"Bob, what yer doing now?"
"Aiding Nat'ral History."
"Aiding Nat'ral History—what do yer mean by that?"
"Why every time the kangaroo jumps over the monkey, I hold his tail up."
I do not know a feminine—from the piney woods of Maine to the Neuces—so given to popularity, newspaper philippics, and city item bombards, as Aunt Nabby Folsom, of the town of Boston. The name and doings of Aunt Nabby are linked with nearly all popular cabals in Faneuil Hall, the "Temple," "Chapel," or Melodeon—from funeral orations to political caucusses—Temperance jubilees to Abolition flare ups; for Aunt Nabby never allowswind, weather or subject, time, place or occasion, to prevent her "full attendance." The police, and over-zealous auditors, at timessnake her downor crowd her old straw bonnet, but Aunt Nabby is always sure of the polite attention of the "Reporters," and shines in their notes, big as the biggest toad in the puddle.
Indeed, Aunt Nabby is one of 'em!—a perfect she-male Mike Walsh. She will have hersay, though a legion of constables stood at the door; her principalstand-pointis the freedom of speech and woman's rights, and she goes in tooth and nailagin law, Marshal Tukey, and the entire race-root and rind of the Quincys—particularly strong! Aunt Nabby is subject to a series, too tedious to mention, of "sells" by thequid nuncsand rapscallions of the day, and one of these "sells" is the pith of my present paper.
It so fell out, when Jenny Lind arrived here, about every fool within five-and-fifty miles ran their heels and brazen faces after the Nightingale and her carriage wherever she went, from her bed-chamber to her dinner table, from her drawing-room to the Concert Hall. It took Barnum and his whole "private secretary" force and equal number of policemen and servants, besides Stephens himself, of the Revere, and his bar-keeper, to keep the mob from rushing pell-mell up stairs and surrounding Jenny as Paddy did the Hessians.
Now and then a desperate fellow got in—had an audience, grinned, backed down and went his way, tickled as a dog with two tails. Others were victimized by notes from Barnum (!) or Miss Lind's "private secretary," offering an interview, and many of these transactions were "rich and racy" enough, in all conscience, for the pages of a modern Joe Miller. But Aunt Nabby Folsom's time was about as rich as the raciest, and will bear rehearsing—easy.
"Good morning, sir," said a pleasing-looking, neatly-dressed, elderly lady, to the two scant yards of starch and dickey behind Stephens' slab of marble at the Revere.
"Good morning, ma'am," responded theclark, who, not knowing exactly who the lady was,jerkeddown his well-oiled and brushed "wig and whiskers" to the entire satisfaction of the matronly lady, who went on to say—
"I wish to see Miss Lind, sir."
"Guess she's engaged, ma'am."
"Well, but I've an invitation, sir, from Miss Lind, to call at 9 A. M. to-day. I like to be punctual, sir; my time is quite precious; I called precisely as desired; Miss Lind appointed the time; and——"
"Oh, very well, very well, ma'am," said theclark, with a flourish, "if Miss Lind has invited you——"
"Why, of course she has! Here's her—"
"O, never mind, ma'am; all correct, I presume."
The "pipes" and bells soon had the attendance of a gang of white-jacketed, polish-faced Paddies, and the elderly lady was marshalled, double-file, towards the apartments of the Nightingale.
Jenny had but just "turned out," and was "feeding" on the right wing and left breast of a lark, the leg of a canary, "a dozen fried" humming bird eggs—her customary fodder of a morning.
The servants passed the countersigns, and the elderly lady was admitted—the Nightingale, without disturbing the ample folds of her camel's hair dressing-gown—a present from the Sultan of all the Turkies, cost $3,000—motioned the matron to squat, and as soon as she got her throat in talking order, said—
"Goot mornins."
"How do you do?" responds the old lady.
"Pooty well, tank'ees. You have some breakest? No!"
"No, ma'am. I've had my breakfast three hours ago."
"Yes? indeed! you rise up early, eh?—Well, it is goot for ze hels, eh?"
"So my doctor says," responded the matron. "But I like to get up and be stirring around."
"Ah! yes; you stir around, eh? What you stir around?"
"Well, Miss Lind, I'll tell you what I stir around. I-stir-the-monsters (Miss Lind looks sharp) who-try-to-trample-on-the-universal-rights-of-woman!(The matron 'up' and gesticulating like the brakes of an engine—Miss Lind drops her eating tools—eyes of the two servants bulge out!) A-n-d I-stir-the-demagogues-who-assemble-in-Faneuil-Hall (down with the brakes!), to prevent-the-freedom-of-speech (rush upon the brakes!), a-a-n-d-put-me-down!"
It was evident that the appetite of the Nightingale was getting spoiled—she looked suspicious, and, just in time to prevent the female orator—who was no other personage, of course, than Aunt Nabby Folsom, from ripping into a regular caucus fanfaronade of gamboge and gas, a knock upon the door announced a "call" for Miss Lind, to dress and appear to a fresh lot of bores—yclept the Mayor and his suit of Deacons, soup, pork and bean-venders.
"Ah! yes; I will be ready in one min't. Madame, you will please come again; once more, adieu—good mornins—adieu!"
And Aunt Nabby, in spite of her ancient teeth, found herself bowed—half way down stairs—into the hall, and clean out doors, before she caught her breath to say another word upon the interminable subject of the freedom of speech and woman's rights!
But Aunt Nabby "blowed"—O! didn't sheblowto the various tea and toast coteries, scandal and slang express women—and the various knots of anxious crowds who stood about Bowdoin Square during the Lind mania! Aunt Nabby had had a genuinetete-a-tetewith the Nightingale—and, ecod, an invitation to call again! But Jenny Lind, and her cordon of sentinels, secretaries and suckers, were "fly" for the old screech owl, when again and again she beset theclarkand the stairways of the Revere. Though Aunt Nabby hung on and growled dreadfully, she finally caved in and kept away.
When Jenny Lind gave the proceeds of one concert to charitable purposes, among the items set down in the list was—"A poor woman—one hundred dollars!"
"Why, it's you, of course," said aquid-nunc, to Aunt Abby, as she held the Evening Transcript in her hands, in the store of Redding & Co., and observed the interesting item above alluded to.
"Well, so I think," says Aunt Nabby. "If I ain't a poor woman, and a var-tuous woman, and a good andtrue woman(down came her brakes on the book piles), I'd like to know where—where, on this univarsalyearth(down with the brakes), you'd find one! One hundred dollars to a poor woman," she continued, reading the item. "I must be the person—yes, Abigail,thou art the man!" she concluded in her favorite apothegm.
