Choosing rather to give our life pictures a familiar and diverting—and certainly none the less instructive garb—than to hunt up misery, and depict the woeful tragics of our existence, we will give the facts of a case—not uncommon, we ween, either, that came to us from a friend of one of the parties.

In most cities—especially, perhaps, in Baltimore and Washington, are any quantity of decayed families; widows and orphans of men—who, while blessed with oxygen and hydrogen sufficient to keep them healthy and active—held offices, or such positions in the business world as enabled them and their families to carry pretty stiff necks, high heads, and go into what is called "good society;" meaning of course where good furniture garnishes good finished domiciles, good carpets, good rents, good dinners, and where good clothes are exhibited—but where good intentions, good manners and morals are mostly of no great importance. As, in most all such cases, when, by some fortuitous accident, the head of the family collapses, or dies,—the reckless regard for society having led to the squandering of the income, fast or faster than it came, the poor family is driven by the same society, so coveted, to hide away—move off, and by a thousand dodges of which wounded pride is capable, work their way through the world, under tissues of false pretences; at once ludicrous and pitiable. Such a family we have in view. Colonel Somebody held a lucrative office under government, in the city of Washington. Colonel Somebody, one day, very unexpectedly, died. There was nothing mysterious in that, but the Somebodies having always cut quite a swell in the "society" of the capital—which society, let us tell you, is of the most fluctuating, tin-foil and ephemeral character; it was by some considered strange, that as soon as Colonel Somebody had been decently buried in his grave, his family at once made a sale of their most expensive furniture—the horses, carriage, and man-servant disappeared, and the Somebodies apprized society that they were going north, to reside upon an estate of the Colonel's in New York. And so they vanished. Whither they went or how they fared society did not know, and society did not care!

Mrs. Somebody had two daughters and a son, the eldest twenty-three, confessedly, and the youngest, the son, seventeen. Marriages, in such society, floating and changing as it does in Washington, are not frequent, and less happy or prosperous when effected; every body, inclined to become acquainted, or form matrimonial connections, are ever on the alert for something or somebody better than themselves; and under such circumstances, naturally enough, Miss Alice Somebody—though a pretty girl—talented, as the world goes, highly educated, too, as many hundreds beside her, was still a spinster at twenty-three. The fact was, Mrs. Somebody was a woman of experience in the world—indeed, a dozen years' experience in life at Washington, had given her very definite ideas of expediency and diplomacy; and hence, as the means were cut off to live in their usual style and expensiveness—Mrs. Somebody packed up and retired to Baltimore. The son soon found an occupation in a store—the daughter, being a woman of taste and education, resorted to—as a matter of diversion—they could not think of earning a living, of course!—the needle—while Mrs. Somebody arranged a pair of neat apartments, for two "gentlemen of unexceptionable reference," as boarders.

During their palmy days at the capital of the nation, Miss Alice Somebody came in contact with a young gentleman named Rhapsody,—of pleasant and respectable demeanor, an office-holder, but not high up enough to suit the tastes and aims of Colonel Somebody and his lady; and so, our friend Rhapsody stood little or no chance for favor or preferment in the graces of Miss Alice, though he was a recognized visitor at the Colonel's house, and essayed to make an impression upon the heart's affections of the Colonel's daughter.

Time fled, and with its fleetings came those changes in the fates and fortunes of the Somebodies, we have noted. Nor was our friend Rhapsody without his changes,—mutations of fortune, a change of government, made changes. Rhapsody one morning was not as much surprised as mortified to find his "services no longer required," as a new hand was awaiting his withdrawal. Rhapsody, true to custom at the capital—lived up to and ahead of his salary; and, when deposed, deemed it prudent to make his exit from a spot no longer likely to be favorable to the self-respect or personal comfort of a man bereft of power, and without patronage or position. Rhapsody, by trade (luckily he had a trade), was a boot-maker. Start not, reader, at the idea; we know "shoemaker" may have a tendency to shock some people, whose moral and mental culture has been sadly neglected, or quite perverted; but Rhapsody was but a boot-maker, and no doubt quite as gentlemanly—physically and mentally considered, as the many thousands who merely wear boots, for the luxury of which they are indebted to the skill, labor and industry of others. Rhapsody came down gracefully, and quite as manfully, to his level, only changing the scene of his endeavors to the city of monuments. Rhapsody had feelings—pride. He sought obscurity, in which he might perform the necessary labors of his craft, to enable him to keep his head above water, and await that tide in the affairs of men, when perhaps he might again be drifted to fortune and favor.

Rhapsody took lodgings in a respectable hotel; he arose late—took breakfast, read the news—smoked—lounged—dressed, and went through the ordinary evolutions of a gentleman of leisure, until he dined at 3 P. M.; then, by a circuitous way, he proceeded to his shop—put on his working attire, and went at it faithfully, until midnight, when, having accomplished his maximum of toil, he re-dressed—walked to his hotel—talked politics—fashions, etc., took his glass of wine with a friend, and very quietly retired; to rise on the morrow, and go through the same routine from day to day, only varying it a little by an eye to an eligible marriage, or a place.

Rhapsody—we must give him the credit of the fact—from no mawkish feeling of his own, but from force of public opinion, resorted to this secret manner of eking out his daily bread, and acting out his part of the fictitious gentleman. During one of his morning lounges—accidentally, Rhapsody met Miss Somebody in the street. They had not met for some few years, and it may not be troublesome to conceive, that Miss Alice—under the new order of things—was more pleased than otherwise to renew the acquaintance of other days, with a gentleman still supposed to be—and his attire and manner surely gave no sign of an altered state of affairs—in a position recognizable by society.

Rhapsody renewed his attentions to the Somebody family, and Miss Alice in particular—with fervor. He admitted himself no longer an attache of government, but offset the deprivation of government patronage, by asserting that he was graduating for a higher sphere in life than the drudgery and abjectness of a clerkship—he was studying political economy, and the learned profession of the law!

The Somebodies were game; not a concession would they make to stern indigence; it was merely for the sake of quietude, said Mrs. Somebody, and the solace of retirement from the gay and tempestuous whirls of society, that we changed the scene and dropped a peg lower in domestic show. Rhapsody believed Colonel Somebody a man of substance. He knew how easy it was to account for the expenditure of fifteen hundred dollars a year, but it did not so readily appear possible for a man holding the Colonel's place and perquisites, some thousands a year, to die poor, without estate; ergo, the Somebodies were still, doubtless, somebody, and the more the infatuated Rhapsody dwelt upon it, the more he absorbed the idea of forming an alliance with the dead Colonel's family. And the favor with which he was received seemed to facilitate matters as desirably as could be wished for. What airy castles, or gossamer projects may have haunted the fancy of our sanguine friend, Rhapsody, we know not; but that he whacked away more cheerily at his trade, and kept up his appearances spiritedly, was evident enough. An expert and artistic craftsman, he secured paying work, and executed it to the satisfaction of his employers.

The industry of the Somebodies was one of the traits in the characters of the two young women, particularly commendatory to Rhapsody; he seldom paid them a morning or afternoon call, that they were not diligently engaged with needles and Berlin wool—fashioning wrought suspenders for brother, slippers for brother, or mother, or sister, or the Rev. Mr. So-and-So—the recently made inmate of the family. The multiplicity of such performances, for brother, mother, sister, the reverend gentleman—mere pastime, as Mrs. Somebody would remark,—most probably would have caused a mystery or misgiving in the minds of many adventurous Lotharios; but Rhapsody, though, as we see, a man of the world, had something yet to learn of society and its complexities. Things progressed smoothly—the reverend gentleman facetiously cajoled Miss Alice and the mother upon the issue of coming events—the lively young lawyer, etc., etc.,—and it seemed to be a settled matter that Miss Alice was to be the bride of Mr. Rhapsody at last.

Rhapsody, usually, after dark, in the evening, in his laboring garments, made his return of work and received more. Whilst thus out, one evening, on business, in making a sudden turn of a corner, he came plump upon Mrs. Somebody and Alice! Rhapsody would have dashed down a cellar—into a shop—up an alley, or sunk through the footwalk, had any such opportunity offered, but there was none—he was there—beneath the flame of a street lamp, with the eagle eyes of all the party upon him! Cut off from retreat, he boldly faced the enemy!

He was going to a political caucus meeting in a noisy and turbulent ward—apprehended a disturbance—donned those shady habiliments, and the large green bag in his hand, that a—well, though it did not seem to contain such goods, was supposed, for the nonce, to contain his books and papers; documents he was likely to have use for at the caucus! Rhapsody got through—it was a tight shave; he dexterously declined accompanying the ladies home—they were rather queerly attired themselves, it occurred to Rhapsody; they made some excuse for their appearance, and so the maskers quit, even. Time passed on—Alice and Rhapsody had almost climaxed the preparatory negotiations of an hymenial conclusion, when another contretemps came to pass—it was the grand finale.

It was on a rather blustery night, that Rhapsody, in haste, sought the shop of his employer; he had work in hand which, being ordered done at a certain hour, for an anxious customer, he was in haste to deliver. His green bag under his arm, in rushed Rhapsody,—the servant of the customer was awaiting the arrival of the bottier and his master's boots. The shopman eagerly seized Rhapsody's verdant-colored satchel, and out came the boots, and which underwent many critical inspections, eliciting sundry professional remarks from the shopman, to our hero, Rhapsody, who, in his business matters had assumed, it appeared, the more humble name of Mr. Jones, in the shop. The customer's servant stood by the counter—fencing off a lady, further on—from immediate notice of Rhapsody. A side glance revealed sundry patterns or specimens of most elegantly-wrought slippers—the boss of the shop, and the lady, were apparently negotiating a trade, in these embroidered articles; the lady, now but a few feet from Rhapsody and the garrulous shopman, turned toward the poor fellow just as the shopman had stuffed more work into the green bag—their eyes met. Rhapsody felt an all-overish sensation peculiar to that experienced by an amateur in a shower bath, during his first douse, or the incipient criminal detected in his initiatory crime! Poor Rhapsody felt like fainting, while Miss Alice Somebody, without the nerve to gather up her work, or withstand a further test of the force of circumstances, precipitately left the store, her face red as scarlet, and her demeanor wild and incomprehensible, at least to all but Rhapsody.

