never so well as when he 's thin. A sign of lively circulation— no weight-no oppression. Never better in my life, my boy. Can't say so much for you, though, Captain. You were always a lean Cassius; but there's that peculiar yellow in your eyes that makes you look like a man just going to have a fit of the jaundice. How's your appetite?"

"You think if a man's appetite 's good, it's all right?"

"An infallible test."

"Then make your mind easy about me. I have got the appetite of an ostrich. Happy to establish the fact by an experiment. My good fellow, there's nothing the matter with me, depend upon it."

These last words were not uttered with the Captain's usual gaiety. Lapsing for a moment into silence, he flung himself across a chair, and, stretching out his legs, began to yawn.

"I'm confoundedly tired," he resumed; "have hardly sat down all day. Walking and talking, and eternally moving about, it's astonishing what a quantity of fatigue a fellow goes through without thinking of it."

"So it is," said Pogey; "but I'm used to it. I like it. It agrees with me. There's nothing like action for driving away thought and keeping up a healthy state of the system. Action and re-action-mind and body-cause and effect-irritation and counter-irritation-there's the whole philosophy of life in a

nutshell."

"I don't know how it is," observed Dingle; "but when I have anything bothering me, I can't walk about. Some men are thrown into a fidget; now, I get the blue devils, and am ready to hang myself. How do you account for that?"

66

Constitution-temperament. You want regular exercisetonics. You should keep yourself calm, and, above all things, avoid mental excitement."

"Easily said, old fellow. I should like to see the homo that has gone through the world without mental excitement. How the devil is it to be avoided? I thought I was pretty clear of that sort of thing; but latterly I begin to get infernally moody. I suppose it's because we're getting old, Pogey. The worst of it is one doesn't know what to be at. If one had an understandable annoyance one would know what to do; but this dismal feeling creeping all over you, that you don't know where to begin, or how to get at it-it's devilish uncomfortable, and makes a fellow as flat as ditch-water. I'm desperately low to-night, Pogeythat's the fact."

"The truth is, Captain," said Pogey "that men at our agewe're not chickens exactly-shouldn't fish in troubled waters." "I should like to know, just by way of curiosity, what you mean, by that?" said Dingle.

Mr. Pogey began to stroke his chin with his finger and thumb. "Well, I suspect you 're a little thrown out of your calculations by the widow.”

"Ah! it's there you are, is it?" returned the Captain; "thrown out of my calculations, am I? I should like to know how you find your own calculations?"

"Oh! pretty well, thank you," replied Pogey, with a gloomy attempt at a smile.

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Pretty well, do you? Well, I confess, I shouldn't have thought so from what the widow said to me yesterday?"

"And may I ask," inquired Pogey, "what she said to you yesterday?"

"With the greatest pleasure in life," replied the Captain; "she said that if there wasn't another man in the world she wouldn't marry a certain little Doctor that—"

"She did, did she?" demanded Pogey. "That's curious." "Do you think so?"

"Very, considering what she said to me only the day before." "And pray may I inquire what she said?"

"Merely observed that she'd rather pick a husband out of the streets, blindfolded, than marry a battered half-pay who-" "She said that? Listen to me-this is a serious business, Pogey-no nonsense with me, you know. You're only playing off one of your absurd jokes. Don't be stupid."

"Jokes, is it? Shall I tell you anything more she said?"

"Pish! I don't care what she said. I have it from her own lips that your visits are a nuisance to her-a nuisance-." "Ditto-ditto, Captain."

"I wonder you haven't the sense to see that she was only throwing you off the scent."

"And how do you know that she was n't doing the same thing with you-eh? There's gravel in that, Captain!"

By this time they were pacing up and down, as well as the dimensions of the room would allow, in a state of high exacerbation, the Captain with his arms crossed, and his bamboo sticking out behind; and Pogey with one hand plunged into his breeches-pocket, and the other violently twirling a pestle, that threatened to fly off out of the window at every jerk. While they were thus engaged, John Peabody made his appearance.

"Ha!" said John Peabody, "how lucky to meet you both together. This will save me a walk, Captain. I've a note for you, and another for Mr. Pogey. There-read them. What do you think of that?"

Mr. Pogey slowly opened the note. Captain Scott Dingle did

the same.

"Mr. Peabody," said Pogey, "will you be good enough to explain to me the meaning of this?"

"Why it's pretty plain, Mr. Pogey," returned Peabody. "Plain ?" cried Dingle; "this isn't the first of April, is it?"

"Well," said John Peabody, "I really thought, now, that you'd both be so delighted."

"Delighted?" said the Captain; "of course, so

VOL. XXVII.

we are.

D

What do you say, Pogey? Delighted!-you 're delightedto be sure-of course you are! d—”

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Yours is the same, I suppose?" inquired Pogey.

"The identical same," returned the Captain.

"And so, Mr. Peabody," said Mr. Pogey, "Mr. Rawlings Mr. Richard Rawlings-is going to be married to Mrs. Raggles?"

"On Wednesday morning," replied John Peabody; "is n't it a glorious bit of luck?"

"Luck!" repeated Dingle, with an expression of infinite disgust.

"I wish him joy of her, that's all!" said Pogey. "I knew you would," said John Peabody.

"So do I!" exclaimed the Captain, fiercely.

"Come-that's as it ought to be," remarked John Peabody. The notes were notes of invitation. Remembering all the trouble Mr. Pogey had taken in Mrs. Raggles's affairs, and the numerous polite attentions of Captain Scott Dingle, Richard Rawlings thought he could not do less than request their presence at the wedding.

"Your hand, Pogey," said Dingle, " if I have said anything-" "Not a word," returned Pogey; "will you go?"