Thequidgave Abby the residence of the Agent (!) who was to disburse the Lind charities, and away went Abby to the Agent, who happened to be an amateur joker; knowing Aunt Abby, and smelling a "sell," he told the old 'un that Mr. Somerby, of No. — Cornhill, the joker of the Post, was the Agent, and would shell out next morning, at nine o'clock. At that hour, S. had Aunt Nabby in his sanctum. He knew the ropes, so assured Abby that there was a mistake; Charles Davenport, of Cornhill, rear of Joy's building, was the man. Charles D. informed Aunt Nabby, that he had declined to disburse for Miss Lind, but that Bro. Norris, of the Yankee Blade, had the pile, and was serving it out to an excited mob. Norris declared that she was in error. She was not, by a jug full, the only, poor woman in town, and didn't begin to bethepoor woman set forth in Miss Lind's schedule! But Aunt Nabby wasn't to bedone!She besieged Miss Lind—followed her to the cars—mounted the platform—Jenny espied her, and to avoid a harangue on the freedom of speech and woman's rights, hid her head in her cloak. The last exclamation the Nightingale heard from the screech owl, was—
"Miss Jane Lind—who was that poor wom-a-n?"
Some folks are easily glorified. We once knew a man who became so elated because he was elected first sergeant in the militia, that he went home and put a silver plate on his door. Ollapod, in speaking of this kind of people, makes mention of one Sabin, who was so overjoyed the first time he saw his name in the list of letters, advertised by the post-office, that he called his friends together and put them through on woodcock.
It is a most singular, or at least curious fact, connected with the histories of most all eminent men, that they were denied—by the decrees of stern poverty, or an all-wise Providence—those facilities and indulgences supposed to be so essentially necessary for the future success and prosperous career of young men, but acted as "whetstones" to sharpen and develop their true temper! The fact is very vivid in the early history of Andrew Jackson—a name that, like that of the great, godlike Washington, must survive the wreck of matter, the crush of worlds, and, passing down the vista of each successive age, brighter and more glorious, unto those generations yet to come, when time shall have obliterated the asperities of partisan feeling, and learned to deal most gently with the human frailties of the illustrious dead.
Andrew Jackson, senior, emigrated from Ireland in 1765, with his wife and two boys—Hugh and Robert, both very young; they landed at Charleston, S. C, where Jackson found employment as a laborer, and continued to work thus for several years, until, possessed of a few dollars, he went to the interior of the state and bought a small place near Waxhaw. About this time, 1767, Andrew Jackson, Jr., was born, and during the next year—by the time the infant could lisp the name of his parent—the father fell sick of fever and died. Mrs. Jackson, left with three small children, in an almost wild country, where nothing but toil of a severe and arduous kind could provide a subsistence, was indeed in a most grievous situation. But she appears to have been a woman of no ordinary temperament, courage, and perseverance, for she continued cheerfully the work left her—rearing her boys, and preparing them for the situations in life they might be destined to fill. Mrs. Jackson was a woman of some information, and a strong advocate for the rights and liberties of men; as, it is said, she not only gave her boys their first rudiments of an English education, but often indulged in glowing lectures to them of the importance of instilling in their hearts and principles an unrelenting war against pomp, power, and circumstance of monarchical governments and institutions! She led them to know that they were born free and equal with the best of earth, and that that position was to be their heritage—maintained even at the peril of life and property! and how well he learned these chivalric lessons, the countrymen of Andrew Jackson need not now be told, as it was exemplified in every page of his whole history.
Hugh, Robert, and Andrew, were now the widow's hope and treasures; Hugh and Robert were her main dependence in working their little farm, and Andrew, never a very robust person, was early sent to the best schools in the neighborhood, and much care taken by his mother to have him at least educated for a profession—the ministry. This resolve was more perhaps decided upon from the naturally stern, contemplative, and fixed principles of young Jackson; as at the early age of fifteen, he was by nature well prepared for the scenes being enacted around him, and in which, even those young as himself, were called upon to take an active part. This was in the days of the revolution, when the weak in numbers of this continent were about to try theexperimentof living free and independent, and establish the fact that royalty was an imposition and a humbug, only maintained by arrogance and pomp at the point of the bayonet.
The British had begun the war—already had the echoes of "Bunker Hill," and the smell of "villainous saltpetre," invaded and aroused the quiet dwellers in the woods and wilds of South Carolina, and the chivalric spirit that has ever characterized the men of the Palmetto state, at once responded to the tocsin ofliberty. It was with no slight degree of sorrow and aching of the mother's heart, that she saw her two sons, Hugh and Robert, shoulder their muskets and join the Spartan band that assembled at Waxhaw Court-house. But she blessed her children and gave up her holy claim of a mother's love, for the common cause of the infant nation.
Cornwallis and his army crossed the Yadkin, Lord Rawden, with a large force, took the town of Camden, and began a desolation of the adjacent country. Being apprised of a "rebel force" in arms at Waxhaw, he immediately dispatched a company of dragoons, with a company of infantry, to capture or disperse the "rebels." About forty men, including the two boys Jackson, were attacked by these veterans of the British army, but aided by their true courage, a good cause, and perfect knowledge of the country, they gave the invaders a hot reception, and many of the enemy were killed; and not until having made the most determinate resistance, and being overwhelmed by the great majority of the opposing forces, did these patriots retreat, leaving many of their friends dead upon their soil, and eleven of their number prisoners in the hands of the British. It was during this fight that Andrew Jackson—a mere lad—hearing the noise of the conflict, while he sat in the log-house of his mother, besought her to allow him to take his father's gun, and fly to join his brothers. And it was vain that the parent restrained him, knowing the temperament of the boy, from this dangerous determination; for with one warm embrace and parting kiss upon the brow of his mother, Andrew Jackson buckled on his powder-horn and bullet-pouch, and rushed to the scene of battle. But his friends were already flying, and hotly pursued by the enemy. Andrew met his brother Robert, who informed him of the death of their elder brother, Hugh; the two boys now fled together and concealed themselves in the woods, where they lay until hunger drove them forth—they sought food at a farm house, the owner of which proved to be atory, and gave information to some soldiers in the vicinity—the Jacksons were both captured and led to prison. In the affray—for they yielded only by force—Robert was cut on the head by a sword in the hands of a petty officer, and he died in great agony in prison. It was here and then that the firm and manly bearing of the boy was exhibited; for he stood his griefs and imprisonment like a true hero. Not a tear escaped him by which his enemies might be led to believe he feared their power, or wavered in his allegiance to the cause of his country.
