and hip bones had not disclosed the fact, he never would have done it; for he was in all respects as cheerful and happy as if he commanded all the corn-cribs and fodder-stacks in Georgia. His height was about twelve hands; but as his shape partook somewhat of that of the giraffe, his haunches stood much lower. They vere short, strait, peaked, and concave. Bullet’s tail, however, made amends for all his defects. All that the artist could do to beautify it had been done; and all that horse could do to compliment the artist, Bullet did. His tail was nicked in superior style, and exhibited the line of beauty in so many directions, that it could not fail to hit the most fastidious taste in some of them. From the root it dropped into a graceful festoon; then rose in a handsome curve; then resumed its first direction; and then mounted suddenly upward like a cypress knee to a perpendicular of about two and a half inches. The whole had a careless and bewitching inclination to the right. Bullet obviously knew where his beauty lay, and took all occasions to display it to the best advantage. If a stick cracked, or if any one moved suddenly about him, or coughed, or hawked, or spoke a little louder than common, up went Bullet's tail like lightning; and if the going up did not please, the coming down must of necessity, for it was as different from the other movement as was its direction. The first was a bold and rapid flight upward, usually to an angle of forty-five degrees. In this position he kept his interesting appendage until he satisfied himself that nothing in particular was to be done; when he commenced dropping it by half inches, in second beats, then in triple time, then faster and shorter, and faster and shorter still, until it finally died away imperceptibly into its natural position. If I might compare sights to sounds, I should say its settling was more like the note of a locust than anything else in nature.

        Either from native sprightliness of disposition, from uncontrollable activity, or from an unconquerable habit of removing flies by the stamping of the feet, Bullet

never stood still; but always kept up a gentle fly-scaring movement of his limbs, which was peculiarly interesting.

        "I tell you, man," proceeded the Yellow Blossom, "he's the best live hoss that ever trod the grit of Georgia. Bob Smart knows the hoss. Come here, Bob, and mount this hoss, and show Bullet's motions." Here Bullet bristled up, and looked as if he had been hunting for Bob all day long, and had just found him. Bob sprang on his back. "Boo-oo-oo!" said Bob, with a fluttering noise of the lips; and away went Bullet, as if in a quarter race, with all his beauties spread in handsome style.

        "Now fetch him back," said Blossom. Bullet turned and came in pretty much as he went out.

        "Now trot him by." Bullet reduced his tail to " customary;" sidled to the right and left airily, and exhibited at least three varieties of trot in the short space of fifty yards.

        "Make him pace!" Bob commenced twitching the bridle and kicking at the same time. These inconsistent movements obviously (and most naturally) disconcerted Bullet; for it was impossible for him to learn, from them, whether he was to proceed or stand still. He started to trot, and was told that wouldn't do. He attempted a canter, and was checked again. He stopped, and was urged to go on. Bullet now rushed into the wide field of experiment, and struck out a gait of his own, that completely turned the tables upon his rider, and certainly deserved a patent. It seemed to have derived its elements from the jig, the minuet, and the cotillon. If it was not a pace, it certainly had pace in it, and no man would venture to call it anything else; so it passed off to the satisfaction of the owner.

        "Walk him!" Bullet was now at home again; and he walked as if money was staked on him.

        The stranger, whose name, I afterward learned, was Peter Ketch, having examined Bullet to his heart's content, ordered his son Neddy to go and bring up Kit. Neddy soon appeared upon Kit; a well-formed sorrel

of the middle size, and in good order. His tout ensemble threw Bullet entirely in the shade, though a glance was sufficient to satisfy any one that Bullet had the decided advantage of him in point of intellect.

        "Why, man," said Blossom, "do you bring such a hoss as that to trade for Bullet? Oh, I see you're no notion of trading."

        "Ride him off, Neddy!" said Peter. Kit put off at a handsome lope.

        "Trot him back!" Kit came in at a long, sweeping trot, and stopped suddenly at the crowd.

        "Well," said Blossom, "let me look at him; maybe he'll do to plough."

