--maybe

she hadn't a pair of her own--well, if they warn't a brace of movin'

light-houses, I wouldn't say it--there was no calculatin' the extent or

handsomeness of the family that gal could bring up around her, with a

feller like me to look arter 'em. Talk about gracefulness, did you ever

see a maple saplin' movin' with a south wind?--It warn't a crooked

stick to compar' to her, but her old dad was awful. He could jest lick

anythin' that said boo, in them diggins, out swar Satan, and was cross

as a she bar, with cubs. He had a little hankerin' in favor of the

fellers in town, too, fur they gin him presents of powder to hunt with,

and he was precious fond of usin' his shootin' iron. I detarmin'd,

anyhow, to ask his darter Betsy to be my partner at the Nettle Bottom

Ball.

“Well, my sister Marth made me a bran new pair of buckskin trowsers to

go in, and rile my pictur, ef she didn't put stirrups to 'em to keep

'em down. She said straps wur the fashion, and I should ware 'em. I

jest felt with 'em on; as ef I had somethin' pressin' on me down--all

my joints wur sot tight together, but Marth insisted, and I knew I could

soon dance 'em off, so I gin in, and started off to the branch for Betsy

Jones.

“When I arriv, the old fellar wur sittin' smokin' arter his supper,

and the younger Jones' wur sittin' round the table, takin' theirs. A

whappin' big pan of mush stood rite in the centre, and a large pan

of milk beside it, with lots of corn bread and butter, and Betsy was

helpin' the youngsters, while old Mrs. Jones sot by. admirin' the family

collection. Old Tom took a hard star' at me, and I kind a shook, but the

straps stood it, and I recovered myself, and gin him as good as he sent,

but I wur near the door, and ready to break if he show'd fight.

“'What the h--ll are you doin' in disgise,' says the old man--he swore

dreadfully--'are you comin' down here to steal?'

“I riled up at that. Says I, 'ef I wur comin' fur sich purpose, you'd

be the last I'd hunt up to steal off on.'

“'You're right,' says he, 'I'd make a hole to light your innards, ef you

did.' And the old savage chuckled. I meant because he had nothin' worth

stealin', but his darter, but he tho't 'twas cos I was afear'd on him.

“Well, purty soon I gether'd up and told him what I cum down fur, and

invited him to come up and take a drink, and see that all went on rite.

Betsy was in an awful way fur fear he wouldn't consent. The old 'oman

here spoke in favour of the move, and old Tom thought of the licker,

and gin in to the measure. Off bounced Betsy up a ladder into the second

story, and one of the small gals with her, to help put on the fixups. I

sot down in a cheer, and fell a talkin' at the old 'oman. While we wur

chattin' away as nice as relations, I could hear Betsy makin' things

stand round above. The floor was only loose boards kivered over wide

joice, and every step made 'em shake and rattle like a small hurricane.

Old Tom smoked away and the young ones at the table would hold a

spoonful of mush to thur mouths and look at my straps, and then look at

each other and snigger, till at last the old man seed 'em.

“'Well, by gun flints,' says he, 'ef you ain't makin' a josey-'

“Jest at that moment, somethin' gin way above, and may I die, ef Betsy,

without any thin' on yearth on her but one of these starn cushins,

didn't drop rite through the floor, and sot herself, flat into the pan

of mush! I jest tho't fur a second, that heaven and yearth had kissed

each other, and squeezed me between 'em. Betsy squealed like a 'scape

pipe,--a spot of the mush had spattered on the old man's face, and burnt

him, and he swore dreadful. I snatched up the pan of milk, and dashed

it over Betsy to cool her off,--the old 'oman knocked me sprawlin' fur

doing it, and away went my straps. The young ones let out a scream, as

if the infarnal pit had broke loose, and I'd jest gin half of my hide to

have bin out of the old man's reach. He did reach fur me, but I lent

him one with my half-lows, on the smeller, that spread him, and maybe

I didn't leave sudden! I didn't see the branch, but as I soused through

it, I heerd Tom Jones swar he'd 'chaw me up, ef an inch big of me was

found in them diggins in the mornin'.

“I did'nt know fur a spell whar I was runnin', but hearing nuthin'

behind me, I slacked up, and jest considered whether it was best to go

home and git my traps strait, and leave, or go see the ball. Bein' as I

was a manager, I tho't I'd go have a peep through the winder, to see ef

it cum up to my expectations. While I was lookin' at the boys goin' it,

one on 'em spied me, and they hauled me in, stood me afore the fire, to

dry, and all hands got round, insistin' on knowin' what was the matter.

I ups and tells all about it. I never heerd such laffin', hollerin', and

screamin', in all my days.

“Jest then, my trowsers gin to feel the fire, and shrink up about an

inch a minit, and the boys and gals kept it up so strong, laffin at my

scrape, and the pickle I wur in, that I gin to git riley, when all at

onst I seed one of these slick critters, from town, rite in among' em,

hollerin' wuss than the loudest.

“'Old Jones said he'd chaw you up, did he?' says the town feller,

'_well, he allways keeps his word?_'

“That minit I biled over. I grabbed his slick liar, and may be I didn't

gin him scissors! Jest as I was makin' him a chawed specimen, some,

feller holler'd out,--'don't let old Jones in with that ar rifle!' I

didn't hear any more in that Bottom,--lightnin' could'nt a got near

enough to singe my coat tail. I jumped through that winder as easy as a

bar 'ud go through a cane brake; and cuss me if I could'nt hear the grit

of old Jones' teeth, and smell his glazed powder, until I crossed old

Massissippi.”

A “CAT” STORY, WHICH MUST NOT BE CUR-TAILED.

|Ben Snaggletree seated himself in our society the other day,

overburdened with a Mississippi yarn, which embraced one of his hair

breadth 'scapes, and which he had resolved on relieving his memory of,

by having it chronicled.

Ben was an old Mississip' roarer--none of your half and half, but just

as native to the element, as if he had been born in a broad horn. He

said he had been fotched up on the river's brink, and “knew a snappin'

turtle from a snag, without larnin'.”

“One night,” says Ben, “about as dark as the face of Cain, and as unruly

as if the elements had been untied, and let loose from their great

Captain's command, I was on the old Mississippi; it was, in short,

a night ugly enough to make any natural born Christian think of his

prayers, and a few converted saints tremble--I walked out upon the steam

boat 'guard' to cool off from the effects of considerable liquor doin's,

participated in during the day, but had scacely reached the side of the

boat, when she struck a snag, and made a lurch, throwing me about six

feet into the drink. I was sufficiently cool, stranger, when I came

to the surface, but I had nigh, in a short time, set the Mississippi

a bilin', my carcase grew so hot with wrath at observing the old boat

wending her way up stream, unhurt, while I, solitary, unobserved, and

alone, was floating on the old father of waters. I swam to the head of a

small island, some distance below where we struck, and no sooner touched

ground than I made an effort to stand erect. You may judge of my horror

on discovering my landing place to be a Mississippi mud-bar, and about

as firm as quicksand, into which I sunk about three feet in a moment.

“All was dark as a stack of black cats--no object visible save the

lights of the receding boat--no sound smote upon the ear but the

lessening blow of the 'scape pipe, and the plashing of the surrounding

waters;--the first sounded like the farewell voice of hope, while the

latter, in its plashing and purling, was like to the jabbering of evil

spirits, exulting over an entrapped victim.

“I attempted to struggle, but that sunk me faster. I cried out, but

fancied that, too, forced me deeper into my yielding grave; ere daylight

dawned I felt sure of being out of sight, and the horrid thought of thus

sinking into eternity through a mud-gate, made every hair stand 'on

its own hook,' and forced my heart to patter against my ribs like a

trio-hammer. I had been in many a scrape, but I considered this the

nastiest, and made up my mind that the ball of yarn allotted to me was

about being spun out--my cake was all mud! I promised old Mississippi,

if permitted to escape this time, I would lick anythin' human that said

a word agin her; but it was no use--she was sure of me now, and, like

old 'bare bones' to an expiring African, she held on, and deeper, and

deeper I sunk. In a short time I was forced to elevate my chin to keep

out of my mouth an over-supply of the temperance liquid, which was

flowing so coaxingly about my lips. My eyebrows were starting, my teeth

set, and hope had wasted to a misty shadow, when something touched

me like a floating solid; I instantly grasped it--it slid through my

hands--_all but the tail_--which I clung to with a grip of iron.

“I soon discovered I had made captive a mammoth _catty_, huge enough

to be the patriarch of his tribe, and a set of resolutions were quickly

adopted in my mind, that he couldn't travel further without company. A

desperate start and vigorous wiggle to escape was made by my friend, the

catty, but there was six feet in length of desperation attached to his

extremity, that could neither be coaxed or shook off. Soon succeeded

another start, and out I came like a cork from a bottle. Off started the

fish, like a comet, and after him I went, a muddy spark at the end of

his tail. By a dexterous twist of his rudder, I succeeded in keeping

him on the surface, and steered him to a solid landing, where I let him

loose, and we shook ourselves, mutually pleased at parting company.”

“That will do, Ben,” said we, “all but the tail.”

“Tail and all, or none!” said Ben, so here you have it. Ben swears he'll

father it himself.

A SPIRITUAL SISTER, HER ENCOUNTER WITH A DOUBTFUL SMITH.

|There goes Smith, the Attorney,” said a man to his friend; as a tall

figure, slightly stooped, hurried by them.

“I beg your pardon,” answered the friend, “that is the Rev. Mr. Smith, a

preacher, I have heard him in Tennessee.”

“Well that's curious,” replied the first, “for I'd swear I have heard

him plead at the bar.”

“Good morning Sol., how are you?” salutes another, as he hurries by a

group of citizens.

“What did you call him?” inquired one of the party.

“Why, Sol. Smith, was the answer--old Sol., the manager of the theatre,

to-be-sure; who did you suppose it was?--I thought you knew him--every

body knows old Sol!”

“Well that is funny,” answered the second, “for I'll swear he officiated

as a physician on board our boat.”

“Well who the d--------l is he?”

This question was asked so frequently on board of a boat, recently, that

those who didn't know became quite feverish, and those who did, kept

dark to watch for a joke. Sol. had purchased a new hat--venerably broad

in brim, of saintly and unostentatious height in crown, and it was easy

to see that this new beaver was brewing him trouble. We feel almost

inclined here to go into a disquisition upon hats, and the evils they

have entailed, for who has not suffered, and been thrust out of the pale

of good living, or cut in the street--or taken for a loafer, and asked

by some dandy to hold his horse, or by some matron to carry home her

market basket, and all because of a “shocking bad hat.” An “old hat” is,

in fact, dangerous--so is a new one of a peculiar shape--so was Sol.'s

broad brimmer.