"Here,boy, clean my boots!" said an officer to him. But the bright defiant eye of the boy smote the captor with a look, and as he curled his firm lips in scorn, he answered,
"No, sir, I willnot!"
"You won't? I'll tie you, you young saucy rebel, to your post, and skin your back with a horse whip, if you do not clean my boots."
"Do it," said the lion-hearted boy—"for I'll not stoop to clean the boots of your master!"
The infuriated ruffian drew his sword, and to defend his head from the blow, Andrew threw up his little hand and received a gash—the scar of which went with him to the tomb at the Hermitage. A Captain Walker, of South Carolina, with a dozen or twenty men, during the imprisonment of Andrew Jackson, made a desperate charge upon a company of the British, near Camden, and captured thirteen of them; these prisoners he exchanged for seven of his countrymen, including the boy Andrew Jackson, prisoners of the enemy. Andrew hurried home—his poor old mother was upon her death bed, attended by an old negro nurse of the Jackson family, and suffering not only from the great multitude of grief consequent upon the death of her heroic sons, but for want of the common necessaries of life, the invaders having stripped the widow of her last pound of provisions. The life-spark rekindled in the eye of the mother, as she beheld her darling boy safe at her bedside—she grasped his hand with the firmness of a dying woman, and turning her eyes upon the now weeping boy, said,
"Andrew, I leave you,—son, you will soon be alone in the world; be faithful, be true to God and your country—that—when—the—hour of death approaches you—will have—nothing to—dread—every thing—to hope for."
Andrew was taken ill after the burial of his mother, and but for the constant and tender care of the old black nurse—the last of the Jackson family—would have then passed away; he recovered—he was alone—not a relative in the world; poor, and in a land ravaged by a foreign foe, could a boy be more desolate and lonely? With a few "effects" thrown upon his shoulders, he went to North Carolina, Salisbury, where he entered the office of a famed lawyer—Spruce M'Cay—was admitted to the bar in 1778—went to Tennessee—served as a soldier in the Indian wars of 1783—chosen a Senator 1797—Major General in 1801—whipped the British in the most conclusive manner at New Orleans in 1815, and triumphantly elected President of the United States for eight years in 1829. Andrew Jackson followed his mother's advice, and he not only triumphed over his hard fortune, but died a Christian, full of hope, in 1845.
We have roared until our ribs fairly ached, at the relation of the following "item" on sturgeons, by a loquacious friend of ours:—
It appears our friend was located on the Kennebec river, a few years ago, and had a number of hands employed about a dam, and the sturgeons were very numerous and extremely docile. They would frequently come poking their noses close up to the men standing in the water, and one of the men bethought him how delicious a morsel of pickled sturgeon was, and he forthwith made a preparation to "snake out" a clever-sized fish. Getting an iron rod at the blacksmith's shop, close at hand, he bends up one end like a fish hook, and, slipping out into the stream, he slily places the hook under the sturgeon's nose and into its round hole of a mouth, expecting to fasten on to the victimized, harmless fish, and "yank" him clean and clear out of his watery element. But, "lordy," wasn't he mistaken and surprised! The moment the hook touched the inside of the sturgeon's mouth, the creature backed water so sudden and forcibly as to near jerk the holder of the hook's head from its socket. The poor fellow was forty rods under water, and going down stream, before he mustered presence of mind enough to induce him to let go the hook!
However, the lookers-on of this curious manœuvre took a boat and fished out their half-drowned comrade, who concluded that he had paid pretty dearly for his whistle.
The sturgeon-catching did not end here. After the laugh of the above-mentioned adventure had ceased, some one offered to bet a hat that he could hold a sturgeon and snake him clean out of the water; and as the man whohadtried the experiment felt altogether dubious about it, he at once bet that the sturgeon would be more than a match for any man in the crowd.
The wager was duly staked, a rod crooked, the operator tucked up his sleeves and trowsers, and wades out to where a sturgeon or two were lying off in the shallow water. Of course the operation now became a matter of considerable interest; and as the man was a stout, hearty fellow, able to hold a bull by the horns, few entertained doubts of his bringing outhissturgeon.
After a long time the operator gets his hook under the sturgeon, and leans forward to stick it close into the jaws of the victim; and no sooner was that part of the feat accomplished, than Mr. Sturgeon "backs out" with the velocity of chain lightning, carrying his assailant under water and down stream! The man held on; and there they went, foaming and pitching, until the fellow, finding his breath nearly out of his body; his neck, arms, and legs just about dislocated, concluded to lose the hat and let the hook and sturgeon go!
Pretty well used up, the poor fellow succeeded in getting out of the river, a convert to the first experimental idea of the strength and velocity of fish, especially a big sturgeon.
Beginning to imagine that fish could swim, or had some muscular power, several of the bystanders were rife for experimenting on the sturgeons.
Another iron rod was converted into a hook, and two burly-built Paddys volunteered to hook the fish. An opportunity was not long waited for, ere a jolly good elastic nosed genus sturgeon came smelling up close to where the Paddys had posted themselves upon some moss-covered, slippery stones, and with a sudden spasmodic effort, the man with the hook planted it firmly into the suction hole of the fish, while his companion held on to a rope fast to the hook. Before Pat could say Jack Robinson, of course he was jerked off his feet, and, letting go the iron, the other Paddy and the sturgeon set sail, having all the fun to themselves! This proved, or very nearly so, a seriousdenouementto the sturgeon-catching by hand, for Paddy was carried clean and clear off soundings, and so repeatedly immersed in deep water, that his life was within an ace of being wet out of his body. The rope parted at last (poor Pat never thought of letting go his "hould"), and being dipped out of the liquid element and rolled over a barrel until his insides were emptied of the water, and heat restored through the influence of whiskey, he recovered, and further experimenting on sturgeons, that season, in the Kennebec, ceased.
There is an individual in Quincy Market, "doing business," who is down on customers who don't speak proper.
"What's eggs, this morning?" says a customer.
"Eggs, of course," says the dealer.
"I mean—how do theygo?"
"Go?—where?"
"Sho—!" says the customer, getting up hisfury, "what for eggs?"
"Money, money, sir! or good endorsed credit!" says the dealer.
"Don't you understand the English language, sir?" says the customer.
"Not as you mix it and mangle it; I don't!" responded the egg merchant.
"What—is—the—price—per—dozen—for—your—eggs?"
"Ah! now you talk," says the dealer. "Sixteen cents per dozen, is the price, sir!" They traded!