        "Examine him!" said Peter, taking hold of the bridle close to the mouth; "he's nothing but a tacky. He an't as pretty a horse as Bullet, I know; but he'll do. Start 'em together for a hundred and fifty mile; and if Kit an't twenty mile ahead of him at the coming out, any man may take Kit for nothing. But he's a monstrous mean horse, gentleman; any man may see that. He's the scariest horse, too, you ever saw. He won't do to hunt on, no how. Stranger, will you let Neddy have your rifle to shoot off him? Lay the rifle between his ears, Neddy, and shoot at the blaze in that stump. Tell me when his head is high enough."

        Ned fired, and hit the blaze; and Kit did not move a hair's breadth.

        "Neddy, take a couple of sticks, and beat on that hogshead at Kit's tail."

        Ned made a tremendous rattling, at which Bullet took fright, broke his bridle, and dashed off in grand style; and would have stopped all farther negotiations by going home in disgust, had not a traveller arrested him and brought him back; but Kit did not move.

        "I tell you, gentlemen," continued Peter, "he's the scariest horse you ever saw. He an't as gentle as Bullet, but he won't do any harm if you watch him. Shall I put him in a cart, gig, or wagon for you, stranger? He'll cut the same capers there he does here. He a a monstrous mean horse."

        During all this time Blossom was examining him with the nicest scrutiny. Having examined his frame and limbs, he now looked at his eyes.

        "He's got a curious look out of his eyes," said Blossom.

        "Oh yes, sir," said Peter, "just as blind as a bat. Blind horses always have clear eyes. Make a motion at his eyes, if you please, sir."

        Blossom did so, and Kit threw up his head rather as if something pricked him under the chin than as if fearing a blow. Blossom repeated the experiment, and Kit jerked back in considerable astonishment.

        "Stone blind, you see, gentlemen," proceeded Peter; "but he's just as good to travel of a dark night as if he had eyes."

        "Blame my buttons," said Blossom, "if I like them eyes."

        "No," said Peter, "nor I neither. I'd rather have 'em made of diamonds; but they'll do, if they don't show as much white as Bullet's."

        "Well," said Blossom, "make a pass at me."

        "No," said Peter; "you made the banter, now make your pass."

        "Well, I'm never afraid to price my hosses. You must give me twenty-five dollars boot."

        "Oh, certainly; say fifty, and my saddle and bridle in. Here, Neddy, my son, take daddy's horse."

        "Well," said Blossom, "I've made my pass, now you make yours."

        "I'm for short talk in a horse-swap, and therefore always tell a gentleman at once what I mean to do. You must give me ten dollars."

        Blossom swore absolutely, roundly, and profanely, that he never would give boot.

        "Well," said Peter, "I didn't care about trading; but you cut such high shines, that I thought I'd like to back you out, and I've done it. Gentlemen, you see I've brought him to a hack."

        "Come, old man," said Blossom, "I've been joking with you. I begin to think you do want to trade;

therefore, give me five dollars and take Bullet. I'd rather lose ten dollars any time than not make a trade, though I hate to fling away a good hoss."

        "Well," said Peter, "I'll be as clever as you are. Just put the five dollars on Bullet's back,and hand him over; it's a trade."

        Blossom swore again, as roundly as before, that he would not give boot; and, said he, "Bullet wouldn't hold five dollars on his back, no how. But, as I bantered you, if you say an even swap, here's at you."

        "I told you," said Peter, "I'd be as clever as you, therefore, here goes two dollars more, just for trade sake. Give me three dollars, and it's a bargain."

        Blossom repeated his former assertion; and here the parties stood for a long time, and the by-standers (for many were now collected) began to taunt both parties. After some time, however, it was pretty unanimously decided that the old man had backed Blossom out.

        At length Blossom swore he "never would be backed out for three dollars after bantering a man;" and, accordingly, they closed the trade.

        "Now," said Blossom, as he handed Peter the three dollars, "I'm a man that, when he makes a bad trade, makes the most of it until he can make a better. I'm for no rues and after-claps."