On board the steamer was a Mormon sister, on her way from down east to

the holy city of Nauvoo, and many and anxious were her inquiries if any

brother of the church was on board? None were able to inform her. At

length the captain, at table, inquired:

“Shall I help you to a little of this roast beef, Mr. Smith?”

“Thank you, a small piece,” was the reply.

“Smith,” said the sister, “Smith, that's a member, jest as shure as

shutin'; I'll get interduced tu him arter a spell, and I reckon he'll

turn eout tu be a shure enough brother.”

“Arter a spell” she did, through the kindness of the captain, get an

introduction to him, and was previously informed by the commander, that

Sol. was not only a shure enough Mormon, but an elder--in fact a Smith!

Sol., as usual, was courteous and affable as when introduced to little

Vic., at the court of St. James, and the sister was “tickled all tu

death” at the idea of falling in with so pleasant an elder. She was a

little ancient, but buxom, and Sol. felt flattered by her singling him

out for an acquaintance.

“I'd a know'd in a minit that you was a member of the church by your

countenance and your hat, Brother Smith, you do look so saintly.”

“Yes, Ma'm,” answered he, “most people take me for a member.”

“I was a thinkin' if you hadn't chosen a--he-he-he--a sister,

why--“--Puge 69.

“There's ony one thing, Brother Smith, which appears rayther queer about

our church,” said she, looking modestly at Sol., and biting the corner

of her handkerchief, “and that's the 'new system' they have interduced.”

“Why, yes,--y-e-s,” said Sol., at fault, “'new systems' do trouble the

church a good deal.”

“Law, Brother Smith, do you think the 'speritual system' a trouble?”

“Well, no, not exactly, if it's a good spiritual teaching,” answered he,

“it's only the false doctrines that are evil.”

“Well, that's jest what Elder Adams sed down in eour parts, and he ses

that it was speritually revealed tu the Prophet Joseph, your brother,

and I was jest a thinkin',” and here she spread her handkerchief over

her face, and twisted her head to one side--“I was a thinkin' if you

hadn't chosen a--he-he-he!--a sister, why,”-----

[Illustration: 0281]

“We're at a landing, Ma'm, excuse me for a moment,” and off shot Sol. to

his state room, where he seized a pair of well worn saddle-bags, and his

old hat, which he had thus far carried with him, intending to have it

brushed up, and started for the gang-way plank. The captain met him in

his haste, and inquired where he was going?

“Why, captain,” says Sol., “I like your boat vastly, and you know I like

you, but there might be a 'blow up' if I stayed on board much longer.”

“Explain,” says the captain.

“Why, the fact is,” said Sol., “that lady you introduced me to has taken

me for the Mormon Smith; now, I'm a good many Smith's when my family and

titles are all collected, but I aint that Smith! Just tell her so for

me, and give her my 'old hat'--it's the best I can do for her.” We

needn't add that Brother Smith was straightway among the missing!

HOSS ALLEN'S APOLOGY; OR, THE CANDIDATE'S NIGHT IN A MUSQUITO SWAMP!

|Well, old fellow, you're a hoss!” is a western expression, which has

grown into a truism as regards Judge Allen, and a finer specimen of a

western judge, to use his constituents' language, “aint no whar,” for,

besides being a sound jurist, he is a great wag, and the best practical

joker within the circuit of six states. Among the wolf-scalp hunters of

the western border of Missouri, Judge, or, as they more familiarly style

him, Hoss Allen is all powerful popular, and the “bar” hunters of the

southern section equally admire his free and easy manners--they consider

him one of the people--none of your stuck-up imported chaps from the

dandy states, but a real genuine westerner--in short, a hoss! Some of

the Judge's admirers prevailed upon him, recently, to stand a canvass

for the gubernatorial chair, in which he had Judge Edwards for an

antagonist, and many are the rich jokes told of their political

encounters. A marked difference characterizes the two men, and more

striking opposites in disposition and demeanor would be hard to find,

Edwards being slow, dignified, and methodical, while Hoss tosses dignity

to the winds, and comes right down to a free and easy familiarity with

the “boys.” Hoss Allen counted strong on the border counties, while his

antagonist built his hopes on the centre.

Allen and Edwards had travelled together for a number of days,

explaining their separate views upon state government, at each regular

place of appointment, and were now nearing the southern part of the

state, a section where Hoss had filled the judgeship with great unction.

Here he resolved to spring a joke upon his antagonist, which would set

the south laughing at him, and most effectually insure his defeat

among the bar hunters. He had been maturing a plan, as they journeyed

together, and now having stopped for the night about one day's journey

from the town of Benton, one of their places of appointment, and the

head quarters of the most influential men of the bar section, Hoss

proceeded to put his trick in progress of execution. He held a secret

conference, at the stable, with the boy who took his horse, and offered

him a dollar to take a message that night to Tom Walters, at the forks

leading to Benton. The boy agreed, and Hoss penciled a note describing

his antagonist, who was unknown in the south of the state, coupled with

an earnest request, that he “would keep a look out for Judge Eddards,

and by all means be careful not to let him get into that cussed cedar

swamp!” His express was faithful, and in due time Tom received the

missive. In the meantime, the victim, Edwards, in a sweet state of

confidence, was unbending his dignity at hearing Hoss relate to their

host his amusing yarns about the early settlers. Having talked all the

household into a merry mood, he proposed turning in for the night,

but first offered his service to unlace the girls' corsets, and in

an underbreath asked the old woman to elope with him in the

morning--Edwards blushed at this, the girls' tittered, and the host and

his wife said, he was a “raal hoss!”--Allen acknowledged he was a leetle

inclined that way, and as he had had his feed, he now wanted his straw.

In the morning Hoss Allen became “dreadful poorly,” and it was with

great difficulty he could be prevailed upon to get up. All were

sympathising with his affliction, and the matron of the house boiled

him some hot “sass-tea,” which, the old man said, relieved him mightily.

Judge Edwards assured Hoss, that it would be necessary for him to lay

up for a day or two, and the afflicted candidate signified the same,

himself. Before they parted Hoss requested Edwards, as he had the whole

field to himself, not to be too hard upon him. His antagonist promised

to spare him, but chuckled all the while at having a clear field in

Allen's most popular district. Shaking the old Hoss by the hand, as they

were about to separate, he remarked--“we will meet at Benton, I hope,

in different trim, Friend Allen.” They did meet in different trim, but

Edwards little dreamed the particular kind of trim he would appear in.

As soon as Judge Edwards was fairly started, it was surprising the

rapid change which took place in his antagonist--Hoss' eye lit up, a

broad grin spread over his features, and pulling off the handkerchief,

which was tied around his head, he twirled it above him like a

flag, then stuffed it in his pocket, remarking coolly, at the same

time,--“well, that thar swamp, jest at this season, is _awful!_” His

express reported himself after his night ride, assured Allen that all

was O. K., and received his dollar for delivering the message,

upon receiving which intelligence, Allen seated himself quietly and

comfortably at his coffee, and imbibed it with a relish that drove the

idea of sickness into a hopeless decline.

Judge Edwards rapidly progressed on his way, highly gratified at having

his opponent off in this part of the field, and as he, in this happy

mood, journeyed onwards he set his brain to work conning a most powerful

speech, one that would knock the sand from under Hoss, and leave him in

a state of sprawling defeat. He resolved to sweep the south, from that

point, like a prairie fire. About noon, or perhaps an hour after, he

arrived at Tom Walters' for dinner, and while it was preparing, inquired

how far he was from Benton?

“I've an idea,” said Tom, “you're well onto nine miles frum thar--jest

an easy arternoon ride.”

This was highly satisfactory to the Judge, and perceiving that the

provender preparing was of alike pleasing character, he spread himself

back upon a hickory bottomed chair with a kind of easy dignity, at once

comfortable to himself, and edifying to his host.

“Stranger,” inquired Tom, “did you scare up anythin' like the two

candidates, Jedge Eddards and old Hoss Allen, on your way down yeur?”

“I did see something of them, my friend,” answered the Judge, and

then, as if making up his mind to surprise Tom, and give him a striking

example of democratic condescension, he inquired, “would you know either

of the gentlemen, if they stood before you?”

“Why, as to old Hoss,” said Tom, “I don't know anybody else, but this

new Jedge I ain't never seed, and ef he is the slicked up finefied

sort on a character they pictur' him, I don't want to see him--Its my

opinion, these squirtish kind a fellars ain't perticular hard baked, and

they allers goes in fur aristocracy notions.” The Judge had no idea that

Tom was smoking him, and he congratulated himself that an opportunity

here presented itself, where he could remove a wrong impression

personally; so, loftily viewing this southern constituent, he remarked:--

“You have heard a calumny, my friend, for Judge Edwards now sits before

you, and you can see whether his appearance denotes such a person as you

describe.”

“No!” shouted Tom, with mock surprise, “you aint comin' a hoax over a

fellar?--you raally are the sure enough Jedge?”

“I am really the Judge, my friend,” responded his honor, highly elevated

with Tom's astonishment.

“Then gin us your paw,” shouted Tom, “you're jest the lookin' fellar kin

sweep these yeur diggins like a catamount! What in the yearth did you do

with old Hoss on the road? I heerd he was a comin' along with you. He

aint gin out, has he?”

The Judge replied, with a smile which expressed disparagement of Hoss

Allen's powers of endurance, that he was forced to lie up on the route,

from fatigue. Dinner being announced as ready the Judge and Tom seated

themselves, and the latter highly expanded his guest's prospects in the

district, assuring him that he could lick Hoss “powerful easy, ef he

wasn't broken winded.” The meal being ended, the Judge demanded his

horse, and inquired of his host the direct road to Benton, which Tom

thus mapped out:--

“Arter you pass the big walnut, about two miles from yeur, keep it a

mile on your left, and take the right trail fur about six hundred yards,

when you'll cum to the 'saplin acre,' thar you keep to the right agin,

and when that trail fotches you up, why right _over from thar_ lies

Benton.”

This was a very clear direction to one who had never before travelled

the road, but the Judge, trusting to luck, said, “he thought he would be

able to get there without much difficulty,” and started off, leaving his

late entertainer gazing after him.