In "comparing notes" with a travelled friend, I glean from his stock of information, gathered South-west, a few incidents in the life of a somewhat extensively famed Boston panoramic artist—one of which incidents, at least, is worth rehearsing. Some years ago, the South-west was beset by an organized coalition of desperadoes, whose daring outrages kept travellers and the dwellers in the Mississippi valley in continual fear and anxiety. "Running niggers" was one of the most popular and profitable branches of the business pursuits of these gentlemen freebooters, and, next to horse-stealing, was the most practised.
At length, the citizens "measured swords" with the freebooters, or land pirates, more properly; forming themselves into committees, the citizens openedCourtand practised Judge Lynch'scodeupon a multitude of just occasions. At the time of which we write, Mill's Point, on the Mississippi, was no great shakes of atown, but a spot where a very considerable amount of whiskey was drank, and a corresponding quantity of crime and desperate doings were enacted; indeed, some of the worst scenes in Southern Kentucky's tragic dramas were performed there. It so fell out, that some of the land pirates had been actively engaged in levying upon the negroes and mules around Mill's Point, and the protective committee were on the alert to capture and administer the law upon these fellows. It was discovered, one evening, as the shades of a black and rather tempestuous night were closing upon the mighty "father of waters" and his ancient banks, that a mysteriousvoyageur, or sort of piraticalvidette, was seen in his light canoe, hugging the shore, either for shelter or some insidious purpose.
The canoe and its navigator were diligently watched; but the coming storm and darkness soon closed observation, and the parties noticing the transaction hurried forward to thePoint, and announced one or more of the land pirates in the neighborhood! Of course, the town—of some four houses, six "groceries," astoreand blacksmithery—was aroused, indignant! Impatient for a victim, theposse comitatus"fired up," armed to the teeth with pistol, bludgeon, blunderbuss, gun, bowie-knife, and—whiskey, started up the river to reconnoitre and intercept the pirate and his crew.
Each nook and corner along shore, for some three miles, was carefully—as much so as the darkness would admit—scoured. The Storm-King rode by, the stars again twinkled in the azure-arched heavens, and soon, too, the bright silver moon beamed forth, and suddenly one of the vigilant committee espies the land-pirate and his canoe noiselessly floating down the rapid stream! No time was to be lost; the committee man, rather pleased with the fact of his being the first to make the discovery, apprised a comrade, and the two hurried back to the Point, to get a canoe and start out to capture the enemy. The canoe was obtained, three courageous men, armed to the teeth, as the saying goes, paddled off, and indeed they had not far to paddle, for right ahead they saw the mysterious canoe of the enemy! Where was the pirate? Asleep! Lying down in his frail vessel; either asleep, or "playing possum." At all events, the Mills-Pointers gave the enemy but a brief period to sleep or act; for, dashing alongside, a brawny arm seized the victim in the strange canoe by the breast and throat, with such a rush and fierceness that both canoes were upon the apex of "swamping."
"Don't move! Don't budge an inch, or you're a case for eels, you thief!"
"Make catfish bait of him at once!" yelled the second.
"Don't move," cried the third, "don't move, you possum, or you're giblets, instanter!"
But these injunctions scarcely seemed necessary, for, even had the captive been so inclined, he neither possessed the power nor opportunity to move a limb.
"Haul him out," cried one.
"Yes, lug him into our boat," said another; "so now, you skunk, lay still; don't open your trap, or I'll brain you on sight!"
Having transferred the body of the captive from his "own canoe" to theirs, the Mills-Pointers made fast the stranger'sdug-out, and then paddled for the landing. The pirate was duly hauled ashore, or on to thewharf-boat, and left under guard of one of the captors—a dreadful ugly-looking customer, acrossbetween a whiskey-cask, bowie-knife, and a Seminole Indian or bull-dog, and armed equal to an arsenal—while the other two went up to the nearest "grocery," reported the capture, took a drink, and sent out word forCourtto meet. The poor victim was deposited on his back across some barrels, with his hands tied behind him. Recovering his scattered senses, thepirate"waked up."
"Look here, my virtuous friend," said he to his body-guard, who sat on an opposite barrel, with a heavy pistol in his hand, "what's all this about?"
"Shet up!" responded the guard; "shet up your gourd. You'll know what's up, pooty soon, you ugly cuss, you!"
"Well, that's explicit, anyhow!" coolly continued the captive. "But all I want to know, is—am I to be robbed, killed off, or only initiated into the mysteries of your craft?"
"Shet up, you piratin' cuss, you; shet up, or I'll give you a settler!" was the reply.
Shet up, you piratin' cuss you"Shet up, you piratin' cuss you; shet up or I'll give you a settler!—Page305.
"Shet up, you piratin' cuss you; shet up or I'll give you a settler!—Page305.
"Well, really, you are accommodating," cavalierly replied the but little daunted captive. "One thing consoling I glean, my virtuous friend, from your scraps of information—you are not a pirate yourself, or in favor of that science! But I should like to know, old fellow, where I am, and what the deuce I'm here for."
"Well, you'll soon diskiver the perticklers, for here comes theCourt, and they'll have you dancin' on nothin' and kickin' at the wind, pooty soon; you kin stake your pile on that!"
And with this, a hum was heard, and soon a mob of a dozen well-stimulatedcitizens, and strangers about the Point, came rushing and yelling on to the wharf-boat and were quite as immediately gathered around the captive. The first impulse of theposse comitatusappeared to manifest itself in a desire to hang the victim—straight up! A second (howsoberwe know not) thought induced them to ask a question or two, and for this purpose the presidingjudgedrew up before the still prostrate captive, and said—
"Who are you? What have you got to say for yourself, anyhow?"
The sunburnt, ragged, and rather romantic-looking prisoner turned his face towards thejudge, and replied—
"I have nothing of consequence to say, neighbor. I would like to know, however, what all this means!"
"Where's your crew, you villain?" said thejudge.
"Crew? I have never found it necessary to have any, neighbor; navigation never engrossed a great deal of my attention, but I get along down here very well—without a crew!"
"You do?" responded thejudge; "well, we're going to hang you up."
"You are, eh?" was the cool reply; "well, I have always been opposed to capital punishment, neighbor, and I know it would be unpleasant to me now!"
The quiet manner of his reply rather won upon theCourt, and says thejudge—
"Who are you, and where are you from?"
"My name is Banvard—John Banvard, from Boston!"
"It is, eh? What are you doing along here, alone in a canoe?"
"Taking a panorama of the Mississippi, neighbor, that's all."