        "That's just my way," said Peter; "I never goes to law to mend my bargains."

        "Ah, you're the kind of boy I love to trade with. Here’s your hoss, old man. Take the saddle and bridle off him, and I'll strip yours; but lift up the blanket easy from Bullet's back; for he's a mighty tender-backed hoss."

        The old man removed the saddle, but the blanket stuck fast. He attempted to raise it, and Bullet bowed himself, switched his tail, danced a little, and gave signs of biting.

        "Don't hurt him, old man," said Blossom, archly; "take it off easy. I am, perhaps, a leetle of the best man at a horse-swap that ever catched a coon."

        Peter continued to pull at the blanket more and more roughly, and Bullet became more and more cavortish: insomuch that, when the blanket came off, he had reached the kicking point in good earnest.

        The removal of the blanket disclosed a sore on Bullet's back-bone that seemed to have defied all medical skill. It measured six full inches in length and four in breadth, and had as many features as Bullet had motions. My heart sickened at the sight; and I felt that the brute who had been riding him in that situation deserved the halter.

        The prevailing feeling, however, was that of mirth. The laugh became loud and general at the old man's expense, and rustic witticisms were liberally bestowed upon him and his late purchase. These Blossom continued to provoke by various remarks. He asked the old man "if he thought Bullet would let five dollars lie on his back." He declared most seriously that he had owned that horse three months, and had never discovered before that he had a sore back, "or he never should have thought of trading him," &c., &c.

        The old man bore it all with the most philosophic composure. He evinced no astonishment at his late discovery, and made no replies. But his son Neddy had not disciplined his feelings quite so well. His eyes opened wider and wider from the first to the last pull of the blanket; and, when the whole sore burst upon his view, astonishment and fright seemed to contend for the mastery of his countenance. As the blanket disappeared, he stuck his hands in his breeches pockets, heaved a deep sigh, and lapsed into a profound revery, from which he was only roused by the cuts at his father. He bore them as long as he could; and, when he could contain himself no longer, he began, with a certain wildness of expression which gave a peculiar interest to what he uttered: "His back's mighty bad off; but dod drot my soul if he's put it to daddy as bad as he thinks he has, for old Kit's both blind and deef , I'll be dod drot if he eint."

        "The devil he is," said Blossom.

        "Yes, dod drot my soul if he eint. You walk him, and see if he eint. His eyes don't look like it; but he'd jist as leve go agin the house with you, or in a ditch, as any how. Now you go try him." The laugh was now turned on Blossom; and many rushed to test the fidelity of the little boy's report. A few experiments established its truth beyond controversy.

        "Neddy," said the old man, "you oughtn't to try and make people discontented with their things. Stranger, don't mind what the little boy says. If you can only get Kit rid of them little failings, you'll find him all sorts of a horse. You are a leetle the best man at a horse-swap that ever I got hold of; but don't fool away Kit. Come, Neddy, my son, let's be moving; the stranger seems to be getting snappish."

HALL.

THE CHARACTER OF A NATIVE GEORGIAN.

        I do not feel at liberty as yet to give the name of the person in question, and therefore he shall be designated for the present by the appellation of Ned Brace.

        This man seemed to live only to amuse himself with his fellow beings, and he possessed the rare faculty of deriving some gratification of his favourite propensity from almost every person whom he met, no matter what his temper, standing, or disposition. Of course he had opportunities enough of exercising his uncommon gift, and he rarely suffered an opportunity to pass unimproved. The beau in the presence of his mistress, the fop, the pedant, the purse-proud, the over-fastidious and sensitive, were Ned's favourite game. These never passed him uninjured; and against such he directed his severest shafts. With these he commonly amused himself, by exciting in them every variety of emotion, under circumstances peculiarly ridiculous. He was admirably fitted to his vocation. He

could assume any character which his humour required him to personate, and he could sustain it to perfection. His knowledge of the character of others seemed to be intuitive.