* * * * *

Rhapsody was at breakfast the next morning—a servant announced a gentleman in the parlor desirous of an interview with Mr. Rhapsody—it was granted, and soon Jones, the boot-maker, confronted the Rev. Mr. So-and-So. Though an inclination to smile played about the pleasant features of the reverend gentleman, he assumed to be severe upon what he called the duplicity of Mr. Rhapsody; and that gentleman patiently hearing the story out, quietly asked:

"Are you, sir, here as an accuser—denouncer, or an ambassador of peace and good will?"

"The latter, sir, is my self-constituted mission," said the reverend gentleman.

"Then," said Rhapsody, "I am ready to make all necessary concessions—a clean breast of it, you may say. I am in a false position—struggling against public opinion—false pride—falsely, and yet honestly, working my way through the world. I am no more nor less, nominally, than Jones, the boot-maker. Now," continued Rhapsody, "if a false purpose covers not a false heart also, I can yet be happy in the affections of Miss Somebody, and she in mine. For those who can battle as we have, against the common chances of indigence, upright and alone in our integrity, may surely yet win greater rewards by mutual consolation and support, our fortunes joined."

"I have not been mistaken, then, sir," said the reverend gentleman, "in your character, if I was in your occupation; and you may rely upon my friendly service in an amicable and definite arrangement of this very delicate matter."

* * * * *

When General Harrison took the "chair of state," our friend Rhapsody was reinstated in his place, occupied years before, and by fortuitous circumstances he got still higher—an appointment of trust connected with a handsome salary; so that Jones, the boot-maker, was enabled to re-enter the Somebodies into the gay and fluctuating society at the national capital, from which they had been so unceremoniously driven by the death of the husband and father. Mrs. Somebody, that was, however, is now a much older and much wiser person, the wife of our ministerial friend, who vouches the difficulty he had in overcoming Mrs. Somebody's repugnance to leather—and for sundry quibbles—yea, strong arguments against any blood of hers ever uniting with the fates and fortunes of a boot-maker; with what propriety, her experience has long since taught her. Alice is the happiest of women, mother of many fine children, the wife of a man poverty could not corrupt, if public opinion forced him to mask the means that gave him bread. Rhapsody is no longer a politician, or office-holder, but engaged in lucrative pursuits that yield comfort and position in society. To relate the trials, courtship and marriage of "Jones, the boot-maker," is one of our friend Rhapsody's standing jokes, to friends at the fireside and dinner table; but that such a safe and happy tableau would again befall parties so circumstanced, is a very material question; and the moral of our story, being rather complex, though very definite, we leave to society, and you, reader, to determine.



A Distinction with a Difference.

A gentleman from "out 'town," came into Redding & Co.'s on Christmas day, and leaning thoughtfully over the counter, says he to Prescott, "Got any Psalms here?"

"N-n-no," says Prescott, reflectingly, "but," he continued, after a moment's pause, and handing down a copy of Hood, "here's plenty of old Joe's!"

The out-of-town gentleman gave a glance at the pictures, and with a countenance indicative of having been tasting a crab-apple—left!



Pills and Persimmons.

I remember an old "Joke" told me by my father, of an old, and rather addle-headed gentleman, who some fifty years ago did business in New Castle, Delaware, and having occasion to send out to England for hardware, wrote his order, and as he was about to despatch it to the captain of the ship, lying in the stream, ready for sea, a neighbor got him to add an order for some kegs of nails, and in the hurry, the old man dashed off his P. S., but upon attempting to read the whole order over, he couldn't make head or tail of it.

"Well," says he, in a flurry, "I'll send it, just as it is; they are better scholars in England than I am—they'll make it out."

Strange enough to say, when the hardware came over, among the rest of the stuff were the so many kegs of nails, but upon opening one of these kegs, it was full, or nearly so, of American quarter dollars. The old man roared out in a [word missing].

"Haw! haw! haw! Well, blast me," says he, "if they ain't scholars, fust-rate scholars, in England; it's worth while sending 'em bad manuscript."

A still more comical mistake is related to us, of a commercial transaction that actually took place within a year or two, between parties severally situated in Boston and the city of San Francisco, California. As we consider the whole transaction rather rich, we transcribe it for the diversion it may furnish.

Simmons, the "Oak Hall" man, of Boston, had set up a shop in San Francisco, to which he was almost daily sending all sorts of cheap clothing, and making, on the same, more money than a horse could pull; and in his package, he was in the habit of sending articles for friends, &c. A gentleman recently gone to the gold country, from Boston, acquainted with Simmons, and Simmons with him, found, upon looking around San Francisco, that his own business, lawing, wasn't worth two cents, as many of his craft were turning their attention to matters more useful to the human family—digging cellars, wheeling baggage, driving teams, &c. So lawyer Bunker turned his attention from Blackstone, Chitty, Coke on Littleton, and those fellows of deep-red, blue-black law, to the manufacture of quack nostrums. Bunker found that the great appetite we Yankees have for quack medicines, pills and powders, suffered no diminution in the gold country; on the contrary, the appetite became rather sharpened for those luxuries, and Bunker found that a New York butcher, with whom he became acquainted, was absolutely making his fortune, by the manufacture of dough pills, spiced with coriander, and a slight tincture of calomel.

"Egad!" says Bunker, "I'll go into medicine. I'll write to a friend in Boston, to send me out a few medicine and receipt books, and a lot of pulverized liquorice, quinine, &c., with a pill machine, and I guess I'll be after my New York butchering friend in a double brace of shakes."

Now, it may be premised that as Bunker was a lawyer, he wrote a first-rate hand; in fact, he might have bragged of being able to equal, if not surpass, the "Hon." Rufus Choate, whose scrawl more resembles the scratchings of a poor half-drowned in an ink-saucer spider, meandering over foolscap, than quill-driving, and as unintelligible as the marks of a tea-box or hieroglyphics on the sarcophagus of ye ancient Egyptians! In short, Counsellor Bunker's manuscript was awful; a few of his most intimate friends, only, pretending to have the hang of it at all; and to one of these friends, Bunker directs his message, transmits it by Uncle Sam's mail poche, and in fever heat he awaits the return of the precious combustibles that were to make his fortune. In course of time, Bunker's friends receive the order, but, alas! it was all Greek to them; they cyphered in vain, to make out any thing in the letters except persimmons.

"What the deuce," says one of Bunker's friends, "does Joe want with persimmons?"

They went at it again, and again, but there was no mistaking the final sentence, "send, without delay, persimmons."

"Persimmons?" said one.

"Persimmons?" echoed another.

"Persimmons? What in thunder does Joe Bunker want with persimmons?" responded a third.

"Persimmons!" all three chimed.

"Persimmons," says one, "are not used in law proceedings, anyhow."

"Nor in gospel, even, provided Joe has got into that," responded another.

"Persimmons are not medicinal."

"They are not chemical."

"Persimmons are no part, or ingredient, in art, science, law, or religion; now, for what does Joe Bunker, counsellor at law, want us to forward, without delay, persimmons?"

Well, they couldn't tell; in vain they reasoned. Joe's letter was very brief, strictly to the point, and that point was—persimmons! In the first place, it is not everybody that knows exactly what persimmons are, where they come from, and what they are good for. One of Bunker's friends had lived in the South; he knew persimmons; it occurred to him that possums, and some human beings, especially the colored pop'lation, were the only critters particularly fond of the fruit. Webster was consulted, to see what light he cast upon the matter: he informed them that "Persimmon was a tree, and its fruit, a species of Diospyros, a native of the States south of New York. Fruit like a plum, and when not ripe, very hard and astringent (rather so), but when ripe, luscious and highly nutritious."

"Well, there," said one of Bunker's friends, "I'll bet Joe's sick; persimmons have been prescribed for his cure, and the sooner we send the persimmons the better!"

"Persimmons! Now I come to think of it," says the man who had a faint idea of what persimmons were, "they make beer, first-rate beer of persimmons, in the South, and it's my opinion, that Joe Bunker is going into persimmon beer business; as you say, he may be sick—persimmon beer may be the California cure-all; in either case, let us forward the persimmons without delay!"

Now persimmons never ripen until touched pretty smartly with Jack Frost. This was in September; persimmons were mostly full grown, but not ripe. A large keg of them was ordered from Jersey, and as fast as Adams & Co.'s great Express to San Francisco could take them out, the persimmons went!

Counsellor Bunker, relying upon his friends to forward without delay the tools and remedial agents to make his fortune in the pill business, went to work, got him an office, changed his name, and added an M. D. to it, had a sign painted, advertised his shop, and informed the public that on such a time he would open, and guarantee to cure all ills, from lumbago to liver complaint, from toothache to lock-jaw, spring fever to yaller janders, and in his enthusiasm, he sat down with a ream of paper, to count up the profits, and calculate the time it would take to get his pile of gold dust and start for home.

The day arrived that Doctor Phlebotonizem was to open, and he found customers began to call, and sure enough, in comes a large keg, direct through from the States, to his address; the freight bill on it was pretty considerable, but Joe out and paid it, rejoicing to think that now he was all right, and that if the proprietors of gold dust and the lumbago, or any of the various ills set forth in his catalogue of human woes, had spare change, he would soon find them out. He closed his door, opened his cask—

"What in the name of everlasting sin and misery is this?" was the first burst, upon feeling the fine saw dust, and seeing, nicely packed, the green and purple, round and glossy—he couldn't tell what.