TheCourtadjournedsine die; the clever artist was untied, treated to the best the market afforded, that night; his canoe, rifle, &c., restored next day, and John went on his way rejoicing in his narrow escape—finished his sketches, and the first great panorama "got up" in our country, and which he took to Europe, after making a fortune by it in America.
It's a highly prized faculty in shop-keeping to sell something when a customer comes in, if you can. A female relative of ours went into a Hanover street fancy store 'tother day, to "look over" some ivory card and needle cases; the slightly agricultural-looking clerk "flew around," and when the question "Have you any ivory card cases?" was propounded, he responded—
"Not any, mum;" glancing into the show-case, his visual orbslitupon a profusion of well-known matters in domestic economy, for the abrogation of certain parasitic insects.
"Haven't any card cases, mum,—got some elegant ivory small-tooth combs!"
No slight portion of the ills that flesh is heir to, in a city life, is the culinary item of rent day. Washing day has had its day—machines andfluidhave made washing a matter of science and ease, and we are no longer bearded by fuming and uncouth women in the sulks and suds, as of yore, on the day set apart for renovating soiled dimities and dickeys. Another and more important matter, from the extent of its obnoxiousness to our nerves and temper, has come home to our very threshold and hearths, to disturb the even tenor of our domestic quietude and peace.
"Have you got any ole boots?"
Boston lost a good citizen by those bell-pulling, gate-whacking, back-door-pounding infernal collectors of time and care-wornboots. The old boot gatherers were almost as diverting as novel to me, when I first located in Boston; but I have long since learned to hate and abhor them, and their co-laborers in the tin-pan, tape, tea-pot, willow work, and white pine ware trade, with a most religious enthusiasm.
"Have you got any ole boots?"
How often—a hundred times at least, have I gone to the door and heard this inquiry—ten times in one day, for I kept count of it, and used enough "strong language" at each shutting—banging to of the door, to last a "first officer" through a gale of wind.
"Have you got any ole boots?"
The idea of jumping up from your beef steak and coffee, or morning paper—just as you had got into a deeply interesting bit of information on "breadstuff's," California, or the Queen's last baby, to open your door, and espy a grim-visaged and begrimed son of the Emerald Isle, just rearing his phiz above the pyramid of ancient and defiled leather, and meekly asking—
"Have yez got any ole boots?"
Thesecollectorsare of course prepared for any amount of explosivegasyou may shower down upon their uncombed crowns, as the cool and perfectly-at-home manner they descend your steps to mount those of your next-door neighbor plainly indicates. The "pedlers" and—
"Have you got any ole boots?"
Drove my respected—middle-aged friend Mansfield—clear out of town! Mr. Mansfield was aretiredflour merchant; he was not rich, but well to do in the world. He had no children of his own, in lieu of which, however, he had become responsible for the "bringing up" of two orphans of a friend. One of these children was a boy, old enough to bedevilishand mightily inclined that way. The boy's name was Philip, the foster father he called Uncle Henry, and not long after arriving in town, and opening house at the South End, Mr. Mansfield—who was given to quiet musings, book and newspaper reading—found that he was likely to become a victim to the aforesaid hawkers, pedlers and old boot collectors.
Uncle Henry stood it for a few months, with the firmness of an experienced philosopher, laying the flattering unction to his soul that, however harrowing—
"Got any ole boots to-day?"
might be to him, for the present, he could grin and bear and finally get used to it, as other people did. But Uncle Henry possessed an irritable and excitable temperament, that not one man in ten thousand could boast of, and hence he grew—at length sour, then savage, and, finally, quite meat-axish, towards every outsider who dared to ring his bell, and proffer wooden ware and tin fixins, for rags and rubbers, or make the never-to-be-forgotten inquiry—
"Have you got any ole boots to-day?"
Always at home, seated in his front parlor, and his frugal wife not permitting the expense of a servant, Uncle Henry, or Master Philip, were obliged to wait on the door. The old gentleman finally concluded that the pedlers and old boot collectors, more as a matter of daily amusement than profit or concern—gave him a call. And laboring under this impression, Uncle Henry determined to give the nuisances, as he called them, a reception commensurate with their impertinence and his worked up ire.
"Now, Philly," said Uncle Henry, one morning after breakfast, "we'll fix these—
"'Got any ole boots?'
"We'll give the rascals a caution, they won't neglect soon, I'll warrant them. Bring me the hammer and nails; that's a man; now get uncle the high chair; so, that's it; now I'll fix this shelf up over the top of the door, on a pivot—bore this hole through here—put the string through that way, here, umph; oh, now we'll have a trap for the scoundrels. I'll learn them how to come pulling people's bells, clean out by the very roots, making us drop all, to come wait on them, rot them—
"'Got any ole boots?'
"I'll give you old boots, by the lord Harry; I'll give you a dose of something you won't forget, to your dying day."
And thus jabbering, fixing and pushing about the revolving shelf, over his hall door, Mr. Mansfield worked away at his trap. Like that of most dwellings in Boston, Uncle Henry's front door wassunksome six or eight feet into the face of the house, reached by a flight of six granite steps—side and top lights to the door, in the ordinary way, with brass plate and bell pull. It was in a neighborhood notplebeianenough to induce butcher boys to enter the hall, with the pork and potatoes, nor admit of the servant girl heaving "slops" out of the front windows; yet not sufficiently parvenu to impress pedlers and
"Got any ole boots?"
with aristocratic or "respectable"awe, ere venturing to mount the steps, pull the bell, and mention tin pots, scrap iron, rags and old leather. Mr. Mansfield was inclined tochucklein his sleeves at therusehe would be enabled to give his tormentors through the agency of his revolving battery—charged with ground charcoal and brick dust, to be worked by himself or Philly, by means of a string on the inside. Philly was duly initiated into themodus operandi; when—
"Got any ole boots?"
made his appearance, amid his pyramid of leather, or a pedler's wagon was seen in the neighborhood, Philly was to be on thequi vive, inform Uncle Henry, and if they mounted the steps, he would give them a shower bath upon a new and astonishing principle.
It was perfect "nuts" for Master Phil; he was tickled at the idea, and readily agreed to Uncle Henry's propositions. Not long after arranging the "infernal machine," Uncle Henry's attention was called to another part of the house; a dire calamity had befallen the Canary bird; a strange cat had pounced upon the cage—the door flew open, and puss nabbed the little warbler. Philly, on the look out, in front, discovers two old boot men approaching the neighborhood; desirous of showing his own skill, he did not call Uncle Henry, but posted himself behind the door—string in hand, awaiting thecue. Feet approach—quickly the feet mount the steps.