“Well, I allow you will, Jedge,” chuckled Tom,--“You'll git inter

that swamp, jest as sure as shootin', and you'll hev the biggest and

hungryest audience of mosquitors, ever a candidate preached law or

larnin' to!” To secure his finding the swamp road, he had stationed his

boy Jim near the turn off, to make the matter sure.

In the course of a couple of hours along came Hoss Allen, who, as

soon as Tom took hold of his bridle, winked his eye at him while he

inquired:--

“Did Jedge Eddards come along, Tom?”

“Well, he did, Hoss, oncommon extensive in his political feelins'.”

“And you didn't let the Jedge stray away from the swamp road?” inquired

Hoss.

“Well, I predicate I didn't, fur by this time he's travellin' into the

diggins most amazin' innocently,” and then the pair enjoyed a regular

guffaw!

“He's safe as a skin'd bar, then, Tom, and I'll spread his hide afore

the Benton boys to-morrow--jest let them into the joke, and I allow,

after that, his dandified aristocracy speeches won't have much effect in

this section.

“Go it, Jedge,” shouted Tom, “ef I ain't thar to hear it, it'll

be 'cause the breath'll leave me afore then--gin him goss without

sweeten'--rumple his har, but don't spile the varmint!”

After Hoss had stayed his stomach with a cold bite, he bade Tom

good-day, and started for Benton, highly tickled with the success of his

trick. As he neared the “saplnracre,” he met Jim, who exhibited a full

spread of his ivories, when Hoss. inquired which road he had directed

the gentleman before him?

“He gone into de swamp road, massa, but what de debil he want dar, 'cept

he arter coon skins, dis niggah doesn't hab no idear, whatsomedeber.”

Allen passed on, assured that all was right, and as his horse leisurely

ambled forward, he broke into singing a verse of a western ditty, which

says:--

“Thar aint throughout this western nation,

Another like old Hickory

He was bom jest fur his siteation--

A bold leader of the free.”

As night spread her curtain over this wild district, Hoss neared Benton,

and as his nag jogged up the principal street, he broke out into a

louder strain, repeating the above verse, on hearing which, the “boys,”

who were expecting him and Edwards, turned out, and old Hoss was

received with a cheer.

“Hello, Jedge!--How are you, Old Hoss?--Give us your paw,

Governor!--Here at last, Squire!”--and sundry such expressions of

familiar welcome was showered on Allen, by the crowd. “Come in, and git

a drink, old fellar,” shouted one of the crowd, and forthwith all hands

pushed for the hotel bar room, where sweetened corn juice was pushed

about with vast liberality--at the _candidate's_ expense, of course.

“Whar did you leave the new fellar, Jedge Eddards?” was the general

inquiry.

“Why, boys, I stopped to rest on the road, and he slid off to git ahead

of me--I heered on him at the forks, and expected he was here. It's my

opinion, boys, he's seen a bar on the road, and bein' too delicate to

make the varmint clar the path, he's taken a long circuit round him!”

This raised a laugh among the crowd, and it was followed up by general

inquiries as to what Edwards looked like, but to these Hoss shook his

head, remarking, as he raised his hands expressive of how they would

be astonished--“jest wait tell you see him yourselves, boys, and then

you'll be satisfied.”

Let us return to Judge Edwards, who had easily found his way past the

“sapling acre,” and by the aid of Jim's direction progressed into the

swamp road, as easy as if it were his destination. Having travelled, as

he thought, about ten miles, he began to look out for Benton, and every

now and then uttered an expression of surprise, that they had located

the town in such a swampy country--every rod he progressed became more

and more obscure, the brush more thick and wild in growth, and the

ground more moist and yielding. Night, too, that season for the

rendezvous of underbrush and tangle-wood horrors, was fast gathering its

forces in the depths of the forest, and beneath the shadows of the

thick bushes, shrouding, as with a dark mist, each object on the earth's

surface, creeping up the trunks of the old trees, and noiselessly

stealing away the light in which they had proudly spread their green

foliage, while in lieu of their showy garb he clad them in a temporary

mourning. The song of the birds became hushed, while the cry of the

startled wolf was borne upon the breeze to the ear of the affrighted

traveller, interrupted occasionally by the sharp _m-e-o-w!_ of the

wild-cat, making together a vocal concert most unharmonious to the

ear of the bewildered candidate. To sum up these horrors a myriad of

_mosquitoes_, as musical as hunger and vigorous constitutions could

make them, hummed and fi-z-z-zed around him, darting in their stings and

darting away from his annoyed blows, with a pertinacity and perseverance

only known to the Missouri tribe of insects.

Poor Edwards!--he was fairly in for it--into a swamp at that!--Night was

fast making all roads alike obscure, and with amazing rapidity covering

our traveller in a mantle of uncertainty. The possibility of his escape

that night first became improbable, and then impossible. He hallooed at

the highest pitch of his voice, but the wolf was the only live varmint

that answered his cry, and a strange fear began to creep over his heart.

He remembered well reading accounts of where hungry droves of these

animals had eaten the horse from under the saddle, the rider upon it,

bones, hide, _har_ and all, leaving scarce a vestige of the victims

to mark the deed, and his hair grew uneasy on his cranium at the bare

thought of such an unpolitical termination to his canvass. At this

particular moment a yell, as of a thousand devils in his immediate

neighbourhood, set his heart knocking against his ribs in a fearful

manner. When he partially recovered from the shock he tied his horse to

one tree and quickly mounted another--whispering the hope to his heart,

at the same time, that a meal on his horse would satisfy the gathering

crowd of varmints, who were shouting their death song below him. Having

seated himself astride a limb, the mosquitoes had a fair chance at

him, and they put the Judge through as active an exercise as ever was

inflicted on a recruit--there was this difference, however, between him

and a recruit, they are generally raw at the commencement of a drill,

but poor Edwards was most raw at the end of his lesson. Every new yell

of the swamp pre-emptioners, made him climb a limb higher, and each

progression upwards appeared to introduce him to a fresh and hungrier

company of mosquitoes--the trees in the swamp were like the dwellings in

Paris, their highest tenants were the most needy. Day at length broke,

and our harassed candidate, almost exhausted, clambered from his exalted

position. His frightened but unscathed steed uttered a neigh of welcome

as he bestrode him, and giving loose to the rein he committed his

escape to the animal's sagacity, while he aided his efforts by a devout

supplication. Accident favored the horse's footsteps, for striking the

trail leading to the road he started off into a trot, and soon broke

his rider's spell of terror, by turning into the main avenue leading to

Benton. Edwards slowly passed his pimpled hand over his worse pimpled

face, sadly remarking:--

“Last night's 'bills' all passed, for I bear their stinging signatures

all over my countenance.”

When ten o'clock came, on the day following Judge Allen's arrival at

Benton, the town swarmed with the southern constituency of Missouri,

and as soon as the tavern bell, which had been put in requisition to

announce the candidate's readiness, had ceased its clamor, Hoss mounted

the balcony of the hotel, and rolling up his sleeves “spread himself”

for an unusually brilliant effort.

“Boys!” shouted he, “I want your attention to matters of vital

import--of oncommon moment, and replete with a nation's _welfar_.” Here

looking down into the crowd at Sam Wilson, who was talking as loud

as he could bellow, about an imported heifer he had just bought, Hoss

called his attention: “Sam,” said he, “you'd better bring that heifer

of your'n up here to address the meetin', and I'll wait till the animal

gits through!” This raised a laugh on Sam, and Hoss proceeded.

After dilating at some length on the imported candidate who was

his antagonist, he “_let himself out_,” on some of the measures he

advocated, and particularly dwelt on the fact that he went in for

creating a license law on hunting varmints!

“Would you have the least mite of an idea, boys,” said Hoss, “that this

creatur' of a faction wants to have every man's rifle stamped with the

state arms, and then made pay a license to the state before he can git

a bonus for wolf scalps.” [At this moment a shrill voice interrupted

him again--a girl belonging to the hotel was shouting to a couple of

youngsters, who had been despatched to the barn for eggs, to “quit

suckin' them thar eggs or the candidates would stand a mighty small

chance furthur dinner.”] “Jest tell that gall,” said Hoss, “to suck my

share and stop her screamin.” He again continued: “I want to know what

in yearth this Massissippi country's comin' too, when sich fellars finds

favor with the people--what do you think of him boys?”

“Why, _cuss his pictur!_” was the general response from the _bar_

hunters.

While Hoss was thus arousing public indignation against his antagonist,

a stranger entered the crowd, and after listening a moment to the

speaker's imaginary flights he interrupted him by shouting:--

“I deny your assertions, Judge Allen!”

This was a bomb shell, and the crowd cleared a space round the stranger,

in expectation of a fight; but Allen after surveying the stranger,

in whom he recognised his antagonist Edwards, coolly inquired why he

disputed it?

“What, me!” shouted Edwards, “who can better declare your assertions

false than the man you are misrepresenting--you know very well that I am

that Judge Edwards!”

Hoss Allen turned calmly round to the crowd and said:--“Boys, you know

I never git angry at a man insane or in liquor, and as I don't know this

fellar, and never seed him afore in my life, its the best proof that he

aint Jedge Eddards, so you'll oblige me by taking him off the ground and

keeping him from disturbing the meeting.”

Expostulation was useless--without any ceremony he was carried into the

hotel, boiling with indignation. There, however, he had to stay, at

a convenient distance to hear that Allen was giving him “_particular

jesse_.”

After the meeting adjourned three cheers were given for Hoss Allen, and

all parties gathered into the bar to take a little _fluid_, and discuss

the speech. Edwards having now been relieved from durance, started

for Hoss;--burning inside with choler and smarting exteriorly from

mosquito-bites,--he looked bitter.

“Do you say you don't know me, Judge Allen?” inquired he.

Hoss looked steadily at him, then coolly taking out his spectacles,

he wiped the glasses, adjusted them upon his nose, and surveyed the

questioner from head to foot, he then remarked:

“Thar is somethin' about your voice, and the clothes you ware, that

I ought to know--Jedge Eddards wore a coat and kerseys exactly like

your'n, but I'll swar he had a better lookin' face than you carry when

we parted yesterday mornin'. If you are him you're been the wust used

candidate I've seed in an age.”

“Yes,” responded Edwards, “thanks to that d--n nigger that sent me

into the swamp. I tell you sir that I have passed a night to which the

infernal regions are a scant pattern, and between mosquitoes, wolves,

and wild-cats I should not be surprised if my hair had turned grey.”