"Pills? No, good gracious, they can't be pills—smell queer—some mistake—can't be any mistake—my name on the cask—(tastes one of the 'article')—O! by thunder! (tastes again)—I'm blasted, they (tastes again) are, by Jove, persimmons! Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ho! ho! he! he! ha! ha! ha!"

And the ex-counsellor of modern law roared until he grew livid in the face.

"I see—ha! ha! I see; they have misunderstood every line I wrote them, except the last, and that—ha! ha! ha!—for my direction to send out my stuff per Simmons, they send me PERSIMMONS! Ha! ha! ha! ho! ho!"

But, after enjoying the fun of the matter, ex-counsellor Bunker discovered the thing was nothing to laugh at; patients were at the door—if he did not soon prescribe for their cases, his now numerous creditors would prescribe for him! What was to be done? Very dull and prosy people often become enterprising and imaginative, to a wonderful degree, when put to their trumps. This philosophical fact applied to ex-counsellor Bunker's case exactly. He was there to better his fortune, and he felt bound to do it, persimmons or no persimmons. It occurred to him, as those infernal persimmons had cost him something, they ought to bring in something. By the aid of starch and sugar, Doctor Phlebotonizem converted some hundreds of the smallest persimmons into pills—sugar-coated pills—warranted to cure about all the ills flesh was heir to, at $2 each dose. One generally constituted a dose for a full-grown person, and as the patient left with a countenance much "puckered up," and rarely returned, the pseudo M. D. concluded there was virtue in persimmon pills, and so, after disposing of his stock to first-rate advantage, the doctor paid off his bills; tired of the pill trade, he vamosed the ranche with about funds enough to reach home, and explain to his friends the difference between per Simmons and persimmons!



Mysteries and Miseries of the Life of a City Editor.

A great deal has been written, to show that the literary business is a very disagreeable business; and that branch of it coming under the "Editorial" head is about as comfortable as the bed of Procustes would be to an invalid. It may doubtless look and sound well, to see one's name in print, going the rounds, especially at the head of the editorial columns, from ten to fifty thousand eyes and tongues scanning and pronouncing it every day, or week—hundreds and thousands of the fair sex wondering whether he is a young or an old man, a married man or a bachelor; while the pious and devout are contemplating the serious of his emanations, and conjecturing whether he be a Methodist, Puseyite, or Catholic, a Presbyterian, Unitarian or Baptist; and the politicians scanning his views, to discover whether he leans toward the Locofocos, Free-Soilers, or Whigs—all being necessarily much mystified, inasmuch as the neutral writer, or editor, is obliged to study, and most vigilantly to act, the part of a cunning diplomatist—stroke every body's hair with the grain!



The Tribulations of Incivility.

"A gentleman by the name of Collins stopping with you?"

"Collins?" was the response.

"Yes, Collins, or Collings, I ain't sure which," said the hardy-looking, bronzed seaman, to the gaily-dressed, flippant-mannered, be-whiskered man of vast importance, presiding over the affairs of one of our "first-class hotels."

"Very indefinite inquiry, then," said the hotel manager.

"Well, I brought this small package from Bremen for a gentleman who came out passenger with us some time ago; he left it in Bremen—wanted me to fetch it out when the ship returned—here it is."

"What do you want to leave it here for? We know nothing about the man, sir."

"You don't? Well, you ought to, for the gentleman put up here, and told me he'd be around when we got into port again. He was a deuced clever fellow, and you ought to have kept the reckoning of such a man," said the seaman.

"Ha, ha! we keep so many clever fellows," said he of the hotel, "that they are no novelties, sir."

"I wonder then," said the seaman, "you do not imitate some of them, for there's no danger of the world's getting crowded with a crew of good men."

"If you have any business with us we shall attend to it, sir, but we want none of your impertinence!"

"O, you don't? Well, Mister, I've business aboard of your craft; if you're the commodore, I'd like you to see that my friend Collins is piped up, or that this package be stowed away where he could come afoul of it. His name is Collins; here it is in black and white, on the parcel, and here's where I was to drop it."

One of the "understrappers" overhearing the dispute, whispered his dignified superior that Mr. Collins, an English gentleman, late from Bremen, was in the house, whereupon the dignified empressario, turning to the self-possessed man of the sea, said—

"Ah, well, leave the parcel, leave the parcel; we suppose it's correct."

"There it is," said the seaman; "commodore, you see that the gentleman gets it; and I say," says the sailor, pushing back his hat and giving his breeches a regular sailor twitch, "I wish you'd please to say to the gentleman, Mr. Collins, you know, that Mr. Brace, first officer of the Triton, would like to see him aboard, any time he's at leisure."

But in the multiplicity of greater affairs, the hotel gentleman hardly attempted to listen or attend to the sailor's message, and Mr. Brace, first officer of the Triton, bore away, muttering to himself—

"These land-crabs mighty apt to put on airs. I'd like to have that powder monkey in my watch about a week—I'd have him down by the lifts and braces!"

Let us suppose it to be in the glorious month of October, when the myriads of travellers by land and ocean are wending their way from the chilly north towards the sunny south, when the invalid seeks the tropics in pursuit of his health, and the speculative man of business returns with his "invoices," to his shop, or factory, where profit leads the way.

We are on board ship—the Triton ploughing the deep blue waters of the ocean track from Sandy Hook to New Orleans; for October, the weather is rather unruly, damp, and boisterous. We perceive a number of passengers on board, and by near guess of our memory, we see a person or two we have seen before. Our be-whiskered friend of the "first-class hotel," is there; he does not look so self-possessed and pompous on board the heaving and tossing ship as he did behind his marble slab in "the office." "The sea, the sea!" as the song says, has quite taken the starch out of our stiff friend, who is not enjoying a first-rate time. And from an overheard conversation between two hardy, noble specimens of men that are men—two officers of the stoutly-timbered ship, the comfort of the be-whiskered gentleman is in danger of a commutation.

"Do you know him, Mr. Brace?"

"Yes, I know him; I knew him as soon as I got the cut of his jib coming aboard. Now, says I, my larky, you and I've got to travel together, and we'll settle a little odd reckoning, if you please, or if you don't please, afore we see the Balize. You see, that fellow keeps a crack hotel in York; I goes in there to deliver a package for a deuced good fellow as ever trod deck, and this powder monkey, loblolly-looking swab, puts on his airs, sticks up his nose, and hardly condescends to exchange signals with me. Ha! ha! I've met these galore cocks before; I can take the tail feathers out of 'em!" says Mr. Brace, who is the same hardy, frank and free fellow, with whom the reader has already formed something of a brief acquaintance. The person to whom Brace was addressing himself was the second officer of the merchantman, and it was settled that whatever nautical knowledge and skill could do to make things uneasy for Mr. Lollypops, the empressario of the "first-class hotel," was to be done, by mutual management of the two salt-water jokers.

"It appears to me, that a—bless me, sir, a—how this ship rolls!" said Lollypops, coming upon deck, and addressing Mr. Brace; "I—a never saw a ship roll so."

"Heavy sea on, sir," said Brace; "nothing to what we'll catch before a week's out."

"Bad coast, I believe, at this time o' year?" said Lollypops, balancing himself on first one leg and then the other.

"Worst coast in the world, sir; I'd rather go to Calcutta any time than go to Orleans; more vessels lost on the coast than are lost anywhere else on the four seas."

"You don't say so!" said Lollypops.

"Fact, sir," said Brace, who occasionally kept exchanging private and mysterious signals with the second officer, who held the wheel.

"Let her up a point, Mr. Brown, let her up!" Mr. Brown did let her up, and the way the Triton took head down and heels up and a roll to windward, did not speak so well for the nautical menage of the officers as it did for the quiet deviltry of the salt-water Joe Millers. The avalanche of brine inundated the decks, making the sailors look quite asquirt, and driving Mr. Lollypops, an ancient voyager or two, and sundry other travelling gentry—very suddenly into the cabin. The next day the same performance followed; the appearance of Lollypops on deck was a signal for Brace or Brown, to go in, get up a double roll on the ship, an imaginary gale was discussed, wrecks and reefs, dangerous points and dreadful currents were descanted upon, until Mr. Lollypops' health, at the end of the first week, was no better fast; in fact, he was getting sick of the voyage, while others around grew fat upon it. A fine morning induced the invalid to light his regalia and walk the decks; immediately Mr. Brace, or Brown, gave orders to wash down the decks. Mr. Lollypops went aloft, ergo, as far as the main top; immediately the first officer had the men "going about," heaving here and letting go there; in short, so endangering the hat and underpinning of the be-whiskered landlord of the "first-class hotel" that he was fain to crawl down, take the wet decks, tip-toe, and crawl into the cabin, damp as a dishcloth, and utterly disgusted with what he had seen of the sea! Accidentally, one afternoon, a tar pot fell from aloft; somehow or other, the careless sailor who held it, or should have held it—"let go all" just when Mr. Lollypops was in the immediate neighborhood; the result was that he had a splendid dressing-gown and other equipments—ruined eternally! Going into the cabin, Lollypops inquires for the Captain—

"Sir!" says he, "I am mad, Sir, very mad, Sir; yes, I am, Sir; look at me, only look at me! In rough weather we do not expect pleasant times at sea, but, Sir, ever since I have been on board, Sir, your infernal officers, Sir, have thrown this ship into all manner of unpleasant situations, kept the decks wet, rattled chains over my berth, wang-banged the rigging around, and finally, by thunder, I'm covered all over with villanous soap fat and tar! Now, Sir, this is not all the result of accident—it's premeditated rascality!"