"Ding al ling, ding de ding, ding, ding, ding!"
"Sh-i-i-s-swashe!" and down comes the avalanche of coal dust and refined brick, the bulk of a peck, fair measurement!
Uncle Henry reached the door just in time to see the penny postman covered from head to foot with the obnoxious composition! Philly took occasion to make a sudden exit, the postman swore—swore like a trooper, but Uncle Henry managed to pack the whole transaction upon the "devilish boy"—brushed the postman's clothes, and after some effort, so mollified him as to induce the sufferer to depart in peace. Uncle Henrytriedto be very severe on Philly, but it was very evident to that hopeful that the old gentleman was more tickled than serious. Philly cleared the steps, and the old gentleman re-arranged the trap, admonishing Philly not to dare to meddle with it again, but call him when—
"Got any ole boots?" made their appearance.
All was quiet up to noon next day; Uncle Henry had business down town, and left the house at 9 A. M. Philly was at school, but got home before Uncle Henry, and seeing the pedler wagon near the door—slipped in, and learning that the old gentleman was out, he gladly took charge of the battery again. Now, just as the pedler mounted the steps of the next door, Mr. Mansfield sees him, and hurries up his own steps, to be on the watch for the pedler. Philly had beenpeekingout the corner of the side curtain, and seeing the pedler coming, as he thought, right up the steps—nabbed the string, and as Uncle Henry caught the knob of the door—down came thundering the brick dust and charcoal both, in the most elegant profusion.
Phil wastricked. Uncle Henry's vociferations were equal to that of a drunken beggar—the trap was removed, Uncle Henry got disgusted with city life, and left—for rural retirement, without as much as giving one single rebuke to—
"Got any ole boots to-day?"
Nature seems to have her fitful, frightful, and funny moods, as well as all her children. Now she gets up a stone bridge, the gigantic proportions and the symmetrical development of which attract great attention from all tourists and historians who venture into or speak of "old Virginia." The old dame goes down far into the bowels of Mother Earth, in Kentucky, and builds herself, silently and alone, a stupendous under-ground palace, that laughs to scorn the puny efforts of man in that branch of business. She gets up sugar-loaf mountains, pillars of salt, great granite breastworks, and stone towers; hews out figure-heads, old men's noses on the beetling cliffs of New Hampshire, and throws up rocky palisades along the Hudson, that win wonder and delight from the floating million. Instances out of all number might be raked up, home and abroad, to show how the old dame has cutdidoesin the prosecution of her manifold duties. But in Australia, it would seem, nature has taken most especial pains to appear slightly ridiculous or very eccentric.
Old Captain Rocksalt informs us—and there is always wit, wisdom, and truth in the old man's stories—that he made voyages to Australia many times within the past thirty years, and having visited about all the sea-ports of the Continent, lived and almost died in Australia, his notes are worthy of attention. Capt. Cook discovered and namedBotany Bay, the name originating from the fact that the land was covered with a luxurious growth of Botanical specimens. The Dutch discovered and namedVan Diemen's Land. The English at once concluded to make Botany Bay a penal colony, and the first living freight of criminals and soldiers sent out, was some 700 in number, in 1788; but Capt. Phillip, the commander of the fleet, being dissatisfied with the looks of Botany Bay, hunted up a better place, and sailed to it. When Capt. Cook was cruising off there, one of his sailors, on the look out, cried, "Land ho!"
Cook was over his wine and beef, in the cabin, and it took him some time to "tumble up" on deck.
"Where the deuce is your land, eh?" bawls the old cruiser.
"Larboard beam, sir!" responds the "lookout;" and, sure enough, a long, faint streak of land was visible from deck. The "lookout" announced a harbor, head-lands, &c.; but the rum old captain, not being able to see any such indication, with a chuckle, says he—
"You booby! harbor, eh? Ha, ha! well, we'll call it a port, you powder monkey—Port Jackson!"
And faith, so the lookout, Jackson, becamesponsorto the finest harbor in all Australia; for Capt. Phillip, upon rediscovering the harbor, took his fleet into it, and then and there began the now flourishing city of Sydney.
Australia is an Island, lying opposite another—New Zealand. It is on the Indian Ocean, south side, while the east opens to the Pacific. Australia claims to contain a superficial area of over three million square miles, part desert, rather mountainous, and all being in one of the finest climates on the face of the earth. The air is dry, the soil light and sandy; the high winds stir up the dust and fine sand, and make ophthalmy the only positive ill peculiar to the country. Sheep-grazing, wool-growing, and boiling down sheep and cattle for tallow was the great business of the country from its earliest settlement up to 1851, when thegold feverswept the land.
Australia was inhabited by over 100,000 natives, black cannibals of the ugliest description; but at this day not a hundred of them remain. The natives were exceeding stupid and useless; the first settlers, who, as Capt. Rocksalt observes, were jail-birds and scape-gallows, were not very dainty in dealing with the obnoxious natives; so they determined to get rid of them as fast and easy as possible. For this purpose, they used to gather a horde of them together, and give them poisoned bread and rum, and so kill them off by hundreds. It was a sharp sort ofpractice, but theendsseemed to justify themeans.
Gold, "laying around loose," as it did, was, no doubt,discoveredyears ago; but not in quantities to lead the ignorant to believe money could be made hunting it. People may be stupid; but it requires a far greener capacity than most of them would confess to—at least, ten years ago—to make them believe gold could be picked up in chunks out in the open fields.
But Australia began to be populated; by convicts first; and then by far better people; though the very worst felons sent out often became decent and respectable men, which is indeed a great "puff," we think, for the healthfulness of the climate. A convict shepherd now and then used to bring into Sydney small lumps of gold and sell them to the watch-makers, and as he refused to say where or how he got them, it was suspicioned that he had secreted guineas or jewelry somewhere, and occasionally melted them for sale.
However, one day the thing broke out, nearly simultaneously, all over Australia. Gold was lying around everywhere. The rocks, ledges, bars, gullies, and river-banks, which were daily familiar to the eyes of thousands, all of a sudden turned up bright and shining gold. Old Dame Nature must have laughed in her sleeve to see the fun and uproar—the scrabble and rush she had caused in her vast household.
"It did beatall!" exclaims the old Captain. "In forty-eight hours Sydney was half-depopulated, Port Phillip nearly desolate, while the interior villages or towns—Bathurst, &c., were run clean out!"