“I begin to re-cognise you, now, Jedge,” said Hoss, in a sympathetic

tone, “and no wonder I didn't know you at first sight--your head is

swelled as big as a _pumkin!_ I'll do the clean thing, Jedge,” said

Hoss, starting for the balcony, “I'll apologise afore the boys, publicly,

for not knowin' you.”

“No, no!” shouted Edwards, who knew his apology would only place his

night's adventure in a more ridiculous light, “I don't demand any

apology.” But he was too late, Hoss had already called the attention of

the crowd.

“Boys,” said he, “as an honourable man who finds himself in the wrong, I

am bound to apologise, publicly, to my friend Jedge Eddards,--the Jedge

is a leetle changed in appearance since we wur last together, and I did

not re-cognise him; I, tharfore, ask his pardon fur orderin' him off the

ground.”

“I grant it!” shouted Edwards, glad here to wind up the apology, then

turning round he added, “come boys, let us drink good friends.”

“Wait a minit, boys,” said Hoss, “the Jedge and I havin' smoothed that

little marter over, I jest want to tell you why I didn't know him at

fust sight. You all know that the mosquitoes in cedar swamp are an

oreful hungry breed, and when they git a passenger they present him with

numerous 'relief bills;' well I had gained considerable popularity in

that swamp, by presentin' their condition before the legislatur' and

askin' for reliet for the distressed inhabitants,--the Jedge, to head

me down thar, passed all last night on a limb of one of the trees makin'

stump speeches to the varmints, and you can see by his countenance that

expectin' to be elected he has accepted all their _mosquito bills!_”

One tremendous shout rent the air, followed by bursts of laughter, from

which Edwards retreated into the hotel. We have but to add that Hoss

carried the Bar counties “as easy as rolling off a log!” His antagonist

in vain tried to stem the tide of fun,--when he essayed to speak a

m-e-o-w of a wild-cat or the hum of a mosquito imitated by some of his

audience would be sure to set the rest sniggering, and spoil his effort.

NATURAL ACTING! DAN MARBLE'S FIRST APPEARANCE AT GRAND RIVER, MICHIGAN.

|Several years since our friend Dan Marble, the celebrated

representative of Yankee characters, was performing an engagement at

Detroit, and was persuaded by some friends to take a trip to Chicago,

and give them a taste of his quality in the lake city. Dan consented,

and on board of the good steamer Constitution, commanded by a skilful

captain, under the care of Doty, one of the best lake engineers, and

piloted by Gus. McKinstry, they set out in the fall of the year for

their northern destination. All went “merry as a marriage bell;” they

had a successful trip up,--Dan had a successful engagement--and back

they started for Detroit. But now the elements became rebellious;

whether rude Boreas resolved to keep this favorite son of Momus up there

in his northern home, we know not, but when the vessel that bore his

fortunes--his own comical self--had nearly reached the head of the lake,

against a head wind that would almost tear off a shirt collar, they run

out of wood, and was forced to scud back to Milwaukee a “leetle dust

faster than they wanted tu.” They loaded up with the fuel again, and

shutting their teeth with determination, they fastened tight the safety

valve, and tried it again right in the teeth of the hurricane. After

puffing, and blowing, and wheezing, and coughing, the old boat had to

give in, and hunt a harbor. Fate drove them into Grand River--we say,

Fate did it, in order, as we think, to keep up the character of a grand

stream by opening a dramatic temple on its banks, with an exhibition of

the budding greatness of a genius. Fate, you know, has the ordering of

such things.

The noble steamer came to anchor in the quiet river, between its

towering sand banks, and old “blow hard” tossed the lake wave on the

outside, top-mast high, with glee, at having penned Dan. Down came an

inhabitant of the town of Grand River, who had seen Dan perform at

Buffalo, and recognising him, up he posted to spread the news. In the

meantime, those on board were wondering how they should pass the weary

hours, if the fierce wind continued its fury. Presently, down comes

another resident to the boat, a small _cat-skin_ cap on his head, a

Canada-mixed coat on, and dressed in _deer-skin breeches._

“Whar is he?--which is him?--consarn his comic pictur, show him

out--ha-ha-ha!”

“Who are you lookin' after, Mister?” inquired the pilot.

“Why Dan--corn twist him--Dan Marble, to be sure.”

“Well, here I am, old fellar,” answered the pilot, “take a look at me!”

The pilot weighed about two hundred and twenty-two pounds, and had on an

old sou-wester tarpaulin. Back stepped the inhabitant of Grand River, as

if to get a good look, and take in all his dimensions at one stare. Gus,

the pilot, made a wry face at his cat-skin observer, and out he burst:

“Ha-ha-ha!--ho-ho-ho!--he-he-he!--cuss me ef you ain't jest as I heerd

on you--we've got you, have we? ha-ha-ha!--stop till I go and get

the fellars, and by grist mills you'll have to gin us a playin'!” and

forthwith off started the cat-skin cap and deer-skin breeches, their

owner pausing every hundred yards to ejaculate--

“Ha-ha!--we've got him!”

In a short time he returned, sure enough, and half the town with him.

A number of the business men of the place waited upon Dan, proper,

and requested that he would amuse them, and pass away his own time, by

relating some of his Yankee stories, singing songs, &c., tendering him,

at the same time, the second story of a storehouse for his theatre. Dan

consented, and all hands on board entering into the spirit of the thing,

they soon constructed a temporary stage, with a sail for a back scene

and the American flag for a curtain.

Night came, and with its shadows came the inhabitants of the town of

Grand River--the owner of the cat-skin cap and his party, among the

number.'

In order to make his performance varied, Dan made arrangements to

produce the _skunk scene_, from the “Water Witch;” and drilled Doty,

the engineer, Gus, the pilot, the clerk of the boat, and the mate, to

perform the English sailors in the scene. It will be remembered by those

who have witnessed it, that they catch the Yankee just as he has killed

a skunk, and are about to press him as a sailor; he persuades them to

see a specimen of his shooting--they stick up the dead animal as a mark,

and while he gets their attention upon the object in one direction,

he retreats in the other, showing off in his exit a specimen of “tall

walking.” After considerable drilling his assistants were pronounced

perfect; but the pilot swore that, to play an English sailor, he must

get disguised, so accordingly he primed with a double quantity of grog.

His associates, jealous of his natural acting, say he had to get drunk

before he could look at the audience. Up went the curtain, and on went

Dan; of course the audience were amused--they couldn't help it; but

cat-skin looked in vain for his Dan. At length the skunk scene opened,

and on came the pilot at the head of his party. The deer-skin breeches

could hardly hold their owner; he ha-ha'd and ho-ho'd as if he would go

into fits. Gus clapped his eye upon him, and screwed up his face into as

many lines as a map, which finished the effect with cat-skin--he rolled

off his seat, almost convulsed. Now commenced the scene with Yankee

Dan, and when he told Gus to stoop down and watch his shot, it was with

considerable difficulty that the pilot balanced himself in any such

position. While they were stooping, off started Dan in their rear, and,

to keep up the scene, off they started in pursuit; Dan, according to

plot, hid behind the r. h. wing, front--his pursuers should here pass

him and cross the stage, allowing him, by a Yankee trick, to escape; but

that portion of the plot Gus, the pilot, had forgotten; he, therefore,

came to a dead halt and looked round for Dan; there he was, and out

shouted Gus: “Come out, old fellar--I see you!”

Dan shook his head and signed for them to go on. “No you don't,” says

the pilot; “we caught you fair, and I'm be d--d if you shan't treat!”

The effect was irresistible; Dan had to give in, and the curtain dropped

before a delighted audience--a-collapsed pair of deer-skin breeches,

and upon the first night of the drama in Grand River. The owner of the

cat-skin cap and deer-skin breeches maintains, to this day, that the

pilot was Dan Marble.

“Them other fellars,” says he, “done pooty well, but any 'coon, with

half an eye, could see that that fat fellar did the naturalest acting!”

A CANAL ADVENTURE.

“Oh hapless our fate was, each one and all,

For we were wreck-ed on the Erie Canal,”

Old Ballad.

|On an evening in the month of July, 1836, I embarked at Lockport, in

company with some fourteen passengers, on board an Erie Canal packet,

destined for Rochester. It will be remembered that this was during

the great migrating period in the United States, when all nations and

pursuits had representatives on our principal travelling routes. Our

party was no sooner aboard than the “bold captain” gave the word, the

horses were got “under weigh,” the feathers set, and all hands called

to pick out their shelf--a six foot-by-one convenience, suspended by

cords--upon which they stowed away passengers for the night. Babel never

heard a greater confusion of tongues than this call set wagging. But

above them all was heard the silver tone of a travelling exquisite,

piping out:--

“I-aw am first, cap'en, really,--I claim pwior choice, I do, dem if I

don't.”

Happening to be first on the register, it was accorded, and the captain

suggested a locker berth, as the most comfortable.

“No! no!--dem,--beg you-a pawden, cap'en,” shouted the exquisite, “some

gwos, fat individual, might get on the upa shelf and bweak down,--I

should be mangled howibly.”

“Be jabers, I'd like to hev the squazin of him, me-silf,” said a burly

Irishman.

“They'd better spill a leettle smellin' stuff on the pesky animal, or

he'll spile before mornin',” chimed in a Yankee.

After sundry remarks, at the exquisite's expense, and considerable

confusion, all were duly ticketed for the night, and commenced piling

themselves away like pledges in a pawnbroker's shop. Jonathan and

the Irishman carelessly spread themselves upon a couple of long

cane-bottomed settees, which occupied the centre of the cabin, and, in

a very brief space of time, the company hushed into silence, save an

occasional short blessing bestowed upon the short berths. When all

appeared to have dropped into forgetfulness, the head of a way-passenger

was thrust into the cabin entrance, with the inquiry--

“Is there any berths here?”

“Sure, this is the _gintlemen's_ cabin,” answered the Irishman.

“Well, I want to know if there's any berths here?” reiterated the

inquirer.

“Divil a chance for wan here,” was the response; “don't I tell ye this

is the _gintlemen's_ cabin?”

This conversation partially aroused the sleepers, who inquired of the

Emeralder what was the row?

“Some botherin' docthur,” was the sleepily muttered reply.