"Sir"—says the bully mate, coming forward, at this crisis, "my name's Mr. Brace; when I was aboard your craft, in New York, you rather put on airs, and I said if you and I ever got to sea together—we'd have a blow out. Now we're about even; if you're a mind we'll call the matter square—"

"Yes, yes, for heaven's sake, let us have no more of this!" says Lollypops.

"We'll have a bottle together, and wish for a clean run to Orleans!" continued officer Brace.

Lollypops agreed; he not only stood the wine, but got over his anger, vowed to look deeper into character, and never again rebuff honest manliness, though hid under the coarse costume of a son of Neptune! A hearty laugh closed the scene, and fair weather and a fine termination attended the voyage of the Triton to New Orleans; for a finer, drier craft never danced over the ocean wave, than that good ship, under rational management.



The Broomstick Marriage.

"Marry in haste and repent at leisure," is a time-honored idea, and calls to mind a matrimonial circumstance which, according to pretty lively authority, once came about in the glorious Empire State. A certain Captain of a Lake Erie steamer, who was blessed with an elegant temperament for fun, fashion, and the feminines, was "laid up," over winter, near his childhood's home in Genesee county. Having nearly exhausted his private stock of jokes, and gone the entire rounds of life and liveliness of the season, he bethought him how he should create a little stir, and have his joke at the expense of a young Doctor, who had recently "located" in the neighborhood, and by his rather taking person and manners, cut something of a swath in the community, and especially amongst the calico!

The profession of young Esculapius gave him an access to private society that ordinary circumstances did not vouch to most men. Among the many families with which Dr. Mutandis had formed an acquaintance was that of old Capt. Figgles. The Captain was a queer old mortal, who in his hale old days had quit life on the ocean wave for the quietude of agricultural comfort. The Captain was a blustering salt, whimsical, but generous and social, as old sailors most generally are. He was supposed to be in easy circumstances, but how easy, very few knew.

Capt. Figgles's family consisted of himself, three daughters, one married and "settled," the other two at home; an ancient colored woman, who had served in the Captain's family,—ship and shore—a lifetime. Dinah and old Sam, her husband, with two or three farm-laborers, constituted the Captain's household. Betsy, the youngest daughter, the old man's favorite, had been christened Elizabeth, but that not being warm enough for Capt. Figgles's idea of attachment, he ever called his daughter, Betsy, and so she was called by almost everybody at all familiar with the family. Betsy Figgles was not a very poetical subject, by name or size. She was a fine, bouncing young woman of four-and-twenty; she was dutiful and bountiful, if not beautiful. She was useful, and even ornamental in her old father's eyes, and, as he was wont to say, in his never-to-be-forgotten salt-water linguae—

"Betsy was a craft, she was; a square-bilt, trim, well-ballasted craft, fore and aft; none of your sky-scraping, taut, Baltimore clipper, fair-weather, no-tonnage jigamarees! Betsy is a woman; her mother was just like her when I fell in with her, and it wasn't long afore I chartered her for a life's voyage. And the man who lets such a woman slip her cable and stand off soundings, for 'Cowes and a market,' when he's got a chance to fill out her papers and take command, is not a man, but a mouse, or a long-tailed Jamaica rat!"

Between Capt. Tiller, our Lake boatman, and Capt. Figgles, there was an intimacy of some years' standing, but the old Captain and the young Captain didn't exactly "hitch horses"—whether it was because Capt. T. came under the old man's idea of "a Jamaica rat," or because he looked upon inland sailors as greenhorns, deponent saith not.

Dr. Mutandis and Capt. Figgles were only upon so-so sort of business sociality, though both the junior Captain and the Doctor were intimate enough with both the Miss Figgleses. Capt. Tiller, as we intimated, was about to leave for coming duties on the Lake, and being so full of old Nick, it was indispensable that he must play off a practical joke, or have some fun with somebody, as a sort of a yarn for the season, on his boat.

The Figgleses announced a grand quilting scrape; the Doctor and Captain were among the invited guests, of course, and for some hours the assembled party had indeed as grand a good time generally as usually falls to the lot of a country community. Old black Ebenezer—but whose name had also been cut down for convenience sake to Sam, by the old Captain—did the orchestral duties upon his fiddle, which, aided by a youngster on the triangle and another on the tambourine, formed quite "a full band" for the occasion, and dancing was done up in style!

As a sort of "change of scene" or divertisement in the programme, somebody proposed games of this and games of that, and while old Capt. Figgles was as busy as "a flea in a tar bucket"—to use the old gentleman's simile—fulminating and fabricating a rousing bowl of egg flip for the entire party, Capt. Tiller and Dr. Mutandis were sort of paired off with a party of eight, in which were the two Miss Figgleses, to get up their own game.

"Good!" says Capt. Tiller, "pair off with Miss Betsy, Doctor, and I'll pair off with Miss Sally (the older daughter of Capt. F.), and now what say you? Let's make up a wedding-party—let's jump the broomstick!"

"Agreed!" cries the Doctor. "Who'll be the parson?"

"I'll be parson," says Capt. T.

"Well, get your book."

"Here it is!" cries another, poking a specimen of current Scripture into the pseudo parson's hands.

"Miss Betsy and Dr. Mutandis, stand up," says Capt. Tiller, assuming quite the air and grace of the parson.

Bridesmaids, grooms, &c., were soon arranged in due order, and the interesting ceremony of joining hands and hearts in one happy bond of mutual and indissoluble (slightly, sometimes!) love and obedience was progressing.

"Cap'n Figgles, you're wanted," says one, interrupting the old man, now busy concocting his grog for all hands.

"Go to blazes, you son of a sea cook!" cries the old gentleman; "haven't you common decency to see when a man's engaged in a calculation he oughtn't to be disturbed, eh?"

"But Betsy's going to be married!" insists the disturber, who, in fact, was half-seas over in infatuation with Miss Betsy, and had had a slight inkling of a fact that by the law of the State anybody could marry a couple, and the marriage would be as obligatory upon the parties as though performed by the identical legal authorities to whom young folks "in a bad way" are in the habit of appealing for relief.

"Let 'em heave ahead, you marine!" cries Capt. Figgles.

"Are you really willing to allow it?" continues the swain.

"Me willing? It's Betsy's affair; let her keep the lookout," said the old gent.

"But don't you know, Cap'n——"

"No! nor I don't care, you swab!" cries the excited Captain. "Bear away out of here," he continued, beginning to get down the glasses from the corner-cupboard shelves, "unless—but stop! hold on! here, take this waiter, Jones, and bear a hand with the grog, unless you want to stand by, and see the ship's company go down by the lifts and braces, dry as powder-monkeys! There; now pipe all hands—ship aho-o-o-oy!" bawls the old Captain; "bear up, the whole fleet! Now splice the main-brace! Don't nobody stand back, like loblolly boys at a funeral—come up and try Capt. Figgles's grog!"

And up they came, the entire crew, old Ebenezer to the le'ard, sweating like an ox, and laying off for the piping bowl he knew he was "in for" from the hands of his indulgent old master.

In the mean time, the marriage ceremony had had its hour, and the bride and bridegroom were "skylarking" with the rest of the company as happily together as turtle-doves in a clover-patch. The evening's entertainment wound up with an old-fashioned dance, and the quilting ended. Dr. Mutandis lived some five miles distant, and having a call to make the next morning near Capt. Figgles's farm, Dr. M. concluded to stop with the Captain. As Capt. Tiller was leaving, he took occasion to whisper into the ear of his medical friend—

"I wish you much joy, my fine fellow; you're married, if you did but know it—fast as a church! Good time to you and Betsy!"

"The devil!" says the Doctor, musingly; "it strikes me, since I come to think it over, that the laws of this State do privilege anybody to marry a couple! By thunder! it would be a fine spot of work for me if I was held to the ceremony by Miss Figgles!"

But the Doctor kept quiet, and next morning, after breakfast, he departed upon his business. He had no sooner entered the house of his patient, than he was wished much joy and congratulated upon the fatness and jolly good nature of his bride!

"But," says the Doctor, "you're mistaken in this affair. It's all a hoax—a mere bit of fun!"

"Ha! ha!" laughed his patient, "fun?—you call getting married fun?"

"Yes," said the Doctor; "we were down at Capt. Figgles's; there was a quilting and sort of a frolic going on——"

"Yes, we heard of it."

"And, in fun, to keep up the sports of the evening, Capt. Tiller proposed to marry some of us. So Miss Figgles and I stood up, and Captain Tiller acted parson, and we had some sport."

"Well," says the farmer (proprietor of the house), "Capt. Tiller has got you into a tight place, Doctor; he's been around, laughing at the trick he's played you, as perhaps you were not aware of the fact that by the law you are now just as legally and surely married as though the knot was tied by five dozen parsons or magistrates!"

"I'll shoot Capt. Tiller, by Heavens!" cries the enraged Doctor. "He's a scoundrel! I'll crop his ears but I'll have satisfaction!"

"Pooh!" says the farmer, "if Betsy Figgles does not object, and her father is willing and satisfied with the match as it is, I don't see, Doctor, that you need mind the matter."

"I'll be revenged!" cries the Doctor.

"You were never previously married, were you?" says the farmer.

"No, sir," replied the Doctor.

"Engaged to any lady?" continued the interrogator.

"No, sir; I am too poor, too busy to think of such a folly as increasing my responsibilities to society!"

"Then, sir," said the farmer, "allow me to congratulate you upon this very fortunate event, rather than a disagreeable joke, for Capt. Figgles is worth nearly a quarter of a million of dollars, sir; and Miss Betsy is no gaudy butterfly, but, sir, she's an excellent girl, whom you may be proud of as your wife."

"'Squire," says the Doctor, "jump in with me, and go back to the Captain's and assist me to back out, beg the pardon of Miss Figgles and her father, and terminate this unpleasant farce."