        It may seem remarkable, but it is true, that, though he lived his own peculiar life for about sixteen years, after he reached the age of manhood he never involved himself in a personal rencounter with any one. This was owing, in part, to his muscular frame, which few would be willing to engage; but more particularly to his adroitness in the management of his projects of fun. He generally conducted them in such a way as to render it impossible for any one to call him to account without violating all the rules of decency, politeness and chivalry at once. But a few anecdotes of him will give the reader a much better idea of his character than he can possibly derive from a general description. If these fulfil the description which I have given of my hero, all will agree that he is no imaginary being: if they do not, it will only be because I am unfortunate in my selection. Having known him from his earliest manhood to his grave - for he was a native Georgian - I confess that I am greatly perplexed in determining what portions of his singular history to lay before the reader as a proper specimen of the whole. A three day's visit, which I once made with him to Savannah, placed him in a greater variety of scenes, and among a greater diversity of characters, than perhaps any other period of his life, embracing no longer time; and, therefore, I will choose this for my purpose.

        We reached Savannah just at nightfall of a cold December's evening. As we approached the tavern of Mr. Blank, at which we designed to stop, Ned proposed to me that we should drop our acquaintance until he should choose to renew it. To this proposition I most cordially assented, for I knew that, so doing, I should be saved some mortifications, and avoid a thousand questions which I would not know how to answer. According to this understanding, Ned lingered behind, in order that I might reach the tavern alone.

        On alighting at the public house I was led into a large dining room, at the entrance of which, to the right, stood the bar, opening into the dining-room. On the left, and rather nearer to the centre of the room, was a fireplace, surrounded by gentlemen. Upon entering the room, my name was demanded at the bar: it was given, and I took my seat in the circle around the fire. I had been seated just long enough for the company to survey me to their satisfaction and resume their conversation, when Ned's heavy footstep at the door turned the eyes of the company to the approaching stranger.

        "Your name, sir, if you please?" said the restless little barkeeper, as he entered.

        Ned stared at the question with apparent alarm; cast a fearful glance at the company; frowned and shook his head in token of caution to the barkeeper; looked confused for a moment; then, as if suddenly recollecting himself, jerked a piece of paper out of his pocket, turned from the company, wrote on it with his pencil, handed it to the barkeeper, walked to the left of the fireplace, and took the most conspicuous seat in the circle. He looked at no one, spoke to no one; but, fixing his eyes on the fire, lapsed into a profound revery.

        The conversation, which had been pretty general before, stopped as short as if every man in the room had been shot dead. Every eye was fixed on Ned, and every variety of expression was to be seen on the countenances of the persons present. The landlord came in; the barkeeper whispered to him and looked at Ned. The landlord looked at him too with astonishment and alarm; the barkeeper produced a piece of paper, and both of them examined it, as if searching for a fig-mite with the naked eye. They rose from the examination unsatisfied, and looked at Ned again. Those of the company who recovered first from their astonishment tried to revive the conversation; but the effort was awkward, met with no support, and failed. The barkeeper, for the first time in his life, became

dignified and solemn, and left the bar to take care of itself. The landlord had a world of foolish questions to ask the gentlemen directly opposite to Ned, for which purpose he passed round to them every two minutes, and the answer to none did he hear.

        Three or four boarders coming in, who were unapprized of what had happened, at length revived the conversation; not, however, until they had created some confusion, by inquiring of their friends the cause of their sober looks. As soon as the conversation began to become easy and natural, Ned rose and walked out into the entry. With the first movement all were as hush as death; but, when he had cleared the door, another Babel scene ensued. Some inquired, others suspected, and all wondered. Some were engaged in telling the strangers what had happened, others were making towards the bar, and all were becoming clamorous, when Ned returned and took his seat. His re-entry was as fatal to conversation as was the first movement of his exit; but it soon recovered from the shock; with the difference, however, that those who led before were now mute, and wholly absorbed in the contemplation of Ned's person.