All soon again relapsed into quiet;--snore began to answer snore, in

“high and boastful blowing,” and I turned my back to the lamp for the

purpose of making a somnolent effort, individually. After tossing

and turning for some time, I found that the plentiful supper taken

at Lockport had entered a veto against sleep for me, and every effort

failed to accomplish more than a drowsy lethargy, which still left the

senses partially awake. A strange bumping noise aided to keep me in this

state, and I was labouring to assign a cause for the sound, when a voice

distinctly cried out--

“It's no use a pumpin', captin', and I _won't!_ She may sink and be

_dern'd!_”

The concluding part of this remark started my senses into activity, and,

after an effort, I turned round on my foot-wide couch, and took a survey

of my “sleeping partners,” to observe how the voice had affected them;

but not a muscle moved--all were chorussing beautifully the lays of

dream-land. The certainty' of our “sinking and be dern'd,” was soon

apparent, for the light of the lamp, suspended from the ceiling of

the cabin, soon began to be reflected from the floor--the waters were

quietly stealing upon the unconscious sleepers. My first impulse was

to sound the alarm, but, fortunately, possessing a “top shelf,” and

conscious that we could sink but a few feet, I held my peace until

the water should increase its depth, being sure of fun when I gave the

signal.

A pair of boots now commenced a very fair forward-two to a boot-jack

which was busily engaged in executing a chassez before a nodding

hat,--stockings were wriggling about, as if pleased with the fun, and,

in a few minutes more, all was a scene of life among the sleepers'

“unconsidered trifles” of wardrobe carelessly cast upon the floor. The

water having reached within a few inches of the slumbering pair upon the

cane-bottomed settees, I sounded the alarm, by shouting--“Murder!

boat's sinking! hurrah! help!” Off tumbled the Irishman and

Yankee--splash--dash--flounder and exclamation!

“Holy Virgin! what's this?” inquired Pat.

“Cre-a-tion and the deluge!” shouted Jonathan “Good gwacious!” piped in

the dandy.

Down hopped the tenants of the shelves, like bodies in a family vault at

the general rising--up again they hopped, light as spirits and twice as

natural, the instant their pedal extremities touched the water.

“Take it cool, gentlemen,” shouted a westerner, from a top berth, “these

are the canal extras.”

A lady, at this moment, parted the curtains of their cabin--the

Emeralder, with true gallantry, seized her in his arms, with a shout

of “Riscue the ladies!” and bore her out on deck. Jonathan, not to be

outdone by a foreigner, stood ready for the second, but her weight (only

two hundred pounds) put a stumper on his gallantry. Yankee ingenuity,

however, overcame the difficulty,--by making a bridge of the cane

settees, the ladies were safely conducted from their watery quarters.

It was a funny scene on deck, that night, and little ceremony was

observed in making a toilet. None, however, seemed to take the matter

seriously but the dandy--he had lost all his beautifying essentials, in

the confusion, and was almost frightened to death at his hair-breadth

'scape. Jonathan was offering him some crumbs of comfort, to induce him

to make a purchase for his future safety.

“I'll tell you what, Mister,” says Jonathan, “jest buy one of my

everlastin'-no-drownin'-dry-and-water-tight-life-presarvers, and when

you git it _fixed right_, it'll keep you so dry you'll have to sprinkle

yourself to _stick together._”

THE STANDING CANDIDATE. HIS EXCUSE FOR BEING A BACHELOR.

|At Buffalo Head, Nianga county, state of Missouri, during the canvass

of 1844, there was held an extensive political _Barbecue_, and the

several candidates for congress, legislature, county offices, &c., were

all congregated at this southern point for the purpose of making an

immense demonstration. Hards, softs, whigs and Tylerites were

represented, and to hear their several expositions of state and general

policy, a vast gathering of the Missouri sovereigns had also assembled.

While the impatient candidates were awaiting the signal to mount the

“stump,” an odd-looking old man made his appearance at the brow of a

small hill bounding the place of meeting.

“Hurrah for old _Sugar!_” shouted an hundred voices, while on, steadily,

progressed the object of the cheer.

[Illustration: 0307]

_Sugar_, as he was familiarly styled, was an old man, apparently

about fifty years of age, and was clad in a coarse suit of brown

linsey-woolsey. His pants were patched at each knee, and around the

ankles they had worn off into picturesque points--his coat was not of

the modern close-fitting cut, but hung in loose and easy folds upon his

broad shoulders, while the total absence of buttons upon this garment,

exhibited the owner's contempt for the storm and the tempest. A coarse

shirt, tied at the neck with a piece of twine, completed his body

covering. His head was ornamented with an old woollen cap, of divers

colors, below which beamed a broad, humorous countenance, flanked by

a pair of short, funny little grey whiskers. A few wrinkles marked his

brow, but time could not count them as sure chronicles of his progress,

for Sugar's hearty, sonorous laugh oft drove them from their hiding

place. Across his shoulder was thrown a sack, in each end of which

he was bearing to the scene of political action, a keg of _bran new

whiskey_, of his own manufacture, and he strode forward on his moccason

covered feet, encumbered as he was, with all the agility of youth.

Sugar had long been the standing candidate of Nianga county, for the

legislature, and founded his claim to the office upon the fact of his

being the first “squatter” in that county--his having killed the first

bar there, ever killed by a white man, and, to place his right beyond

cavil, he had 'stilled the first keg of whiskey! These were strong

claims, which urged in his comic rhyming manner would have swept the

“diggins,” but Sugar, when the canvass opened, always yielded his claim

to some liberal purchaser of his fluid, and duly announced himself a

candidate for the next term.

“Here you air, old fellar!” shouted an acquaintance, “allays on hand

'bout 'lection.”

“Well, Nat.,” said Sugar, “you've jest told the truth as easy as ef

you'd taken sum of my mixtur--

'Whar politicians congregate,

I'm allays thar, at any rate!'”

“Set him up!--set the old fellar up somewhar, and let us take a

univarsal liquor!” was the general shout.

“Hold on, boys,--keep cool and shady,” said old Sugar, “whar's the

candidates?--none of your splurgin round till I git an appropriation

fur the sperits. Send em along and we'll negotiate fur the fluid, arter

which I shall gin 'em my instructions, and they may then per-cede to

'Talk away like all cre-a-tion,

What they knows about the nation.'”

The candidates were accordingly summoned up to pay for Sugar's portable

grocery, and to please the crowd and gain the good opinion of the owner,

they made up a purse and gathered round him. Sugar had placed his two

kegs upon a broad stump and seated himself astride of them, with a small

tin cup in his hand and a paper containing brown sugar lying before

him--each of his kegs was furnished with a spiggot, and as soon as the

money for the whole contents was paid in, Sugar commenced addressing the

crowd as follows:

“Boys, fellars, and candidates,” said he, “I, Sugar, am the furst white

man ever seed in these yeur diggins--I killed the furst bar ever a white

skinned in this county, and I kalkilate I hev hurt the feelings of

his relations sum sence, as the bar-skin linin' of my cabin will

testify;--'sides that, I'm the furst manufacturer of whiskey in the

range of this district, and powerful mixtur' it is, too, as the hull

bilin' of fellars in this crowd will declar';--more'n that, I'm a

candidate for the legislator', and intend to gin up my claim, this term,

to the fellar who kin talk the pootyest;--now, finally at the

eend, boys, this mixtur' of mine will make a fellar talk as iley as

goose-grease,--as sharp as lightnin', and as per-suadin' as a young gal

at a quiltin', so don't spar it while it lasts, and the candidates kin

drink furst, 'cause they've got to do the talkin'!”

[Illustration: 0311]

Having finished his charge he filled the tin cup full of whiskey, put

in a handful of brown sugar, and with his forefinger stirred up the

sweetening, then surveying the canditates he pulled off his cap,

remarking, as he did so:

“Old age, allays, afore beauty!--your daddy furst, in course,” then

holding up the cup he offered a toast, as follows:

“Here is to the string that binds the states; may it never be bit apart

by political _rats!_” Then holding up the cup to his head he took a

hearty swig, and passed it to the next oldest looking candidate. While

they were tasting it, Sugar kept up a fire of lingo at them:

“Pass it along lively, gentlemen, but don't spar the fluid. You can't

help tellin' truth arter you've swaller'd enough of my mixtur', jest fur

this reason, its ben 'stilled in honesty, rectified in truth, and poured

out with wisdom! Take a leetle drop more,” said he to a fastidious

candidate, whose stomach turned at thought of the way the “mixtur”' was

mixed. “Why, Mister,” said Sugar, coaxingly.

'Ef you wur a babby, jest new born,

'Twould do you good, this juicy corn!' ”

“No more, I thank you,” said the candidate, drawing back from the

proffer.

Sugar winked his eye at some of his cronies, and muttered--“He's got an

a-ristocracy stomach, and can't go the _native licker_.” Then dismissing

the candidates he shouted,--“crowd up, constitooents, into a circle, and

let's begin fair--your daddy furst, allays; and mind, no changin' places

in the circle to git the sugar in the bottom of the cup. I know you're

arter it Tom Williams, but none on your yankeein' round to git the

sweetnin'--it's all syrup, fellars, cause _Sugar_ made and mixed it. The

gals at the frolicks allays git me to pre-par' the cordials, 'cause they

say I make it mity drinkable. Who next? What you, old Ben Dent!--Well,

hold your hoss for a minit, and I'll strengthen the tin with a speck

more, jest because you can kalkilate the valee of the licker, and do it

jestiss!”

Thus chatted Sugar as he measured out and sweetened up the contents of

his kegs, until all who would drink had taken their share, and then the

crowd assembled around the speakers. We need not say that the virtues of

each political party were duly set forth to the hearers--that follows

as a matter of course, candidates dwell upon the strong points of their

argument, always. One among them, however, more than his compeers,

attracted the attention of our friend Sugar, not because he had highly

commended the contents of his kegs, but because he painted with truth

and feeling the claims of the western pioneers! Among these he ranked

the veteran Col. Johnson and his compatriots, and as he rehearsed their

struggles in defence of their firesides, how they had been trained to

war by conflict with the ruthless savage, their homes oft desolated,

and their children murdered,--yet still, ever foremost in the fight, and

last to retreat, winning the heritage of these broad valleys for their

children, against the opposing arm of the red man, though aided by the

civilized power of mighty Britain, and her serried cohorts of trained

soldiery! We say as he dwelt upon these themes Sugar's eye would fire

up, and then, at some touching passage of distress dwelt upon by the

speaker, tears would course down his rude cheek. When the speaker

concluded he wiped his eyes with his hard hand, and said to those around

him:--

“That arr true as the yearth!--thar's suthin' like talk in that

fellar!--he's the right breed, and his old daddy has told him about them

times. So did mine relate 'em to me, how the ony sister I ever had, when

a babby had her brains dashed out by one of the red skinned devils! But

didn't we pepper them fur it? Didn't I help the old man, afore he grew

too weak to hold his shootin' iron, to send a few on 'em off to rub

out the account? Well, I did!--Hey!” and shutting his teeth together he

yelled through them the exultation of full vengeance.

