Well, we went hummin along jest like iled thunder, makin more noise nor a dozen cotten gins all gwine at once, only stoppin now and then to pile on lighterd and fill up the bilers, and to drap a feller here and thar on the rode. They was the sleepyest set of folks abroad that ever I did see. Thar they was, all scattered about in their seats, heads and heels together; here a pair o' boots stickin rite strate upwards, and thar a feller's face, opened wide enuff to swaller a saw-mill. Some of 'em was monstrous troubled in their dreams, and kept tossin and twistin about as bisy as bull yearlins in fly-time, while some big-foot fellers lay sprawl'd out on the benches, quiet as midlin of meat, snorin a perfect harrycane.

The fust thing I knowd I didn't know anything in pertickler, cept that my eyes felt monstrous gritty when I tried to open 'em wide

"Look here; master-master!"

"Hello!" ses I," Jim, what 's the matter?"

"I isn't Jim, master," ses the nigger feller what was shakin me by the coller; "you better go to the Hotel, the

is all gone long time ago."

passengers

I soon seed how it was, and not havin no baggage but jest my saddle-bags, I tuck the road the feller pinted to.

I soon came to a

place

where there was nothin but wagons

and a lot of fellers settin round a fire.

Whar's the hotel ?" ses I.

"Thar aint no hotel here," ses one feller, what was singin,

"Drive my wagon long the rode:
Sorry team and heavy load."

"Won't you take something?" ses he, drawin a old junk bottle of rum, that smelled strong enuff of inguns to knock a man down, and pintin it rite under my nose fore I know'd what he was bout.

"No, I thank you," ses I, "I's a Washingtonian." "Who's they?" ses he;

66 sum of your Flurnoy preachers,

'No," ses I, they's revolutioners."

"Revolutioners!" ses he," why my father was a revolutioner, and fit agin the British at King's mounting, and helped to lick tyranny out of the country."

"Well, that was right," ses I; "hurra for the revolutioners."

Come, take sumthing," ses he, and pinted the bottle at my nose agin.

"No," ses I, "I'm a revolutioner, and go agin King Al•kohol tooth and toe nail."

66 King who?" ses he.

66

King Rum," ses I;

"that

very tyrant that's got you by the guzzle now, and he'll have you choked down on yer knees to him fore a half hour if you don't revolutionize on him and quit him."

The feller stopped and looked rite down in the fire—then at me—then at the bottle, and then he tuck another look at the fire.

"That's a fact," ses he, "it's had me on my back afore tonight; but somehow I can't-yes I kin-and here goes, mister-hang all tyrants-I'm a revolutioner too, a Washington revolutioner, forever!" and with that he throw'd the bottle of rum smack in the middle of the fire, and it blazed up blue and yaller like a hell-broth, as it is.

ROMEO'S DESCRIPTION OF AN APOTHECARY.-SHAKSPEARE.

I Do remember an apothecary,—

And hereabouts he dwelt,-whom late I noted
In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Culling of simples; meagre were his looks,
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones:
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
An alligator stuff'd, and other skins
Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves.
A beggarly account of empty boxes,
Green earthen pots, bladders, musty seeds,

Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses, Were thinly scatter'd to make up a show.

Noting his penury, to myself I said

An if a man did need a poison now,

Whose sale is present death in Mantua,

Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.

ACCOUNT OF A BACHELOR.-ANON.

(A PARODY ON ROMEO'S APOTHECARY.)

I Do remember an old bachelor,

And hereabouts he dwells-whom late I noted In suit of sables, with a care-worn brow: Conning his books—and meagre were his looks : Celibacy had worn him to the bone;

And in his silent parlor hung a coat,

The which the moths had used not less than he.
Four chairs, one table, and an old hair trunk,
Made up the furniture; and on his shelves
A grease-clad candle-stick, a broken mug,
Two tumblers, and a box of old segars;
Remnants of volumes, once in some repute,
Were thinly scatter'd round, to tell the eye
Of prying stranger—this man had no wife.
His tatter'd elbow gap'd most piteously;
And ever, as he turn'd him round, his skin
Did through his stockings peep upon the day.
Noting his gloom, unto myself I said,
And if a man did covet single life,
Reckless of joys that matrimony give,
The sight of this most pitiable wight
Would make him quick his aim give o'er,
And seek forthwith a loving wife.

QUACKERY.-H. FIELDING.

SIR JASPER, JAMES, GREGORY, AND HARRY.

Sir J. Where is he? where is he?

Jam. Only recruiting himself after his journey. You reed not be impatient, sir; for, were my young lady dead, he'd bring her to life again. He makes no more of bringing a patient to life, than other physicians do of killing him.

Sir J. 'Tis strange so great a man should have those unaccountable odd humors you mentioned.

Jam. 'Tis but a good blow or two, and he comes immediately to himself. Here he is.

Enter GREGORY and HARRY.

Har. Sir, this is the doctor.

Sir J. Dear sir, you 're the welcomest man in the world. Greg. Hippocrates says, we should both be covered.

Sir J. Ha! does Hippocrates say so? In what chapter,

Sir J. Since Hippocrates says so, I shall obey him.
Greg. Doctor, after having exceedingly travelled in the

highway of letters

Sir J. Doctor! pray whom do you speak to?

Greg. To you, doctor.

Sir J. Ha, ha-I am a knight, thank the king's grace for it; but no doctor.

Greg. What, you're no doctor?

Sir J. No, upon my word.

Greg. You're no doctor?

Sir J. Doctor! no.

Greg. There 't is done.

Sir J. Done?-what's done?

(Beats him.

Greg. Why now you are made a doctor of physic-I am sure

it's all the degrees I ever took.

Sir J. What sort of a fellow have you brought here?

Jam. I told you, sir, the doctor had strange whims with him.

Sir J. Whims, quotha!egad, I shall bind his physicianship over to his good behavior, if he has any more of these whims.

Greg. Sir, I ask pardon for the liberty I have taken.

Sir J. Oh! it's very well, it's very well for once.
Greg. I am sorry for those blows.

Sir J. Nothing at all, nothing at all, sir.,

Greg. Which I was obliged to have the honor of laying so thick on you.

Sir J. Let's talk no more of 'em sir—my daughter, doctor, is fallen into a very strange distemper.

Greg. Sir, I am overjoyed to hear it; and I wish, with all my heart, you and your whole family had the same occasion for me as your daughter, to show the great desire I have to

serve you.

Sir J. Sir, I am obliged to you.

Greg. I assure you, sir, I speak from the very bottom of my soul.

Sir J. I do believe you, sir, from the very bottom of mine. Greg. What is your daughter's name?

Sir J. My daughter's name is Charlotte.

Greg. Are you sure she was christened Charlotte.

Sir J. No sir, she was christened Charlotta.

Greg. Hum! I had rather she should have been christened Charlotte. Charlotte is a very good name for a patient; and let me tell you, the name is often of as much service to the patient as the physician is.

Enter CHARLOTTE and MAID.

Sir J. Sir, my daughter's here.

Greg. Is that my patient? Upon my word, she carries no distemper in her countenance.

Sir J. You make her smile, doctor.

Greg. So much the better; 't is a very good sign when we can get a patient to smile; it is a sign that the distemper be