        After retaining his seat for about ten minutes, Ned rose again, inquired the way to the stable, and left the house. As soon as he passed the outer door, the barkeeper hastened to the company with Ned's paper in his hand. "Gentlemen," said he, "can any of you tell me what name this is?" All rushed to the paper in an instant; one or two pair of heads met over it with considerable force. After pondering over it to their heart's content, they all agreed that the first letter was an "E," and the second a "B" or an "R," and the d-l himself could not make out the balance. While they were thus engaged, to the astonishment of everybody, Ned interrupted their deliberations with, "Gentlemen, if you have satisfied yourselves with that paper, I'll thank you for it." It is easy to imagine, but impossible to describe, the looks and actions of the company under their surprise and mortification. They dropped

off, and left the barkeeper to his appropriate duty of handing the paper to Ned. He reached it forth, but Ned moved not a hand to receive it for about the space of three seconds, during which time he kept his eyes fixed upon the arch offender in awfully solemn rebuke. He then took it gravely and put it in his pocket, and left the barkeeper with a shaking ague upon him. From this moment he became Ned’s most obsequious and willing slave.

        Supper was announced; Mrs. Blank, the landlady, took the head of the table, and Ned seated himself next to her. Her looks denoted some alarm at finding him so near to her, and plainly showed that he had been fully described to her by her husband or some one else.

        "Will you take tea or coffee, sir?" said she.

        "Why, madam," said Ned, in a tone as courteous as Chesterfield himself could have used, "I am really ashamed to acknowledge and to expose my very singular appetite; but habitual indulgence of it has made it necessary to my comfort, if not to my health, that I should still favour it when I can. If you will pardon me, I will take both at the same time."

        This respectful reply (which, by-the-way, she alone was permitted to hear) had its natural effect. It won for him her unqualified indulgence, raised doubts whether he could be the suspicious character which had been described to her, and begat in her a desire to cultivate a farther acquaintance with him. She handed to him the two cups, and accompanied them with some remarks, drawn from her own observation in the line of her business, calculated to reconcile him to his whimsical appetite; but she could extract from Ned nothing but monosyllables, and sometimes not even that much. Consequently, the good lady began very soon to relapse into her former feelings.

        Ned placed a cup on either side of him, and commenced stirring both at the same time very deliberately. This done, he sipped a little tea, and asked Mrs. B. for a drop more milk in it. Then he tasted his coffee, and desired a little more sugar in it. Then he

tasted his tea again, and requested a small lump more sugar in it. Lastly, he tasted his coffee, and desired a few drops more milk in that. It was easy to discover, that, before he got suited, the landlady had solemnly resolved never to offer any more encouragements to such an appetite. She waxed exceedingly petulant, and, having nothing else to scold, she scolded the servants, of course.

        Waffles were handed to Ned, and he took one: battercakes were handed, and he took one; and so on of muffins, rolls, and corn bread. Having laid in these provisions, he turned into his plate, upon his waffle and batter cake, some of the crumbs of the several kinds of bread which he had taken, in different proportions, and commenced mashing all together with his knife. During this operation the landlady frowned and pouted, the servants giggled, and the boarders were variously affected.

        Having reduced his mess to the consistency of a hard poultice, he packed it all up to one side of his plate in the form of a terrapin, and smoothed it all over nicely with his knife. Nearly opposite to Ned, but a little below him, sat a waspish little gentleman, who had been watching him with increasing torments from the first to the last movement of Ned's knife. His tortures were visible to blinder eyes than Ned's, and, doubtless, had been seen by him in their earliest paroxysms. This gentleman occupied a seat nearest to a dish of steak, and was in the act of muttering something about "brutes" to his next neighbour, when Ned beckoned a servant to him, and requested him "to ask that gentleman for a small bit of steak." The servant obeyed and, planting Ned's plate directly between the gentleman's and the steak dish, delivered his message. The testy gentleman turned his head, and the first thing he saw was Ned's party-coloured terrapin right under his nose. He started as if he had been struck by a snapping-turtle; reddened to scarlet; looked at Ned (who appeared as innocent as a lamb); looked at the servant (who appeared as innocent as Ned); and then fell to

work on the steak as if he were amputating all Ned's limbs at once.