The magistrate-farmer got into the Doctor's gig, and soon they were at Capt. Figgles's door.

"Captain," says the Doctor, "I don't know what excuse I can offer for the fool I've made of myself, through that puppy, Capt. Tiller, but, sir——"

"Look a-here!" says the Captain, staring the Doctor broad in the face, "I've got wind of the whole affair; now ease off your palaver. You've married my daughter Betsy, in a joke; she's fit for the wife of a Commodore, and all I've got to say is, if you want her, take her; if you don't want her, you're a fool, and ought to be made a powder-monkey for the rest of your natural life."

"But the lady's will and wishes have not been consulted, sir."

"Betsy!" cries the old Captain, "come here. What say you—are you willing to remain spliced with the Doctor, or not? Hold up your head, my gal—speak out!"

"Yes—I'm agreed, if he is," said she.

"Well said, hurrah!" cries the Captain. "Now, sir (to the Doctor), to make all right and tight, I here give you, in presence of the 'Squire, my favorite daughter Betsy, and one of the best farms in the State of New York. Are you satisfied, Doctor?"

"Captain, I am. I shall try, sir, to make your daughter a happy woman!" returned the Doctor, and he did; he became the founder of a large family, and one of the wealthiest men in the State.

Rather pleased, finally, with the joke, the Doctor managed to turn it upon the Captain, who in due course of law was arrested upon the charge of illegally personating a parson, and marrying a couple without a license! He was fined fifty dollars and costs; and of course was thus caused to laugh on the wrong side of his mouth.



Appearances are Deceitful.

There are a great many good jokes told of the false notions formed as to the character and standing of persons, as judged by their dress and other outward signs. It is asserted, that a fine coat and silvery tone of voice, are no evidence of the gentleman, and few people of the present day will have the hardihood to assert that a blunt address, or shabby coat, are infallible recommendations for putting, however honest, or worthy, a man in a prominent attitude before the world, or the community he moves in. Some men of wealth, for the sake of variety, sometimes assume an eccentric or coarseness of costume, that answers all very well, as long as they keep where they are known; but to find out the levelling principles of utter nothingness among your fellow mortals, only assume a shabby apparel and stroll out among strangers, and you'll be essentially knocked by the force of these facts. However, in this or almost any other Christian community, there is little, if any excuse, for a man, woman, or child going about or being "shabby." Let your garments, however coarse, be made clean and whole, and keep them so; if you have but one shirt and that minus sleeves and body, have the fragments washed, and make not your face and hands a stranger to the refreshing and purifying effects of water.

General Pinckney was one of the old school gentlemen of South Carolina. A man he was of the most punctilious precision in manners and customs, in courtesy, and cleanliness of dress and person; a man of brilliant talents, and, in every sense of the word, "a perfect gentleman!" Mr. Pinckney was one of the members of the first Congress, and during his sojourn in Philadelphia, boarded with an old lady by the name of Hall, I think—Mrs. Hall, a staid, prim and precise dame of the old regime. Mistress Hall was a widow; she kept but few boarders in her fine old mansion, on Chestnut street, and her few boarders were mostly members of Congress, or belonged to the Continental army. Never, since the days of that remarkable lady we read of in the books, who made her servant take her chair out of doors, and air it, if any body by chance sat down on it, and who was known to empty her tea-kettle, because somebody crossed the hearth during the operation of boiling water for tea,—exceeded Mistress Hall in domestic prudery and etiquette; hence it may be well imagined that "shabby people" and the "small fry" generally, found little or no favor in the eyes of the Quaker landlady of "ye olden time."

General Pinckney having served out his term or resigned his place, it was filled by another noted individual of Charleston, General Lowndes, one of the most courteous and talented men of his day, but the slovenliest and most shockingly ill-accoutred man on record. But for the care and watchfulness of one of the most superb women in existence at the time—Mrs. Lowndes,—the General would probably have frequently appeared in public, with his coat inside out, and his shirt over all!

General Lowndes, in starting for Philadelphia, was recommended by his friend Pinckney, to put up at Mistress Hall's; General P. giving General Lowndes a letter of introduction to that lady. Travelling was a slow and tedious, as well as fatiguing and dirty operation, at that day, so that after a journey from Charleston to Philadelphia, even a man with some pretensions to dress and respectable contour, would be apt to look a little "mussy;" but for the poor General's part, he looked hard enough, in all conscience, and had he known the effect such an appearance was likely to produce upon Mistress Hall, he would not have had the temerity of invading her premises. But the General's views were far above "buttons," leather, and prunella. Such a thing as paying deferential courtesies to a man's garments, was something not dreamed of in his philosophy.

"Mrs. Hall's, I believe?" said the General, to a servant answering the ponderous, lion-headed knocker.

"Yes, sah," responded the sable waiter. "Walk dis way, sah, into de parlor, sah."

The General stalked in, leisurely; around the fire-place were seated a dozen of the boarders, the aforesaid "big bugs" of the olden time. Not one moved to offer the stranger a seat by the fire, although his warm Southern blood was pretty well congealed by the frosty air of the evening. The General pulled off his gloves, laid down his great heavy and dusty valice, and quietly took a remote seat to await the presence of the landlady. She came, lofty and imposing; coming into the parlor, with her astute cap upon her majestic head, her gold spectacles upon her nose, as stately as a stage queen!

"Good evening," said the gallant General, rising and making a very polite bow. "Mrs. Hall, I presume?"

"Yes, sir," she responded, stiffly, and eyeing Lowndes with considerable diffidence. "Any business with me, sir?"

"Yes, madam," responded the General, "I—a—purpose remaining in the city some time, and—a—I shall be pleased to put up with you."

"That's impossible, sir," was the ready and decisive reply. "My house is full; I cannot accommodate you."

"Well, really, that will be a disappointment, indeed," said the General, "for I'm quite a stranger in the city, and may find it difficult to procure permanent lodgings."

"I presume not, sir," said she; "there are taverns enough, where strangers are entertained."

The gentlemen around the fire, never offered to tender the stranger any information upon the subject, but several eyed him very hard, and doubtless felt pleased to see the discomfitted and ill-accoutred traveller seize his baggage, adjust his dusty coat, and start out, which he was evidently very loth to do.

Just as Lowndes had reached the parlor door, it occurred to him that Pinckney had recommended him to "put up" at the widow's, and also had given him a letter of introduction to Mrs. Hall. This reminiscence caused the General to retrace his steps back into the parlor, where, placing his portmanteau on the table, he applied the key and opened it, and began fumbling around for his letters, to the no small wonder of the landlady and her respectable boarders.

"I have here, I believe, madam, a letter for you," blandly said the General, still overhauling his baggage.

"A letter for me, sir?" responded the lady.

"Yes, madam, from an old friend of yours, who recommended me to stop with you. Ah, here it is, from your friend General Pinckney, of South Carolina."

"General Pinckney!" echoed the landlady, all the gentlemen present cocking their eyes and ears! The widow tore open the letter, while Lowndes calmly fastened up his portmanteau, and all of a sudden, quite an incarnation spread its roseate hues over her still elegant features.

Lowndes seized his baggage, and, with a "good evening, madam, good evening, gentlemen," was about to leave the institution, when the lady arrested him with:

"Stop, if you please, sir; this is General Lowndes, I believe?"

"General Lowndes, madam, at your service," said he, with a dignified bow.

According to all accounts, just then, there was a very sudden rising about the fire-place, and a twinkling of chairs, as if they had all just been struck with the idea that there was a stranger about!

"Keep your seats, gentlemen," said the General; "I don't wish to disturb any of you, as I'm about to leave."

"General Lowndes," said the widow, "any friend of Mr. Pinckney is welcome to my house. Though we are full, I can make room for you, sir."

The General stopped, and the widow and he became first-rate friends, when they became better acquainted.



Cigar Smoke

Few persons can readily conceive of the amount of cigars consumed in this country, daily, to say little or nothing of the yearly smokers. The growing passion for the noxious weed is truly any thing but pleasantly contemplative. A boy commences smoking at ten or a dozen years old, and by the time he should be "of age," he is, in various hot-house developed faculties, quite advanced in years! And street smoking, too, has increased, at a rate, within a year past, that bids fair to make the Puritan breezes of our evenings as redolent of "smoke and smell," as meets one's nasal organic faculties upon paying a pop visit to New York. There is but one idea of useful import that we can advance in favor of smoking, to any great extent, in our city: consumption and asthmatic disorders generally are more prevalent here than in other and more southern climates, and for the protection of the lungs, cigar smoking, to a moderate extent, may be useful, as well as pleasurable; but an indiscriminate "looseness" in smoking is not only a dead waste of much ready money, but injurious to the eyes, teeth, breath, taste, smell, and all other senses.



An Everlasting Tall Duel

After all the vicissitudes, ups and downs of a soldier's life, especially in such a campaign as that in Mexico, there is a great deal of music mixed up with the misery, fun with the fuss and feathers, and incident enough to last a man the balance of a long lifetime.

While camped at Camargo, the officers and privates of the Ohio volunteer regiment were paid off one day, and, of course, all who could get leave, started to town, to have a time, and get clear of their hard earnings.

The Mexicans were some pleased, and greatly illuminated by the Americans, that and the succeeding day. Several of the officers invested a portion of their funds in mules and mustangs. Among the rest, Lieut. Dick Mason and Adjt. Wash. Armstrong set up their private teams. Now, it so fell out, that one of Armstrong's men stole Mason's mule, and being caught during the day with the stolen property on him, or he on it, the high-handed private, (who, barring his propensity to ride in preference to walking, was a very clever sort of fellow, and rather popular with the Adjutant,) nabbed him as a hawk would a pip-chicken.

"If I catch the fellow who stole my mule," quoth Lieut. Dick, "I'll give him a lamming he won't forget soon!"