The speaking being done, candidates and hearers gathered around old

Sugar, to hear his comments upon the speeches, and to many inquiries of

how he liked them, the old man answered:--

“They were all pooty good, but that tall fellar they call Tom, from

St. Louis; you, I mean, stranger,” pointing at the same time to the

candidate, “you jest scart up my feelin's to the right pint--you jest

made me feel wolfish as when I and old dad war arter the red varmints;

and now what'll you take? I'm goin' to publicly decline in your favor.”

Pouring out a tin full of the liquor, and stirring it as before, he

stood upright upon the stump, with a foot on each side of his kegs, and

drawing off his cap, toasted:--“The memory of the western pioneers!”

A shout responded to his toast, which echoed far away in the depths of

the adjoining forest, and seemed to awaken a response from the spirits

of those departed heroes.

“That's the way to sing it out, boys,” responded old Sugar, “sich a yell

as that would scar an inimy into ager fits, and make the United States

Eagle scream 'Hail Columby.'”

“While you're up, Sugar,” said one of the crowd, “give us a stump speech,

yourself.”

“Bravo!” shouted an hundred voices, “a speech from Sugar.”

“Agreed, boys,” said the old man, “I'll jest gin you a few words to wind

up with, so keep quiet while your daddy's talkin',

'Sum tell it out jest like a song,

I'll gin it to you sweet and strong.'”

“The ony objection ever made to me in this arr county, as a legislatur',

was made by the wimin, 'cause I war a bachelor, and I never told you

afore why I re-mained in the state of number one--no fellar stays single

pre-meditated; and, in course, a hansum fellar like me, who all the gals

declar' to be as enticin' as a jay bird, warn't goin' to stay alone, ef

he could help it. I did see a creatur' once, named Sofy Mason, up the

Cumberland, nigh onto Nashville, Tennesee, that I tuk an orful hankerin'

arter, and I sot in to lookin' anxious fur martrimony, and gin to go

reglar to meetin', and tuk to dressin' tremengeous finified, jest to see

ef I could win her good opinion. She did git to lookin' at me, and one

day, cumin' from meetin', she was takin' a look at me a kind of shy,

jest as a hoss does at suthin' he's scart at, when arter champin' at

a distance fur awhile, I sidled up to her and blarted out a few words

about the sarmin'--she said yes, but cuss me ef I know whether that

wur the right answer or not, and I'm a thinkin' she didn't know then,

nuther! Well, we larfed and talked a leetle all the way along to her

daddy's, and thar I gin her the best bend I had in me, and raised my

bran new hat as peert and perlite as a minister, lookin' all the time

so enticin' that I sot the gal tremblin'. Her old daddy had a powerful

numerous lot of healthy niggers, and lived right adjinin' my place,

while on tother side lived Jake Simons--a sneakin', cute varmint, who

war wusser than a miser fur stinginess, and no sooner did this cussed

sarpint see me sidlin' up to Sofy, than he went to slickin' up, too, and

sot himself to work to cut me out. That arr wur a struggle ekill to the

battle of Orleans. Furst sum new fixup of Jake's would take her eye, and

then I'd sport suthin' that would outshine him, until Jake at last gin

in tryin' to outdress me, and sot to thinkin' of suthin' else. Our

farms wur jest the same number of acres, and we both owned three niggers

apiece. Jake knew that Sofy and her dad kept a sharp eye out fur the

main chance, so he thort he'd clar me out by buyin' another nigger; but

I jest follor'd suit, and bought one the day arter he got his, so he had

no advantage thar; he then got a cow, and so did I, and jest about then

both on our _pusses_ gin out. This put Jake to his wits' eend, and I war

a wunderin' what in the yearth he would try next. We stood so, hip and

thigh, fur about two weeks, both on us talkin' sweet to Sofy, whenever

we could git her alone. I thort I seed that Jake, the sneakin' cuss, wur

gittin' a mite ahead of me, 'cause his tongue wur so iley; howsever,

I didn't let on, but kep a top eye on him. One Sunday mornin' I wur a

leetle mite late to meetin', and when I got thar the furst thing I seed

war Jake Simons, sittin' close bang up agin Sofy, in the same pew with

her daddy! I biled a spell with wrath, and then tarned sour; I could

taste myself! Thar they wur, singin' himes out of the same book.

Je-e-eminy, fellars, I war so enormous mad that the new silk handkercher

round my neck lost its color! Arter meetin' out they walked, linked

arms, a smilin' and lookin' as pleased as a young couple at thar furst

christenin', and Sofy tarned her 'cold shoulder' at me so orful pinted,

that I-wilted down, and gin up right straight--Jake had her, thar wur no

disputin' it! I headed toward home, with my hands as fur in my trowsers

pockets as I could push 'em, swarin' all the way that she wur the last

one would ever git a chance to rile up my feelin's. Passin' by Jake's

plantation I looked over the fence, and thar stood an explanation of the

marter, right facin' the road, whar every one passin' could see

it--his consarned cow was tied to a stake in the gar din', _with a most

promising calf alongside of her!_ That calf jest soured my milk, and

made Sofy think, that a fellar who war allays gittin' ahead like Jake,

wur a right smart chance for a lively husband!”

A shout of laughter here drowned Sugar's voice, and as soon as silence

was restored he added, in a solemn tone, with one eye shut, and his

forefinger pointing at his auditory:--

“What is a cussed sight wusser than his gittin' Sofy war the fact, that

he _borrowed that calf the night before from Dick Harkley!_ Arter the

varmint got Sofy hitched, he told the joke all over the settlement,

and the boys never seed me arterwards that they didn't b-a-h at me fur

lettin' a calf cut me out of a gal's affections. I'd a shot Jake, but

I thort it war a free coantry, and the gal had a right to her choice

without bein' made a widder, so I jest sold out and travelled! I've

allays thort sence then, boys, that wimin wur a good deal like licker,

ef you love 'em too hard thar sure to throw you some way:

'Then here's to wimin, then to licker,

Thar's nuthin' swimmin' can be slicker!”

AN EMIGRANT'S PERILS; OR, A FLYING TICKET ON THE MISSISSIPPI.

|The inexperienced dweller in a quiet home, who has never been tempted

to wander from its peaceful precincts, has but a faint idea of the

emigrant's troubles, and many may fail to deeply sympathise with Michael

O'Reily, the subject of our sketch; but there are those who have mingled

in the perilous tide, and can knowingly speak of its dangers. “Maybe,”

as Michael would say, “it's mesilf that has had a full peck measure of

thim, barrin' what I injayneously iscaped.”

Michael's brother, Patrick, had induced him to quit the little cottage

and _pratie patch_ on the green sod, for a home where “goold” flowed up

the rivers. At the time we encountered him he had reached the spot where

“a great man intirely,” had prophesied this shiny metal would flow to,

and he but waited to reach Patrick's home on the Missouri river, to set

a net in the stream and catch his share. As he and Mrs. O'R., who

was well, but, naturally enough, “wakely,” were seated on the boat,

considering how they could get further up stream, a steamboat runner

came to their aid, and forthwith made every necessary arrangement for

taking them safe. Michael's mind being at ease about that matter, he

ventured to indulge in a whiff of the pipe, when he was accosted by

another of the off-in-twenty-minutes agents.

“Passage up the Missouri, sir?” inquires the runner.

“Yis, I'm goin' wid ye's,” says Michael, “sure wan uv your boys

_ingaged_ me a minnit ago.”

The runner perceiving in a moment that a rival had encountered Michael,

resolved to do the aforesaid rival out of his passenger, and accordingly

hurried him off to his own boat, by telling him that _steam, was up!_

The “_done_” runner, on returning and finding his passenger off,

suspected that the rival boat had secured him, and ventured upon the

“terror experiment” to win him back. Michael instantly recognised his

first friend, and saluted him with--“I'm here, ye see!”

“Yes, but you've got yourself into a kingdom-come snarl, if you only

know'd it, without half tryin'.”

Twist the _snarl_ which way Michael would, it sounded unpleasantly, and

he ventured to inquire--“Its what did ye say kind of _snarl_, I was in?”

“I only just want to open your peepers to the fact, of having been

trapped on board an old boat, _fully insured_, with a desperate shaky

'scape-pipe, and engaged to be blow'd up this trip; so good by old

fellow, you're ticketed.”

“Och! if she's _fully insured_, all's right,” says Michael, whispering

safety to his heart, “and the boy that I came wid, says she can run up a

tree if there's a dhrap of wather on it.”

“If she don't run _up_ a tree,” was the reply, “she'll be sure to run

_agin_ a snaggy one, and then, I predicate, some of her passengers 'll

be blow'd tree high, so you're in for it, old hoss! Good by,--I say,

if you should see my old uncle _down thar_,” pointing at the same time

significantly to the rushing river, “the one I mean who didn't leave

me any money, tell him for me, as he's gone to the d------l, to shake

himself--will you?” and after delivering himself of this soothing

request, he vanished, leaving Michael fancying himself astride of a

'scape pipe riding over tree tops, rocket fashion.

“Och sorra the day I iver put fut among sich hay-thins!” soliloquised

Michael, “to talk of a man's bein' blown to _smithereens_, as if it

were but a gintle rap wid a shillaleh--faith its out uv this I'll be

immigratin' quicker than you could peel a pratie,” and forthwith

he proceeded to move, with all possible haste, his stock of worldly

effects; observing which the runner, who had awoke his fears, shouted

out as a _quickener_, “don't forget uncle, for he would think it

dreadful mean, if I didn't send word by somebody I knew _goin' direct_.”

“Leave that luggage alone,” savagely shouted the mate, “you can't leave

this boat--you're _engaged_.”

“Thrue for ye's,” says Michael in a doleful tone, “be dad I was

_omadhaun_ enough to do that same, and ye's can blow me up when iver

you're a mind to.”

“We don't blow her up,” says the mate, “until the downward trip, unless

some gentleman's requested it in his bargain; if you've got a _flying

ticket_ we are bound to accommodate you,” and just at that moment,

_whiz_ went a steam-cock.