Stores were shut up, the clerks running to the mines, and the proprietors after the clerks. Mechanics dropped work and put out; servants left without winking, leaving people to wait on themselves; doctors left what few patients they had, and bolted for the fields of Ophir; lawyers packed up and cut stick, following their clients and victims to the brighter fields of "causes" and effects. The newspapers became so short-handed that dailies were knocked into weeklies, and the weeklies into cocked hats, or something near it—mere eight-by-ten "handbills."
These "discoveries" wrought as sudden as singular a revolution in men, manners, and things. As we said before, Australia was the very apex of singularities in the way of Dame Nature's fancy-work, long before the gold mania broke out; but now she seemed bent on a general and miscellaneous freak, making the staid, matter-of-fact Englishmen as full of caprice as the land they were living in.
"Only look at it!" exclaims the Captain: "the day comes in the middle of our nights! When we're turning in at home, they are turning out in Australia. Summer begins in the middle of winter; and for snow storms they get rain, thunder and lightning. About the time we are getting used to our woollens and hot fires of the holidays, they are roasting with heat, and going around in linen jackets and wilted dickeys. The land is full of flowers of every hue, gay and beautiful, gorgeous and sublime to look at, but as senseless to the smell and as inodorous as so many dried chips. The swans are numerous, but jet black. The few animals in the country are all provided with pockets in their 'overcoats,' or skin, in which to stow their young ones, or provender. Some of the rivers really appear," says the Captain, "to run up stream! I was completely taken down," says the Captain, "by a bunch of the finest pears you ever saw. Myself and a friend were up the country, and I sees a fine pear tree, breaking down with as elegant-looking fruit as I ever saw.
"'Well, by ginger,' says I, 'them are about as fine pears as I've seen these twenty years!'
"'Yes,' says my friend, who was a resident in the country; 'perhaps you would like to try a few?'
"'That I shall,' says I; so I ups and knocks down a few, and it was a job to get them down, I tell you; and when I had one between my teeth I gave it a nip—see there, two teeth broke off," says the Captain, showing us the fact; "the fine pearswere mere wood!
"The country is well supplied with fine birds; but they are dumb as beetles, sir—never heard a bird sing or whistle a note in Australia. The trees make no shade, the leaves hang from the stems edge up, and look just as if they had been whipped into shreds by a gale of wind; and you rarely see a tree with a bit of bark on it.
"But what completely upset me, was the cherries, sir—fine cherries, plenty of them, but thestones were all on the outside!The bees have no stings, the snakes no fangs, and the eagles are all white. The north wind is hot, the south wind cold. Our longest days are in summer; but in Australia, sir, the shortest days come in summer, and the longest in winter; and," says the Captain, "I can't begin to tell you how many curious didoes nature seems to cut, in that country; but, altogether, it's one of the queerest countries I ever did see, by ginger!"
And we have come to the conclusion—it is. If the gold continues to "turn up" in such boulders and "nuggets" as recently reported, Australia is bound to be the richest and most densely populated, as well asqueerestcountry known to man.
Did you ever see a real, true, unadulterated specimen ofDown East, enter a store, or other place of every-day business, for the purpose of "looking around," ordickera little? They are "coons," they are, upon all such occasions. We noted one of these "critters" in the store of a friend of ours, on Blackstone Street, recently. He was a full bloomYankee—it stuck out all over him. He sauntered into the store, as unconcerned, quietly, and familiarly, as though in no great hurry about anything in particular, and killing time, for his own amusement. Absalom, Abijah, Ananias, Jedediah, or Jeremiah, or whatever else his name may have been, wore a very large fur cap, upon a very small and close-cut head; his features were mightily pinched up; there was a cunning expression about the corner of his eyes, not unlike the embodiment of—"catch a weazel asleep!" while the smallness of his mouth, thinness and blue cast of his chin and lips, bespoke a keen, calculating, pinch a four-pence until it squeaked like a frightened locomotive temperament! His "boughten" sack coat, fitting him all over, similar to a wet shirt on a broom-handle, was pouched out at the pockets with any quantity of numerous articles, in the way of books and boots, pamphlets and perfumery, knick-knacks and gim-cracks, calico, candy, &c. His vest was short, but that deficiency was made up in superfluity ofdickey, and a profusion of sorrel whiskers. Having got into the store, he very leisurely walked around, viewing the hardware, separately and minutely, until one of the clerks edged up to him:
"What can we do for you to-day, sir?"
Lookingquarteringlyat the clerk for about two full minutes, says he—
"I'd dunno, just yet, mister, what yeou kin do."
"Those are nice hinges, real wrought," says the clerk, referring to an article the "customer" had just been gazing at with evident interest.
"Rale wrought?" he asked, after another lapse of two minutes.
"They are, yes, sir," answered the clerk. Then followed another pause; the Yankee with both his hands sunk deep into his trowsers' pockets, and viewing the hinges at a respectful distance, in profound calculation, three minutes full.
"They be, eh?" he at length responded.
"Yes, sir,warranted," replied the clerk. Another long pause. The Yankee approached the hinges, two steps—picks up a bundle of the article, looks knowingly at them two minutes—
"Yeou don't say so?"
"No doubt about that, at all," the clerk replies, rather pertly, as he moves off to wait upon another customer, who bought some eight or ten dollars' worth of cutlery and tools, paid for them, and cleared out, while our Yankee genius was still reconnoitering the hinges.
"I say, mister, where's them made?" inquires the Yankee.
"In England, sir," replied the clerk.
"Not inNeuwEngland, I'll bet a fo'pence!"
"No, not here—in Europe."
"I knowed they warn't made areound here, by a darn'd sight!"
"We've plenty of American hinges, if you wish them," said the clerk.
"I've seenhingesmade inaourplace, better'n them."
"Perhaps you have. We have finer hinges," answered the clerk.
"I 'spect you have; I don't callthemanything great, no how!"
"Well, here's a better article; better hinges—"
"Well, them's pooty nice," said the Yankee, interrupting the clerk, "but they're small hinges."
"We have all sizes of them, sir, from half an inch to four inches."
"You hev?" inquiringly observed the Yankee, as the clerk again left him and the hinges, to wait on another customer, who bought a keg of nails, &c., and left.
"I see you've got brass hinges, tew!" again continued the Yankee, after musing to himself for twenty minutes,full.
"O, yes, plenty of them," obligingly answered the clerk.
"How's them brass 'uns work?"
"Very well, I guess; used for lighter purposes," said the clerk.
"Put 'em on desks, and cubber-doors, and so on?"
"Yes; they are used in a hundred ways."
"Hinges," says the Yankee, after a pause, "ain't considered, I guess, a very neuw invenshun?"
"I should think not," half smilingly replied the clerk.