"Go?" reiterated the Captain; then, turning a look of thunder upon John Peabody, he exclaimed, putting on his hat at the same time, and crushing it down with a slap of his hand, "Good night, Mr. Peabody!" and rushed out. Mr. Pogey at the same instant darted out of the other door. John Peabody walked home in a condition of profound bewilderment.

Mr. Pogey was very much enraged at first; but, after a little cool reflection, he compromised his mortification on professional grounds, and, turning off his disappointment with a philosophical laugh, he made himself extremely sociable and merry on the occasion. The Captain took the matter with more dignity. He considered himself jilted. But then it occurred to him that Mrs. Raggles was a woman, and that women will sometimes, in the face of sun, moon, and stars, jilt the most eligible men for their inferiors; that his case was by no means an uncommon one, and that he should only look foolish if he betrayed any annoyance at it. And so, consoling himself, like a man of the world, who took its rubs with habitual nonchalance, he, too, went to the wedding, as if nothing had happened, and did himself the honour of proposing the bride's health in a glass of punch, which Pogey insisted upon brewing after dinner specially for that purpose.

A STEAMBOAT on the Mississippi frequently, in making her regular trips, carries between places varying from one to two thousand miles apart; and as these boats advertise to land passengers and freight at "all intermediate landings," the heterogeneous character of the passengers of one of these up-country boats can scarcely be imagined by one who has never seen it with his own eyes. Starting from New Orleans in one of these boats, you will find yourself associated with men from every state in the Union, and from every portion of the globe; and a man of observation need not lack for amusement or instruction in such a crowd, if he will take the trouble to read the great book of character so favourably opened before him. Here may be seen jostling together the wealthy Southern planter, and the pedlar of tinware from New England-the Northern merchant, and the Southern jockey-a venerable bishop and a desperate gambler-the land speculator and the honest farmer-professional men of all creeds and characters-Wolvereens, Suckers, Hoosiers, Buckeyes and Corncrackers, beside a "plentiful sprinkling" of the half-horse and halfalligator species of men, who are peculiar to "old Mississippi," and who appear to gain a livelihood simply by going up and down the

By T. B. Thorpe, of Louisiana. The following is a specimen of American Humour, taken from the "Library of American Humorous Writers." The writer, though by profession à painter, has, for several years past, equally divided his talents between the brush and the pen. His inimitable delineations of South-western characters, incidents, and scenery, early attracted attention. He is alike felicitous in the use of crayon, brush, or pen. The following story will give the reader an idea of his peculiar style in hitting off the original "characters" frequently met with in the great valley of the Mississippi.-EDIT.

river. In the pursuit of pleasure or business, I have frequently found myself in such a crowd.

On one occasion, when in New Orleans, I had occasion to take a trip of a few miles up the Mississippi, and I hurried on board the well-known "high-pressure-and-beat-everything" steamboat "Invincible," just as the last note of the last bell was sounding; and when the confusion and bustle that is natural to a boat's getting under way had subsided, I discovered that I was associated in as heterogeneous a crowd as was ever got together. As my trip was to be of a few hours' duration only, I made no endeavours to become acquainted with my fellow-passengers, most of whom would be together many days. Instead of this, I took out of my pocket the "latest paper," and more critically than usual examined its contents; my fellow-passengers at the same time disposed of themselves in little groups. While I was thus busily employed in reading, and my companions were more busily still employed in discussing such subjects as best suited their humour, we were most unexpectedly startled by a loud Indian whoop, uttered in the "social hall," a part of the cabin fitted off for a bar; then was to be heard a loud crowing, which would not have continued to have interested us (such sounds being quite common in that place of spirits) had not the hero of these accomplishments stuck his head into the cabin and hallooed out, "Hurra for the Big Bar of Arkansaw!" and then might be heard a confused hum of voices, unintelligible, save in such broken sentences as "horse," "screamer," "lightning is slow," &c. As might have been expected, this continued interruption attracted the attention of every one in the cabin; all conversation ceased, and in the midst of this surprise the "Big Bar" walked into the cabin, took a chair, put his feet on the stove, and looking back over his shoulder, passed the general and familiar salute of "Strangers, how are you?" He then expressed himself as much at home as if he had been at "the Forks of Cypress," and "perhaps a little more so." Some of the company looked a little angry at this familiarity, and some astonished; but in a moment every face was wreathed in a smile; for there was something about the intruder which won the heart on sight. He appeared to be a man in the enjoyment of perfect health and contentment: his eyes were as sparkling as diamonds, and good-natured to simplicity. Then his perfect confidence in himself was irresistibly droll. "Prehaps," said he, "gentlemen," running on without any person speaking, "prehaps you have been to New Orleans often; I never made the first visit before, and I don't intend to make another in a crow's life. I am thrown away in that ar place, and useless, that ar' a fact. Some of the gentlemen thar called me green -well, perhaps I am, said I, but I arn't so at home; and if I ain't off my trail much, the heads of them perlite chaps themselves wern't much the hardest; for according to my notion, they were real knownothings, green as a pumpkin-vine-couldn't, in farming, I'll bet, raise a crop of turnips: and as for shooting, they'd miss a barn if the door was swinging, and that, too, with the best rifle in the country. And then they talked to me 'bout hunting, and laughed at my calling the principal game in Arkansaw poker, and high-low-jack. Prehaps,' said I, you prefer chickens and rolette?' At this they laughed harder than ever, and asked me if I lived in the woods, and didn't know what game was? At this I rather think I laughed. 'Yes,' I roared, and says, 'Strangers, if you'd asked me how we got our meat