“Be aisy for the Lord's sake,” shouted Michael, “blow her up for the

gintleman comin' down; as I'm not used to it, I might fall awkwardly in

some man's apple orchard and desthroy a _peach_ tree--d'ye mind.” Having

been assured that all was safe, and that by express desire the blowing

up was deferred, he took his seat at the stern. As the shades of evening

gathered around the boat and over the waters, the steamer pushed from

her moorings,--the last we saw of Michael he was holding in one hand a

small string of beads, with a rosary attached, while the other grasped

the painter of the jolly-boat towing astern, and his eye with a

doubtful, but resigned expression, was firmly fixed on the shaky

'scape-pipe-.

FUN WITH A “BAB.” A NIGHT ADVENTURE ON THE MISSOURI.

|At the head of a ravine on the border of the river Platte, one bright

night in June, was gathered a party of Missouri hunters, who were

encamped after a day's chase for buffalo. The evening's repast was over,

and as they stretched themselves in easy attitudes around their stack of

rifles, each looked at the other with a kind of questioning expression,

of whether it should be _sleep_ or a _yarn?_ The bright moon, with full

round face, streamed down into their midst, and sprinkled her silvery

sheen over shrub and flower, investing night in those vast solitudes

with a strange charm which forbid sleep, and with common consent they

raised themselves into a sitting posture and proposed a “talk,” as the

red skins say. Dan Elkhorn was the leader of the party, and all knew his

store of adventure inexhaustible, so a unanimous call was made upon Dan

for a story. “Come, Dan,” cried a crony, “give us something to laugh

at, and let us break this silence, which seems to breed a spirit of

melancholy--stir us up, old fellow, do!” Dan pulled his long knife out

of his belt, and laying it before him, smoothed back his long grey hair.

He was a genuine specimen of the hardy American mountaineer,--like the

Indian, he dressed in deer skins and wore the moccason, while every seam

in his iron countenance told of 'scapes and peril. Seeing that all were

attention he commenced--“Well, draw up closer, boys, so I shan't have to

holler, 'cause breth is gittin' kind a short with me now, and I want

to pacel it out to last pretty strong till the wind-up hunt. You, Mike,

keep your eye skinned for Ingins, 'cause ef we git deep in a yarn here,

without a top eye open, the cussed varmints 'll pop on us unawars, and

be stickin' some of thur quills in us--nothin' like havin' your eye open

and insterments ready. I've a big idea to gin you an account of some

fun I had with an old _bar_, on the Missouri, when I was a younker,

and considerably more spry than I am jest now. I want to tell you fust,

boys, that bars are knowin' animals, and they kin jest tell a younker of

the human kind as easily as they kin a small pig from the old sow;--they

don't fool with me now, for they've got to _know me!_

“Well, old Alic Dennison, a neighbour of mine on the Missouri, had bin

about two years up in the mountains, and when he came home he gin a

treat to all the fellars within thirty miles of him--that was jest seven

families--and among 'em, in course, I got an invite. Alic and I had

sot our cabins on opposite sides of the drink, near enough to see

each other, and a red skin, ef he'd come on a scalp visit, would a bin

diskivered by either. When Alic's frolic was to cum off, I was on hand,

sartain. About evenin' I got my small dug-out, and fixin' my rifle

carefully in the fore eend, and stickin' my knife in the edge whar it

would be handy, I jest paddled over the drink.

“A little above our location thar wur a bend in the stream which a kind a

turned the drift tother eend up, and planted them about the spot between

our cabins--. snags and sawyers, jest thar, wur dreadful plenty, and it

took mity nice padlin' to git across without tiltin'; howsever, I slid

atween 'em, sarpentine fashion, and got over clar as a pet coon. Thar

wur considerable folks at Alic's, fur some of the families in them

diggins had about twenty in number, and the gals among 'em warn't any

on your pigeon creaturs, that a fellar dassent tech fur fear of spilin'

'em, but raal scrougers--any on 'em over fourteen could lick a _bar_,

easy. My decided opinion jest now is, that thur never was a grittyer

crowd congregated before on that stream, and sich other dancin' and

drinkin' and eatin' bar steaks, and corn dodger, and huggin' the gals,

don't happen bu: once in a fellar's lifetime, and scarcely that

often.. Old Alic had a darter Molly, that war the most enticin',

gizzard-ticklin', heart-distressin' feline creatur that ever made a

fellar git owdacious, and I seed Tom Sellers cavortin' round her like a

young buffalo--he was puttin' in the biggest kind a licks in the way

of courtin', and between her eyes and the sweetened whiskey he'd drank,

you'd a thought the fellar would a bursted. Jest to make matters lively,

I headed up alongside of Molly, and shyed a few soft things at her, sech

as askin' how she liked bar steaks cooked, and if Jim Tarrant warn't

equal in the elbow to a mad _panter's_ tail, when he war fiddlin' that

last reel, and sech amusin' light conversation. Well, boys, Tom started

swellin' instanter. He tried to draw her attention from me; but I got

talkin' about some new improvements I war contemplatin' about my cabin,

and the cow I expected up from St. Louis, 'sides lonely feelins I'd bin

havin' lately, and Tom couldn't git in a show of talk, edgeways. Didn't

he git mad?--wur you ever near enough to a panter when his har riz with

wrath? Well, ef you have, you can create some idea of Tom's state of

mind, and how electricity, from liquor and love, run out to the ends of

his head kiverin'. It wur easy to see he wur a gittin' dangerous, so

I slid off and left him alone with the gal. Arter I got a talkin' to

another one of the settlers' young women, Molly kept lookin' at me, and

every now and then sayin' somethin' pleasin' across to me, while she

warn't payin' any attention to Tom at all. He spread himself into a

stiff bow and left her; then movin' across the floor like a wounded

deer, he steadied himself on the back of my seat, and lookin' me in the

face, says: “'Mister Elkhorn, I shud be strenuously obleeged to you ef

you'll step down thar with me by the old per-simmen tree.'

“I nodded my head, and told him to trot outside and wait till I got the

docyments, and as soon as he moved I sent his old _daddy_ to accompany

him. I jest informed the old fellar that Tom wanted a fight, and as

he was too full of corn juice to cut carefully, I didn't want to take

advantage of him. The old man said he was obleeged to me, and moved

out. Tom, thinkin' it wur me, staggered ahead of the old man, and I

concluded, as it war near mornin', to leave; 'cause I knew when Tom

found out his daddy was along with him instead of me, he'd have a fight

any how. I acknowledge the corn, boys, that when I started my track

warn't anythin' like a _bee-line_;--the sweeten'd whiskey had made me

powerful thick-legged; but arter a fashion I got to my dug-out, with

nothin' of weapon along in the world but the paddle. Thar war jest

enough light to tell tha snags wur plenty, and jest enough corn juice

inside to make a fellar not care a cuss fur 'em. I felt strong as a

hoss, too, and the dug-out hadn't more'n leaped six lengths from the

bank afore--zip--chug--co-souse I went--the front eend jest lifted

itself agin a sawyer and emptied me into the element! In about a second

I came up bang agin a snag, and I guess I grabbed it sudden, while old

Missouri curl'd and purl'd around me as ef she was in a hurry to git to

the mouth, so she might muddy the Massissippi. I warn't much skeer'd,

but still I didn't jest like to hang on thar till daylight, and I didn't

want to make a fuss fur fear they'd say I war skary. I had sot myself

on the end of the snag, and was jest tryin' to cypher out some way of

gittin' to shore, when I thought I diskiver'd a fellar sittin' on the

bank. At fust, he looked so black in the coat I thought it war Tom

Sellers, who'd sot himself down to wait fur a fight:--Tom had on at

the frolic a black blanket coat with a velvet collar, and he thought it

particularly nice. Arter lookin' at him move about and sit down on his

hunkers once or twice, I thought I'd holler to him; but he appeared so

dreadful drunk that I didn't expect much help from him.

“'Tom,' shouted I, 'come out here with a dug-out, and help a fellar off,

will you?'

“He sot still, without sayin' a word. 'Well,' says I to him, 'you're

meaner than an Ingin! and would bait a trap with your daddy's leggins.'

He didn't move fur a spell; at last into the drink he popped, and now,

thought I, he is mad and no dispute. I could see him paddlin' right fur

me, and I holler'd to him that I had no insterments, but he didn't say

a whisper, ony shoved along the faster. At last up he come agin my snag,

and the next minit he reached fur me, and then he tried to fix his

teeth into my moccason; so guessin' it war time to do somethin', I jest

grabbed fur his muzzle, and I'm blessed, boys, ef it warn't a great _he

bar!_ The cussed varmint had watched me from the house and seed I had

no weapons, and when I upsot he just counted me his'n, and was quietly

calculatin' on the bank how he'd best git me out of the water. I had

nothin' in the yearth but a small fancy pen knife, but I stuck that in

him so quick that he let me go, and while he swam for one snag I reached

for another. I never heerd a bar laugh out loud afore, but I'm a sucker

ef he didn't snigger twice at the way he rolled me off my log.

“We sot lookin' at one another fur a spell, when I seed the varmint

gittin' ready to call on me agin, and in about a second more off he

dropped, and strait he took a shute for my location. As he came up close

to me I slit his ear with the small blade, and he got mad; but jest as

he was circling round me to git a good hold, I dropped on to his hinder

eend and grabbed his har, and I guess I made, him move fur shore a

leetle faster than a steam boat--my little blade kept him dreadful

_itchy_. Well, the fun of the thing wur, boys, as soon as the varmint

teched shore, he turned right round on me, and I'm cussed if I hadn't to

turn round, too, and scratch for the snag agin! with that consarned bar

feelin' my legs with his paw every stroke I war makin' to git away

from him! I got a little skary, now, and a good deal mad, fur thar the

varmint war a waitin' for me, and whinin' as ef he had been ill-treated,

and thar I wur perched up on a sawyer, bobbin' up and down in the water.

At last I sot a hollerin' and kept on at it, and hollered louder, until

I seed some one cum from the house, and singin' out agin they answered

me. I asked who it war, and found that it war Molly, old Alic's darter;

so I gin her a description of my siteaytion, and she war into a dug-out

in a minit, and paddlin' towards me. I believe I said wonce, boys, that

bars wur knowin' critters, but ef thar's anythin' true on this yearth,

it's the fact, that this consarned animal had made up his mind to upsot

that gal, and I'm blessed ef he didn't jest as cute as ef he'd bin

human! Startin' from his snag he swam to the dug-out, put up both paws,

and over it went--over went Molly into the stream, and off slid Mister

bar, laffin' out loud! as I'm a white man.