And, good as his word, when the man was taken, the Lieutenant had him whipped severely. This riled up Adjt. Wash., who, in good, round, unvarnished terms, volunteered to lick the Lieutenant—out of his leathers! From words they came to blows, very expeditiously, and somehow or other the Lieutenant came out second best—bad licked! This sort of a finale did not set well upon the stomach of the gallant Lieutenant; so he ups and writes a challenge to the Adjutant to meet in mortal combat; and readily finding a second, the challenge was signed, sealed, and delivered to Adjt. Armstrong, Company ——, Ohio volunteers. All these preliminaries were carried on in, or very near in, Camargo. The Adjutant readily accepted the invitation to step out and be shot at; and, having scared up his second, and having no heirs or assigns, goods, chattels, or other sublunary matters to adjust, no time was lost in making wills or leaving posthumous information. The duel went forward with alacrity, but all of a sudden it was discovered by the several interested parties that no arms were in the crowd. It would not very well do to go to camp and look for duelling weapons; so it was proposed to do the best that could be done under the circumstances, and buy such murderous tools as could be found at hand, and go into the merits of the case at once. At length the Adjutant and friend chanced upon a machine supposed to be a pistol, brought over to the Continent, most probably, by Cortez, in the year 1—sometime. It was a scrougin' thing to hold powder and lead, and went off once in three times with the intonation of a four-pounder.

"Hang the difference," says the Adjutant; "it will do."

"Must do," the second replies; and so paying for the tool, and swallowing down a fresh invoice of ardiente, the fighting men start to muster up their opponents, whom they found armed and equipped, upon a footing equal to the other side, or pretty near it, the Lieutenant having a little heavier piece, with a bore into which a gill measure might be thrown.

"But—the difference!" cried seconds and principals.

"Let's fight, not talk," says the Adjutant.

"That's my opinion, gentlemen, exactly," the Lieutenant responds.

"Where shall we go?"

"Anywhere!"

"Better get out into the chaparral," say the cautious seconds; "don't want a crowd. Come on!" continue the seconds, very valorously; "let's fight!"

"Here's the ground!" cries one, as the parties reach a chaparral, a mile or so from town; "here is our ground!"

The principals stared around as if rather uncertain about that, for the bushes were so thick and high that precious little ground was visible.

"It ain't worth while, gentlemen, to toss up for positions, is it?" says the Adjutant's second.

"No," cry both principals. "Measure off the ground, if you can find it; let us go to work."

"That's the talk!" says the Adjutant's second.

"Measure off thirty paces," the Lieutenant's second responds.

"No, ten!" cry the principals.

"Twenty paces or no fight!" insists the Adjutant's second. "Twenty paces; one, two, three——"

And the seconds trod off as best they could the distance, the pieces were loaded, the several bipeds took a drink all around from an ample jug of the R. G. they brought for the purpose, and then began the memorable duel. The principals were placed in their respective positions, to rake down each other; and from a safer point of the compass the seconds gave the word.

"Bang-g-g!" went the Adjutant's piece, knocking him down flat as a hoe-cake.

"F-f-f-izzy!" and the Lieutenant's piece hung fire.

The seconds flew to their men; a parley took place upon a "question" whether the Lieutenant had a right to prime and fire again, or not. The Adjutant being set upon his pins; declared himself ready and willing to let the Lieutenant blaze away! The point was finally settled by loading up the Adjutant's piece, and priming that of the Lieutenant, placing the men, and giving the word,

"One, two, three!"

"Wang-g-g-g!"

"Fiz-a-bang-g-g-g!"

The seconds ran, or hobbled forward, each to his man, both being down; but whether by concussion, recoil of their fusees, force of the liquor, or weakness of the knee-pans, was a hard fact to solve.

"Hurt, Wash.?"

"Not a bit!" cries the Adjutant, getting up.

"Hit, Dick?"

"No, sir!" shouts the Lieutenant; "good as new!"

"Set 'em up!"

"Take your places, gentlemen!" cry the seconds.

All ready. Wang! bang! go the pieces, and down ker-chug go both men again. The seconds rush forward, raise their men, all safe, load up again, take a drink, all right.

"Make ready, take aim, fire!"

"Wang-g-g!"

"Bang-g-g!"

Both down again, the Lieutenant's coat-tail slightly dislocated, and the Adjutant dangerously wounded in the leg of his breeches! Both parties getting very mad, very tired, and very anxious to try it on at ten paces. Seconds object, pieces loaded up again, principals arranged, and,

"One, two, three, fire!"

"Wang-g-g-g!"

"Bang-g-g!"

All down—load up again—take a drink—fire! and down they go again. It is very natural to suppose that all this firing attracted somebody's attention, and somebody came poking around to see what it was all about; and just then, as four or five Mexicans came peeping and peering through the chaparral, Dick and Wash. let drive—Bang-g! wang-g! and though it seemed impossible to hit one another, the slugs, ricochetting over and through the chaparral, knocked down two Mexicans, who yelled sanguinary murder, and the rest of their friends took to their heels. The seconds, not quite so "tight" as the principals, took warning in time to evacuate the field of honor, Lieut. Dick's second taking him one way, and Ajt. Wash.'s friend going another, just as a "Corporal's Guard" made their appearance to arrest the rioters. In spite of the poor Mexicans' protestations, or endeavors to make out a true case, they were taken up and carried to the Guard-House, for shooting one another, and raising a row in general. A night's repose brought the morning's reflection, when the previous day's performances were laughed at, if not forgotten. Wash, and Dick became good friends, of course, and cemented the bonds of fraternity in the bloody work of a day or two afterwards, in storming Monterey.

* * * * *

THE END.

* * * * *



T. B. PETERSON'S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS

WIDDIFIELD'S

NEW COOK BOOK:

OR,

PRACTICAL RECEIPTS FOR THE HOUSEWIFE.

BY

HANNAH WIDDIFIELD,

Celebrated for many Years for the superiority of every article she made, in South Ninth Street, above Spruce, Philadelphia.

Complete in one large duodecimo volume, strongly bound. Price One Dollar.

There is not a lady living, but should possess themselves of a copy of this work at once. It will give you all better meals and make your cost of living less, and keep your husbands, sons, and brothers in an excellent humor. It is recommended by thousands, and is the best and only complete Book on all kinds of Cookery extant. It is written so that all can understand it. It is taking the place of all other Cook Books, for a person possessing "WIDDIFIELD'S NEW COOK BOOK" needs no other, as a copy of this is worth all the other books, called Cook Books, in the World.

Read what the Editor of the Dollar Newspaper says about it.

"The authoress of this work long enjoyed great celebrity with the best families in Philadelphia as the most thoroughly informed lady in her profession in this country. Her Establishment, on Ninth above Spruce street, has long enjoyed the patronage of the best livers in our city. The receipts cover almost every variety of cake or dish, and every species of cooking. One great advantage which this book enjoys over almost every other is the simplicity with which the ingredients are set forth, and the comparatively moderate cost at which particular receipts may be got up. In most cook books the directions cover so large a cost, that to common livers the directions had almost as well not be given. This objection has been measurably removed in this new volume. Another important matter is, no receipts are contained in it but those fully tested, not only by the author, but by cooks and housekeepers most competent to judge. The volume opens with directions for soup, for fish, oysters, meat, poultry, etc. In addition to all this, much attention has been given to directions for the preparation of dishes for the sick and convalescent. Mr. Peterson has issued the volume in handsome style, wisely, as we think, using large type and good paper. The book is sold at, or will be sent to any part of the Union, free of postage, on receipt of One Dollar."

Read what the Editor of the Saturday Evening Post says of it.

"A number of good books on this subject have been published lately, but this is unquestionably the best that we have ever seen Its superiority is in the clearness, and brevity, and the practical directness of the receipts; they are easily understood and followed. The book looks like what it is, the ripe fruit of many years' successful practice. The establishment of Mrs. Widdifield has for many years held the first rank in Philadelphia for the unvarying excellence of every article there made; and now she crowns her well deserved celebrity by giving to the world the best book that has been written on the subject of cookery. The clear type in which the publisher presents it is no slight addition to its value."

Read what the Editor of the Public Ledger says of it.

"A Valuable Work.—Next to having something to eat is having it cooked in a style fit to be eaten. Every housekeeper does not understand this art, and, probably, only for want of a little elementary teaching. This want is easily supplied, for T. B. Peterson has just published Mrs. Widdifield's New Cook Book, in which the experience of that celebrated person in this line is given so clearly and with such precise details, that any housekeeper of sufficient capacity to undertake the management of household affairs, can make herself an accomplished caterer for the table without serving an apprenticeship to the business. The book is published in one volume, the typography good, and paper excellent, with as much real useful information in the volume as would be worth a dozen times its price. Get it at once."

Read what the Editors' wives think of it.

"It is unquestionably the best Cook Book we have ever seen."—Saturday Evening Post.

"It is the best of the many works on Cookery which have appeared. The receipts are all plain and practical, and have never before appeared in print."—Germantown Telegraph.

"It is the best Cook Book out. Every housewife or lady should get a copy at once."—Berks Co. Press.

"We have no hesitation in pronouncing it the best work on the subject of Cookery extant."—Ladies' National Magazine.

"It is the very best book on Cookery and Receipts published."—Dollar Newspaper.

"It is the very best family Cook Book in existence, and we cordially recommend it as such to our readers."—Evening Bulletin.

"It is the best Cook Book we have ever seen."—Washington Union.

" Copies of the above celebrated Cook Book will be sent to any one to any place, free of postage, on remitting One Dollar to the Publisher, in a letter. Published and for sale at the Cheap Bookselling and Publishing House of

T. B. PETERSON,

No. 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. To whom all orders must come addressed.

BOOKS SENT EVERYWHERE FREE OF POSTAGE.