"D'yeou ever see wooden hinges, mister?"
"Never," candidly responded the clerk.
"Well, Ihev," resolutely echoed the Yankee.
"You have, eh?"
"E' yes, plenty on 'em—eout in Illinoi; seen fellers eout there that never seen an iron hinge or a razor in their lives!"
"I wasn't aware our western friends were so far behind the times as that," said the clerk.
"It's afact—dreadful, tew, to be eout in a place like that," continued the Yankee. "I kept school eout there, nigh on to a year; couldn't stand it—"
"Ah, indeed!" mechanically echoed the poor clerk.
"No,sir; dreadful place, some parts of Illinoi; folks air almighty green; couldn't tell how old they air, nuff on 'em; when they get mighty old and bald-headed, they stop and die off, of their own accord."
"Illinois must be a healthy place?" observed the clerk.
"Healthy place! I guess not, mister; fever and ague sweetens 'em, I tell you. O, it's dreadful, fever and ague is!"
"That caused you to leave, I suppose?" said the clerk.
"Well, e' yes, partly; the climate, morals, and the water, kind o' went agin me. The big boys had a way o' fightin', cursin', and swearin', pitchin' apple cores and corn at the master, that didn't exactly suit me. Finally, one day, at last, the boys got so confeounded sassy, and I got the fever and agy sobad, that they shook daown the school-house chimney, and I shook my hair nearly all eout by the roots, with theagy—so I packed up andslid!"
The clerk being again called away to wait on a fresh customer, the Yankee was left to his meditations and survey. Having some twenty more minutes to walk around the store, and examine the stock, he brought up opposite the clerk, who was busy tying up gimlets, screws, and stuff, for a carpenter's apprentice. Yankee explodes again.
"Got a big steore of goods layin' areound here, haven't yeou?"
"We have, sir, a fair assortment," said the clerk.
"Them Illinoi folks haven't noideewhat a place this Boston is; they haven't. I tried to larn 'em a few things towards civilization, but 'twaren't no sort o' use tryin'!"
"New country yet; the Illinois folks will brighten up after a while, I guess," said the clerk. "Did you wish to examine any other sort of hinges, sir?" he continued.
"Hain't I seen all yeou hev?"
"O, no; here we have another variety of hinges, steel, copper, plated, &c. These are fine for parlor doors, &c.," said the clerk.
"E' yes them air nice, I swow, mister; look like rale silver. I 'spect them cost somethin'?"
"They come rather high," said the clerk, "but we've got them as low as you can buy them in the market."
"I want to know!" quietly echoes the Yankee.
"Yes, sir; what do you wish to use them for?" says the clerk.
"Use 'em?" responded the Yankee.
"Yes; whatpricedhinges did you require?"
"What priced hinges?—"
"Exactly! Tell me what you require themfor, and I can soon come at thesortof hinges you require," said the clerk, making an effort to come to a climax.
"Who saidIwanted any hinges?"
"Who said you wanted any? Why, don't you want to buy hinges?"
"Buy hinges? Why,no;I don't want nothin';I only came in to look areound!"
Having looked around, the imperturbable Yankee stepped out, leaving the poor clerk—quite flabbergasted!
Dabster says he would not mind living as a bachelor, but when he comes to think that bachelors must die—that they have got to go down to the grave "without any body to cry for them"—it gives him a chill that frost-bites his philosophy. Dabster was seen on Tuesday evening, going convoy to a milliner. Putting this fact to the other, and we think we "smell something," as the fellow said when his shirt took fire.
Jeremy Diddlers have existed from time immemorial down, as traces of them are found in all ancient and modern history, from the Bible to Shakspeare, from Shakspeare to the revelations of George Gordon Byron, who strutted his brief hour, acted his part, and—vanished. Diddler is derived from the worddiddle, todo—every body who has not yet made his debut to the Elephant. We believe the word has escaped the attention of the ancient lexicographers, and even Worcester, and the still more durable "Webster," have no note of the word, its derivation, or present sense.
A "Jeremy Diddler" is, infact, one of your first-class vagabonds; a fellow who has been spoiled by indulgent parents, while they were in easy circumstances. Trained up to despise labor, not capacitated by nature or inclination to pass current in a profession, he finds himself at twenty possessed of a genteel address, a respectable wardrobe, a few friends, and—no visible means of support. There are but two ways about it—take to the highway, or become a Diddler—a sponge—and, like woodcock, live on "suction." The early part of a Diddler's life is chiefly spent among the ladies;—they being strongly susceptible of flattering attentions, especially those of "a nice young man," your Diddler lives and flourishes among them like a fighting cock. Diddler's "heyday" being over, he next becomes a politician—an old Hunker; attends caucusses and conventions, dinners and inaugurations. Never aspiring to matrimony among the ladies, he remains an "old bach;" never hoping for office under government, he never gets any; and when, at last, both youth and energies are wasted, Diddler dons a white neckcloth, combs his few straggling hairs behind his ears, and, dressed in a well-brushed but shocking seedy suit of sable, he jines church and turns "old fogie," carries around the plate, does chores for the parson, becomes generally useful to the whole congregation, and finally shuffles off his mortal coil, and ends his eventful and useless life in the most becoming manner.
Cities are the only fields subservient to the successful practice of a respectable Diddler. New York affords them a very fair scope for operation, but of all the American cities, New Orleans is the Diddler's paradise! The mobile state of society, the fluctuations of men and business, the impossibility of knowing any thing or any body there for any considerable period, gives the Diddler ample scope for the exercise of his peculiar abilities to great effect. He dines almost sumptuously at the daily lunches set at the splendid drinking saloons andcafes, he lives for a month at a time on the various upward-bound steamboats. In New Orleans, the departure of a steamer for St. Louis, Cincinnati or Pittsburg, is announced for such an hour "to-day"—positively; Diddler knows it's "all a gag" to get passengers and baggage hurried on, and the steamer keepsgoingfor two to five days before she's gone; so he comes on board, registers one of his commonplace aliases, gets his state-room and board among the crowd ofrealpassengers, up to the hour of the boat's shoving out, then he—slips ashore, and points his boots to another boat. Many's the Diddler who's passed a whole season thus, dead-heading it on the steamers of the Crescent City. Sometimes the Diddler learns bad habits in the South, from being a mere Diddler, which is morally bad enough; he comes in contact with professional gamblers, plunges into the most pernicious and abominable of vices—gambles, cheats, swindles, and finally, as a grand tableau to his utter damnation here and hereafter, opens a store or a bank with a crowbar—or commits murder.