“I seized Molly as she came floatin' towards me, and stuck her upon

my sawyer, while I started for an adjinin' snag. I could hear Molly

grittin' her teeth, she war so bilin' mad, and jest as soon as she could

git breath, she hollered to me to be sure I never rested till I killed

that varmint. I swore on that snag that I'd grow thin chasin' the

critter, and she seemed to git pacified. Well, thar we wur, in the

stream, and it a leetle too rough to swim in easy, so we had to sing

out for help, and I yelled till I war nigh onto hoarse, afore anythin'

livin' stirred about the house; at last, nigger Jake came down to the

edge of the river, jest as day was breakin', and puttin' his hand over

his eyes, he hollers--“'Why, Massa Dan, is dat you wot's been hollowin'

eber so long for somebody!'

“'You've jest took the notion to cum see, have you, you lazy nigger--now

git a dug-out and come out here and git your missus and me off these

snags, and do it quick, too, or I'll make you holler!'

“'What, Missus dar, too!' shouted the nigger, 'well, dat's funny--de

Lor!' and off the cussed blueskin started fur the house, and in a few

minits all that could gethered out to see us and laugh at our water

locations.

“I had bin gittin' riled by degrees, and now was at a dangerous

pint--the steam began to rise off on me till thar wur a small fog above

my head, and as the half drunken varmints roared a laffin, and cracked

their jokes about our courtin' in the middle of the drink, I got awful

excited. 'I'll make ribbons of every man among you,' says I, 'when I

git whar thar's a chance to fight.' And then the cussed crew roared the

louder. Tom Sellers yelled out that we'd bin tryin' to _elope_, and this

made Molly mad,--her daddy got a little mad, too, and I bein' already

mad, thar wur a wrathy trio on us, and the old fellow said, ef he

thought I'd been playin' a two-faced game, and bitin' his friendship

like a pizen varmint, he'd drop me off the log I wur on with a ball from

his rifle. I jest told him to fire away and be d------d, for I wur wore

out a patience. Some of the boys held him, while others got the dug-out

and came to our assistance. I jest got them to drop me on my side of

the river, and to send over my rifle, and as soon as it war on hand I

onloosed my dog Yelp, and started to wipe out my disgrace.

“That infernal bar, as soon as he'd tossed Molly in the stream, started

for the woods; but, as ef he had reasoned on the chances, the varmint

came to the conclusion that he couldn't git away, and so got up into a

crotch of a low tree, about a quarter of a mile from my cabin. Old Yelp

smelled him, and as soon as I clapped peeper on him I let sliver, when

the varmint dropped like a log,--I went to him and found he'd bin dead

for an nour. My little blade couldn't a killed him, so it's my opinion,

clearly entertained, that the owdacious varmint, knowin' I'd kill him

for his trick, jest climbed up thar whar I could easy find him, and died

to spite me!

“His hide, and hard swearin', got me and Molly out of our elopin'

scrape, and the lickin' I gin Tom Sellers that spring has made us good

friends ever sence. He don't wonce ventur' to say anythin' about that

_bar scrape_, without my permission!”

TELEGRAPHING AN EXPRESS. A NIGHT'S ADVENTURE IN THE AMERICAN BOTTOM.

|The great struggles to obtain early news in the east, between the

proprietors of daily journals, has infused a spirit of rivalry in their

western brethren, and they have been of late, prating all along the

Mississippi valley, about expresses to Washington, railroads to Oregon,

regular lines to California, telegraphs connecting St. Louis with the

east, &c., and sundry other new-fangled methods of getting ahead of

time. We do not much wonder at it, for this is the age of expresses, and

the man who lingers along in the old “sure-and-easy” method, is certain

to be lost sight of in the rapid whirl of the new order of things. In

the matter of news, now-a-days, it is not news unless _expressed_, and

we hesitate not to say that the President's message, received in the old

fashioned wait-till-you-get-it manner, would not be read with interest.

At St. Louis, on the night of the 17th of December, the _President's

message_ was expected in town, and many were the suspicious rumours

in circulation, about private expresses, magnetic telegraphs, and

“enormous” arrangements to spread the intelligence with rapidity. Every

body knew that the old slow-and-easy line through Illinois would be

along sometime that night, and allowing it ten days from Washington to

the Mississippi, it was very probable that among its contents' would be

found a copy of that important document. Col. K., a veteran conducter

of the city press, called a few of his boys together, that evening, and

quietly remarked to them:--

“Boys, that terrapin team will arrive to night on the other side of the

river with the message, and as it generally remains there until next

morning, unless we can persuade the driver to cross the river, we will

get no message until to morrow, so I wish you to start as an express,

and see if you can't coax him to cross.--Use the _persuasive_,

liberally, but bring him and the mailbags, _anyhow!_”

Orders were positive, and a “team” of three started to execute the

Colonel's orders. The river was a sheet of solid ice, upon which the

full moon poured down a flood of radiance. Across the ice they dashed,

gained the Illinois side, and chartering a wagon and horses belonging

to a couple of _suckers_, started to meet the stage. The drivers of this

_express_ were dubious about taking their passengers, because they would

not disclose where they wished to go. “Keep dark!” said one. “Mum is

the word!” said the other. “They intend to steal sum _gal_ on the road,”

whispered one sucker to his friend.

“Well, they've got a cussed poor taste, fur I'll swar thar aint anythin'

on this yeur road to the bluff' wuth shucks, 'cept Nancy Birch, and her

temper would tarn the stomic of the d-----l.” In the course of a few

minutes one express passenger remarked to his companion, “We'll meet the

stage this side of the brick house.”

“Certain,” was his friend's reply. “It's out now,” said the biggest

sucker, “thar goin' to rob the mail,” and he cast a fearful glance over

his shoulder to see if they had pistols in their hands. The stage was

now heard lumbering along, and in a few minutes they met, when out

dashed the _expresses_. “Stop!” cried one, to the driver--up mounted

another to the side of the stage. “I'm d------d, gentlemen, ef we belong

to that arr crowd!” screamed the sucker driver, “I'll jest swar on a

stack of bibles, that them fellars ony hired our team.”

The express who mounted the side of the stage, thinking he might obtain

a copy from some passenger, thrust his head through the door, and

finding one “insider” he demanded:--

“Have you got a _message?_”

“Dake all mit you, mine Got!” exclaimed a German passenger in answer,

“but dont gill de fader of dirteen little babys,”--at the same time he

handed his wallet to the express messenger.

“To the d------l with your old leather, give me a _message paper!_”

shouted the express.

“May I go to der duyvel, if ish got any oder baper but _Indiana!_”

exclaimed the Dutchman, still holding forth his wallet.

The driver now informed them that he had the message along, but “he'd

jest see them and the city of St. Louis in h----l, afore they'd git him

two steps further than the law pervided he should go,” and that was to

the Illinois side of the river. He said this so bitter, that the chance

looked hopeless for moving him, but one of the boys, with a tongue “iley

as a sarpint,' quiet as a mole, and civil as a pill pedlar, climbed

up on the seat beside him, and placing himself in a good position,

he commenced whispering close to the ear of the driver, and Eve never

yielded as easily to the serpent's temptation, as the mail driver now

began to melt' under the soft whisper floating around him.

“You said it would be _hot!_” exclaimed the driver.

“I did,” replied the whisper, “and lots of it, besides a dollar under

the pitcher of punch, and sundry comfortable fixens around it.”

“Don't say any more,” said the driver, “that's jest the kind of _snap_ I

want to git into to night.” So, putting up his horses he shouldered the

mail bags, and across to St. Louis the party travelled.

The proprietors of the anxious city journals, alarmed at the delay of

the express, resolved to despatch telegraphs in search of them; and,

having charged three with the electric fluid, off they started--and

Morse's invention aint a beginning to the way the St. Louis specimens

travelled. Across the ice--slap--dash--up the side of the ferry boat,

and up the hill. Here were collected about fifty Illinois market wagons,

and a corresponding number of suckers. A group of these latter were

gathered around a large fire, discussing the probability of being

able to cross the ice to St. Louis, on the succeeding day. A telegraph

inquired of one of these, if he had seen anything of the express. “No,

I haint,” says he, “but I hev got first rate butter, at two bitts a

pound!”

“Melt your butter!” shouted an indignant telegraph. “Come and show

us the road out to Pap's house, captain,” said another. The marketeer

started a few rods with him, and then, as if a sudden thought hit him,

looked at the telegraph gent, and, pointing his finger at him, he slowly

remarked--“No you don't hoss! I jest see right through you.”

“Why, you fool, don't you see by my appearance that I am a gentleman?”

inquired telegraph. The sucker marketeer drew off a few paces, to be

ready to run, and then shouted--“Yes, I've seen jest sich gentleman

fellars as you in the penitentiary!” and off he dashed, congratulating

himself on his escape from robbery.

Away went the telegraphs again, heading for Pap's house, a stopping

place about one mile from the ferry, and while one led the way, the

other two, wishing to slip him, hid on the road-side, but the rival

telegraph seated himself in the road to wait for the appearance of his

company. As there was no way, in the clear moonlight, to get round him

unobserved, they came out and again started. Now for it!--best man

at Pap's first! Away they started, “lickety-click,” and arrived at the

winning-post within touching distance of each other. After rapping up

the bar-keeper they seated themselves by the stove, leisurely warmed up,

and then inquired how soon they expected the stage along. “_It passed

here with the message, full twenty minutes ago!_” was the answer.

Clear the track!--hey!--here was news. Three important aids of two

printing establishments, two miles from their offices, and the message

there! Now commenced a stampede unknown to Fashion--down to the

river--on to the ice;--pit--pat--pat--pit--slip--slide--bang!--and down

he goes “up, boys, and at it again.” The island was reached in safety.

Here was a dangerous gap, at which stood a foot passenger afraid to

cross. “Look out,” he shouted, “you'll get in there.”

“Get thunder!--get out of the road!” shouted the foremost--through they

dashed--the last sticking his leg through a feet, and the city side

was gained like a flash of lightning. The leading telegraph reached the

composing room of an enterprising city paper, just as the foreman was

shouting--_proof!_

THE PRE-EMPTION RIGHT; OR, DICK KELSY'S SIGNATURE TO HIS LAND CLAIM.