BOOKS FOR EVERYBODY AT GREATLY REDUCED RATES.

PUBLISHED AND FOR SALE BY

T. B. PETERSON,

No. 102 Chestnut Street, Philad'a.

IN THIS CATALOGUE WILL BE FOUND THE LATEST AND BEST WORKS BY THE MOST POPULAR AND CELEBRATED WRITERS IN THE WORLD.

AMONG WHICH WILL BE FOUND

CHARLES DICKENS'S, MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ'S, SIR E. L. BULWER'S, G. P. R. JAMES'S, ELLEN PICKERING'S, CAPTAIN MARRYATT'S, MRS. GREY'S, T. S. ARTHUR'S, CHARLES LEVER'S, ALEXANDRE DUMAS', W. HARRISON AINSWORTH'S, D'ISRAELI'S, THACKERAY'S, SAMUEL WARREN'S, EMERSON BENNETT'S, GEORGE LIPPARD'S, REYNOLDS', C. J. PETERSON'S, PETERSON'S HUMOROUS AMERICAN WORKS, HENRY COCKTON'S, EUGENE SUE'S, GEORGE SANDS', CURRER BELL'S, AND ALL THE OTHER BEST AUTHORS IN THE WORLD.

"The best way is to look through the Catalogue, and see what books are in it. You will all be amply repaid for your trouble.

SPECIAL NOTICE TO EVERYBODY.—Any person whatever in this country, wishing any of the works in this Catalogue, on remitting the price of the ones they wish, in a letter, directed to T. B. Peterson, No. 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, shall have them sent by return of mail, to any place in the United States, free of postage. This is a splendid offer, as any one can get books to the most remote place in the country, for the regular price sold in the large cities, free of postage, on sending for them.

" All orders thankfully received and filled with despatch, and sent by return of mail, or express, or stage, or in any other way the person ordering may direct. Booksellers, News Agents, Pedlars, and all others supplied with any works published in the world, at the lowest rates.

" Any Book published, or advertised by any one, can be had here.

" Agents, Pedlars, Canvassers, Booksellers, News Agents, &c., throughout the country, who wish to make money on a small capital, would do well to address the undersigned, who will furnish a complete outfit for a comparatively small amount. Send by all means, for whatever books you may wish, to the Publishing and Bookselling Establishment of

T. B. PETERSON, No. 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia.

T. B. PETERSON,

No. 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia,

HAS JUST PUBLISHED AND FOR SALE,

STEREOTYPE EDITIONS OF THE FOLLOWING WORKS,

Which will be found to be the Best and Latest Publications, by the Most Popular and Celebrated Writers in the World.

Every work published for Sale here, either at Wholesale or Retail.

All Books in this Catalogue will be sent to any one to any place, per mail, free of postage, on receipt of the price.

MRS. SOUTHWORTH'S Celebrated WORKS.

With a beautiful Illustration in each volume.

INDIA. THE PEARL OF PEARL RIVER. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. This is her new work, and is equal to any of her previous ones. Complete in two large volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, for $1,25.

THE MISSING BRIDE; OR, MIRIAM THE AVENGER. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Complete in two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, for $1,25.

THE LOST HEIRESS. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Being a Splendid Picture of American Life. It is a work of powerful interest. It is embellished with a beautiful Portrait and Autograph of the author. Complete in two vols., paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents.

THE WIFE'S VICTORY; AND NINE OTHER NOUVELLETTES. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Complete in two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, for $1,25.

THE CURSE OF CLIFTON. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Complete in two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, gilt, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents.

THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Complete in two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in cloth, gilt, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents.

THE DESERTED WIFE. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. Complete in two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, gilt, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents.

THE INITIALS. A LOVE STORY OF MODERN LIFE. By a daughter of the celebrated Lord Erskine, formerly Lord High Chancellor of England. This is a celebrated and world-renowned work. It is one of the best works ever published in the English language, and will be read for generations to come, and rank by the side of Sir Walter Scott's celebrated novels. Complete in two volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, gilt, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents a copy.

CHARLES DICKENS' WORKS.

The best and most popular in the world. Ten different editions. No Library can be complete without a Sett of these Works. Reprinted from the Author's last Editions.

"PETERSON'S" is the only complete and uniform edition of Charles Dickens' works published in America; they are reprinted from the original London editions, and are now the only edition published in this country. No library, either public or private, can be complete without having in it a complete sett of the works of this, the greatest of all living authors. Every family should possess a sett of one of the editions. The cheap edition is complete in Twelve Volumes, paper cover; either or all of which can be had separately. Price Fifty cents each. The following are their names.

DAVID COPPERFIELD, NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, PICKWICK PAPERS, DOMBEY AND SON, MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, BARNABY RUDGE, OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, SKETCHES BY "BOZ," OLIVER TWIST BLEAK HOUSE

DICKENS' NEW STORIES. Containing The Seven Poor Travellers. Nine New Stories by the Christmas Fire. Hard Times. Lizzie Leigh. The Miner's Daughters, etc.

CHRISTMAS STORIES. Containing—A Christmas Carol. The Chimes. Cricket on the Hearth. Battle of Life. Haunted Man, and Pictures from Italy.

A complete sett of the above edition, twelve volumes in all, will be sent to any one to any place, free of postage, for Five Dollars.

COMPLETE LIBRARY EDITION.

In FIVE large octavo volumes, with a Portrait, on Steel, of Charles Dickens, containing over Four Thousand very large pages, handsomely printed, and bound in various styles.

Volume 1 contains Pickwick Papers and Curiosity Shop.

" 2 do. Oliver Twist, Sketches by "Boz," and Barnaby Rudge.

" 3 do. Nicholas Nickleby and Martin Chuzzlewit.

" 4 do. David Copperfield, Dombey and Son, Christmas Stories, and Pictures from Italy.

" 5 do. Bleak House, and Dickens' New Stories. Containing The Seven Poor Travellers. Nine New Stories by the Christmas Fire. Hard Times. Lizzie Leigh. The Miner's Daughters, and Fortune Wildred, etc.

Price of a complete sett. Bound in Black cloth, full gilt back, $7.50

" " " scarlet cloth, extra, 8 50

" " " library sheep, 9 00

" " " half turkey morocco, 11 00

" " " half calf, antique, 15 00

" Illustrated Edition is described on next page. "

ILLUSTRATED EDITION OF DICKENS' WORKS.

This edition is printed on very thick and fine white paper, and is profusely illustrated, with all the original illustrations by Cruikshank, Alfred Crowquill, Phiz, etc., from the original London edition, on copper, steel, and wood. Each volume contains a novel complete, and may be had in complete setts, beautifully bound in cloth, for Eighteen Dollars for the sett in twelve volumes, or any volume will be sold separately, as follows:

BLEAK HOUSE, Price, $1 50 PICKWICK PAPERS, 1 50 OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, 1 50 OLIVER TWIST, 1 50 SKETCHES BY "BOZ," 1 50 BARNABY RUDGE, 1 50 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, 1 50 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, 1 50 DAVID COPPERFIELD, 1 50 DOMBEY AND SON, 1 50 CHRISTMAS STORIES, 1 50 DICKENS' NEW STORIES, 1 50

Price of a complete sett of the Illustrated Edition, in twelve vols., in black cloth, gilt back, $18,00

Price of a complete sett of the Illustrated Edition, in twelve vols., in full law library sheep, $24,00

Price of a complete sett of the Illustrated edition, in twelve vols., in half turkey Morocco, $27,00

Price of a complete sett of the Illustrated Edition, in twelve vols., in half calf, antique, $36,00

All subsequent work by Charles Dickens will be issued in uniform style with all the previous ten different editions.

CAPTAIN MARRYATT'S WORKS.

Either of which can be had separately. Price of all except the four last is 25 cents each. They are printed on the finest white paper, and each forms one large octavo volume, complete in itself.

PETER SIMPLE. JACOB FAITHFUL. THE PHANTOM SHIP. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. KING'S OWN. NEWTON FORSTER. JAPHET IN SEARCH OF A FATHER. PACHA OF MANY TALES. NAVAL OFFICER. PIRATE AND THREE CUTTERS. SNARLEYYOW; or, the Dog-Fiend. PERCIVAL KEENE. Price 50 cts. POOR JACK. Price 50 cents. SEA KING. 200 pages. Price 50 cents. VALERIE. His last Novel. Price 50 cents.

ELLEN PICKERING'S NOVELS.

Either of which can be had separately. Price 25 cents each. They are printed on the finest white paper, and each forms one large octavo volume, complete in itself, neatly bound in a strong paper cover.

THE ORPHAN NIECE. KATE WALSINGHAM. THE POOR COUSIN. ELLEN WAREHAM. THE QUIET HUSBAND. WHO SHALL BE HEIR? THE SECRET FOE. AGNES SERLE. THE HEIRESS. PRINCE AND PEDLER. MERCHANT'S DAUGHTER. THE FRIGHT. NAN DARRELL. THE SQUIRE. THE EXPECTANT. THE GRUMBLER. 50 cts.

MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ'S WORKS.

COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE; OR, THE JOYS AND SORROWS OF AMERICAN LIFE. With a Portrait of the Author. Complete in two large volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar, or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents.

THE PLANTER'S NORTHERN BRIDE. With illustrations. Complete in two large volumes, paper cover, 600 pages, price One Dollar, or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, One Dollar and Twenty-five cents.

LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT OF THE BELLE CREOLE. Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar, or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents.

ROBERT GRAHAM. The Sequel to, and continuation of Linda. Being the last book but one that Mrs. Hentz wrote prior to her death. Complete in two large volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar, or bound in one volume, for cloth gilt, One Dollar and Twenty-five cents.