        Ned now commenced his repast. He ate his meat and breads in the usual way, but he drank his liquids in all ways. First a sip of tea, then of coffee; then two of the first and one of the last; then three of the last and one of the first, and so on.

        His steak was soon consumed, and his plate was a second time returned to the mettlesome gentleman "for another very small bit of steak." The plate paid its second visit precisely as it had its first; and, as soon as the fiery gentleman saw the half-demolished terrapin again under his nose, he seized a fork, drove it into the largest slice of steak in the dish, dashed it into Ned's plate, rose from the table, and left the room, cursing Ned from the very inmost chamber of his soul. Every person at the table, except Ned, laughed outright at the little man's fury; but Ned did not even smile; nay, he looked for all the world as if he thought the laugh was at him.

        The boarders one after another retired, until Ned and the landlady were left alone at the table.

        "Will you have another cup of tea and coffee, sir?" said she, by the way of convincing him that he ought to retire, seeing that he had finished his supper.

        "No, I thank you, madam," returned Ned.

        "Will you have a glass of milk, and a cup of tea or coffee, or all three together?"

        "No, ma'am," said Ned. "I am not blind, madam," continued he, "to the effects which my unfortunate eccentricities have produced upon yourself and your company; nor have I witnessed them without those feelings which they are well calculated to inspire in a man of ordinary sensibilities. I am aware, too, that I am prolonging and aggravating your uneasiness, by detaining you beyond the hour which demands your presence at the table; but I could not permit you to retire without again bespeaking your indulgence of the strange, unnatural appetite which has just caused you so much astonishment and mortification. The story

of its beginning might be interesting, and certainly would be instructing to you if you are a mother: but I am indisposed at this time to obtrude it upon your patience, and I presume you are still less disposed to hear it. My principal object, however, in claiming your attention for a moment at this time, is to assure you that, out of respect to your feelings, I will surrender the enjoyment of my meals for the few days that I have to remain in Savannah, and conform to the customs of your table. The sudden change of my habits will expose me to some inconvenience, and may, perhaps, affect my health; but I will willingly incur these hazards rather than renew your mortification, or impose upon your family the trouble of giving me my meals at my room."

        The good lady, whose bitter feelings had given place to the kinder emotion of pity and benevolence before Ned had half concluded his apology (for it was delivered in a tone of the most melting eloquence), caught at this last hint, and insisted upon sending his meals to his room. Ned reluctantly consented, after extorting a pledge from her that she would assume the responsibilities of the trouble that he was about to give the family.

        "As to your boarders , madam," said Ned, in conclusion, "I have no apology to make to them. I grant them the privilege of eating what they please and as they please, and, so far as they are concerned, I shall exercise the same privileges, reckless of their feelings or opinions; and I shall take it as a singular favour if you will say nothing to them or to any one else which may lead them to the discovery that I am acquainted with my own peculiarities."

        The good lady promised obedience to his wishes, and Ned, requesting to be conducted to his room, retired.

        A group of gentlemen at the fireplace had sent many significant "hems" and smiles to Mrs. Blank during her tête-á-tête with Ned; and as she approached them, on her way out of the room, they began to taunt her playfully upon the impression which she seemed to have made upon the remarkable stranger.

        "Really," said one, "I thought the impression was on the other side."

        "And, in truth, so it was," said Mrs. B. At this moment her husband stepped in.

        "I'll tell you what it is, Mr. Blank," said one of the company, "you'd better keep a sharp look out on that stranger; our landlady is wonderfully taken with him."

        "I'll be bound," said Mr. B., "for my wife; the less like anybody else in the world he is, the better will she like him."

        "Well, I assure you," said Mrs. B., "I never had my feelings so deeply interested in a stranger in my life. I'd give the world to know his history."

        "Why, then," rejoined the landlord, "I suppose he has been quizzing us all this time."

        "No," said she, "he is incapable of quizzing. All that you have seen of him is unaffected, and perfectly natural to him."