RENA; OR, THE SNOW BIRD. A Tale of Real Life. Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar, or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents.

MARCUS WARLAND; OR, THE LONG MOSS SPRING. A Tale of the South. Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar, or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, One Dollar and Twenty-five cents.

LOVE AFTER MARRIAGE; and other Stories. Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar, or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents.

EOLINE; OR, MAGNOLIA VALE. Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar, or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1 25.

THE BANISHED SON; and other Stories. Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar, or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1 25.

HELEN AND ARTHUR. Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar, or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1 25.

AUNT PATTY'S SCRAP BAG, together with large additions to it, written by Mrs. Hentz, prior to her death, and never before published in any other edition of this or any other work than this. Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar, or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, for One Dollar and Twenty-five cents.

T. S. ARTHUR'S WORKS.

Either of which can be had separately. Price 25 cents each. They are the most moral, popular and entertaining in the world. There are no better books to place in the hands of the young. All will profit by them.

YEAR AFTER MARRIAGE. THE DIVORCED WIFE. THE BANKER'S WIFE. PRIDE AND PRUDENCE. CECILIA HOWARD. MARY MORETON. LOVE IN A COTTAGE. LOVE IN HIGH LIFE. THE TWO MERCHANTS. LADY AT HOME. TRIAL AND TRIUMPH. THE ORPHAN CHILDREN. THE DEBTOR'S DAUGHTER. INSUBORDINATION. LUCY SANDFORD. AGNES, or the Possessed. THE TWO BRIDES. THE IRON RULE. THE OLD ASTROLOGER. THE SEAMSTRESS.

CHARLES LEVER'S NOVELS.

CHARLES O'MALLEY, the Irish Dragoon. By Charles Lever. Complete in one large octavo volume of 324 pages. Price Fifty cents; or an edition on finer paper, bound in cloth, illustrated. Price One Dollar.

THE KNIGHT OF GWYNNE. A tale of the time of the Union. By Charles Lever. Complete in one fine octavo volume. Price Fifty cents; or an edition on finer paper, bound in cloth, illustrated. Price One Dollar.

JACK HINTON, the Guardsman. By Charles Lever. Complete in one large octavo volume of 400 pages. Price Fifty cents; or an edition on finer paper, bound in cloth, illustrated. Price One Dollar.

TOM BURKE OF OURS. By Charles Lever. Complete in one large octavo volume of 300 pages. Price Fifty cents; or an edition on finer paper, bound in cloth, illustrated. Price One Dollar.

ARTHUR O LEARY. By Charles Lever. Complete in one large octavo volume. Price Fifty cents; or an edition on finer paper, bound in cloth, illustrated. Price One Dollar.

KATE O'DONOGHUE. A Tale of Ireland. By Charles Lever. Complete in one large octavo volume. Price Fifty cents; or an edition on finer paper, bound in cloth, illustrated. Price One Dollar.

HORACE TEMPLETON. By Charles Lever. This is Lever's New Book. Complete in one large octavo volume. Price Fifty cents; or an edition on finer paper, bound in cloth, illustrated. Price One Dollar.

HARRY LORREQUER. By Charles Lever, author of the above seven works. Complete in one octavo volume of 402 pages. Price Fifty cents; or an edition on finer paper, bound in cloth, illustrated. Price One Dollar.

VALENTINE VOX.—LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF VALENTINE VOX, the Ventriloquist. By Henry Cockton. One of the most humorous books ever published. Price Fifty cents; or an edition on finer paper, bound in cloth. Price One Dollar.

PERCY EFFINGHAM. By Henry Cockton, author of "Valentine Vox, the Ventriloquist." One large octavo volume. Price 50 cents.

TEN THOUSAND A YEAR. By Samuel C. Warren. With Portraits of Snap, Quirk, Gammon, and Tittlebat Titmouse, Esq. Two large octavo vols., of 547 pages. Price One Dollar; or an edition on finer paper, bound in cloth, $1,50.

CHARLES J. PETERSON'S WORKS.

KATE AYLESFORD. A story of the Refugees. One of the most popular books ever printed. Complete in two large volumes, paper cover. Price One Dollar; or bound in one volume, cloth, gilt. Price $1 25.

CRUISING IN THE LAST WAR. A Naval Story of the War of 1812. First and Second Series. Being the complete work, unabridged. By Charles J. Peterson. 228 octavo pages. Price 50 cents.

GRACE DUDLEY; OR, ARNOLD AT SARATOGA. By Charles J. Peterson. Illustrated. Price 25 cents.

THE VALLEY FARM; OR, the AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN ORPHAN. A companion to Jane Eyre. Price 25 cents.

EUGENE SUE'S NOVELS.

THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS; AND GEROLSTEIN, the Sequel to it. By Eugene Sue, author of the "Wandering Jew," and the greatest work ever written. With illustrations. Complete in two large volumes, octavo. Price One Dollar.

THE ILLUSTRATED WANDERING JEW. By Eugene Sue. With 87 large illustrations. Two large octavo volumes. Price One Dollar.

THE FEMALE BLUEBEARD; or, the Woman with many Husbands. By Eugene Sue. Price Twenty-five cents.

FIRST LOVE. A Story of the Heart. By Eugene Sue. Price Twenty-five cents.

WOMAN'S LOVE. A Novel. By Eugene Sue. Illustrated. Price Twenty-five cents.

MAN-OF-WAR'S-MAN. A Tale of the Sea. By Eugene Sue. Price Twenty-five cents.

RAOUL DE SURVILLE; or, the Times of Napoleon Bonaparte in 1810. Price Twenty-five cents.

SIR E. L. BULWER'S NOVELS.

FALKLAND. A Novel. By Sir E. L. Bulwer, author of "The Roue," "Oxonians," etc. One volume, octavo. Price 25 cents.

THE ROUE; OR THE HAZARDS OF WOMEN. Price 25 cents.

THE OXONIANS. A Sequel to the Roue. Price 25 cents.

CALDERON THE COURTIER. By Bulwer. Price 12-1/2 cents.

MRS. GREY'S NOVELS.

Either of which can be had separately. Price 25 cents each. They are printed on the finest white paper, and each forms one large octavo volume, complete in itself, neatly bound in a strong paper cover.

DUKE AND THE COUSIN. GIPSY'S DAUGHTER. BELLE OF THE FAMILY. SYBIL LENNARD. THE LITTLE WIFE. MAN[OE]UVRING MOTHER. LENA CAMERON: or, the Four Sisters. THE BARONET'S DAUGHTERS. THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. THE OLD DOWER HOUSE. HYACINTHE. ALICE SEYMOUR. HARRY MONK. MARY SEAHAM. 250 pages. Price 50 cents. PASSION AND PRINCIPLE. 200 pages. Price 50 cents.

GEORGE W. M. REYNOLD'S WORKS.

THE NECROMANCER. A Romance of the times of Henry the Eighth, By G. W. M. Reynolds. One large volume. Price 75 cents.

THE PARRICIDE; OR, THE YOUTH'S CAREER IN CRIME. By G. W. M. Reynolds. Full of beautiful illustrations. Price 50 cents.

LIFE IN PARIS: OR, THE ADVENTURES OF ALFRED DE ROSANN IN THE METROPOLIS OF FRANCE. By G. W. M. Reynolds. Full of Engravings. Price 50 cents.

AINSWORTH'S WORKS.

JACK SHEPPARD.—PICTORIAL LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF JACK SHEPPARD, the most noted burglar, robber, and jail breaker, that ever lived. Embellished with Thirty-nine, full page, spirited Illustrations, designed and engraved in the finest style of art, by George Cruikshank, Esq., of London. Price Fifty cents.

ILLUSTRATED TOWER OF LONDON. With 100 splendid engravings. This is beyond all doubt one of the most interesting works ever published in the known world, and can be read and re-read with pleasure and satisfaction by everybody. We advise all persons to get it and read it. Two volumes, octavo. Price One Dollar.

PICTORIAL LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF GUY FAWKES, The Chief of the Gunpowder Treason. The Bloody Tower, etc. Illustrated. By William Harrison Ainsworth. 200 pages. Price Fifty cents.

THE STAR CHAMBER. An Historical Romance. By W. Harrison Ainsworth. With 17 large full page illustrations. Price 50 cents.

THE PICTORIAL OLD ST. PAUL'S. By William Harrison Ainsworth. Full of Illustrations. Price Fifty cents.

MYSTERIES OF THE COURT OF QUEEN ANNE. By William Harrison Ainsworth. Price Fifty cents.

MYSTERIES OF THE COURT OF THE STUARTS. By Ainsworth. Being one of the most interesting Historical Romances ever written. One large volume. Price Fifty cents.

DICK TURPIN.—ILLUSTRATED LIFE OF DICK TURPIN, the Highwayman, Burglar, Murderer, etc. Price Twenty-five cents.

HENRY THOMAS.—LIFE OF HARRY THOMAS, the Western Burglar and Murderer. Full of Engravings. Price Twenty-five cents.

DESPERADOES.—ILLUSTRATED LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF THE DESPERADOES OF THE NEW WORLD. Full of engravings. Price Twenty-five cents.

NINON DE L'ENCLOS.—LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF NINON DE L'ENCLOS, with her Letters on Love, Courtship and Marriage. Illustrated. Price Twenty-five cents.

THE PICTORIAL NEWGATE CALENDAR; or the Chronicles of Crime. Beautifully illustrated with Fifteen Engravings. Price Fifty cents.

PICTORIAL LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF DAVY CROCKETT. Written by himself. Beautifully illustrated. Price Fifty cents.

LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF ARTHUR SPRING, the murderer of Mrs. Ellen Lynch and Mrs. Honora Shaw, with a complete history of his life and misdeeds, from the time of his birth until he was hung. Illustrated with portraits. Price Twenty-five cents.