        "Then, really," continued the husband, "he is a very interesting object, and I congratulate you upon getting so early into his confidence; but, as I am not quite as much captivated with his unaffected graces as you seem to be, I shall take the liberty, in charity to the rest of my boarders, of requesting him, to-morrow, to seek other lodgings."

        "Oh," exclaimed Mrs. B., in the goodness of her heart, and with a countenance evincive of the deepest feeling, "I would not have you do such a thing for the world. He's only going to stay a few days."

        "How do you know?"

        "He told me so, and do let's bear with him that short time. He sha'n't trouble you or the boarders any more."

        "Why, Sarah," said the landlord, "I do believe you are out of your senses!"

        "Gone case!" said one boarder. "Terrible affair!" said another. "Bewitching little fellow," said a third. "Come, Mrs. Blank, tell us all he said to you! We young men wish to know how to please the ladies, so that we may get wives easily. I'm determined, the

next party I go to, to make a soup of everything on the waiters, and eat all at once. I shall then become irresistible to the ladies."

        "Get along with your nonsense," said Mrs. B., smiling as she left the room.

        At 8 o'clock I retired to my room, which happened (probably from the circumstance of our reaching the hotel within a few minutes of each other) to be adjoining Ned's. I had no sooner entered my room than Ned followed me, where we interchanged the particulars which make up the foregoing story. He now expended freely the laughter which he had been collecting during the evening. He stated that his last interview with Mrs. Blank was the result of necessity; that he found he had committed himself in making up and disposing of his odd supper; for that he should have to eat in the same way during his whole stay in Savannah, unless he could manage to get his meals in private; and, though he was willing to do penance for one meal in order to purchase the amusement he had enjoyed, he had no idea of tormenting himself three or four days for the same purpose. To tell you the honest truth, said he, nothing but an appetite whetted by fasting and travelling could have borne me through the table scene. As it was, my stomach several times threatened to expose my tricks to the whole company, by downright open rebellion. I feel that I must make it some atonement for the liberty I have taken with it, and therefore propose that we go out and take an oyster supper before we retire to rest. I assented: we set out, going separately until we reached the street.

        We were received by the oyster-vender in a small shop which fronted upon the street, and were conducted through it to a back door, and thence, by a flight of steps, to a convenient room on the second floor of an adjoining building. We had been seated about three minutes, when we heard footsteps on the stairs, and directly caught this sentence from the ascending stranger: "Aha, Monsieur Middletong! you say you hab de bes oyster in de cittee? Vel, me shall soon see."

        The sentence was hardly uttered before the door opened, and in stepped a gay, smirky little Frenchman. He made us a low bow, and, as soon as he rose from his obeisance, Ned rushed to him in transports of joy seized him by the hand, and, shaking it with friendship's warmest grasp, exclaimed, "How do you do, my old friend? I had no idea of meeting you here; how do you do, Mr. Squeezelfanter? how have you been this long time?"

        "Sair," said the Frenchman, "me tank you ver much to lub me so hard; but you mistake de gentleman; my name is not de Squeezilfaunter."

        "Come, come, John," continued Ned, "quit your old tricks before strangers. Mr. Hall, let me introduce you to my particular friend, John Squeezelfanter, from Paris."

        "Perhaps, sir," said I, not knowing well what to say or how to act in such an emergency, "perhaps you have mistaken the gentleman."

        "Begar, sair," said monsieur, "he is mistake eberyting at once. My name is not Zhaun; me play no treek; me is not de gentlemong fren'; me did not come from Paree, but from Bordeaux; and me did not suppose dare was a man in all France dat was name de Squeezilfaunter."

        "If I am mistaken," said Ned, "I humbly ask your pardon; but, really, you look so much like my old friend Jack, and talk so much like him, that I would have sworn you were he."

        "Vel, sair," said monsieur, looking at Ned as though he might be an acquaintance after all; "vel, sair, dis time you tell my name right; my name is Jacques * - Jacques Sancric."

        "There," proceeded Ned, "I knew it was impossible I could be mistaken; your whole family settled on Sandy Creek; I knew your father and mother, your sister Patsy and Dilsy, your brother Ichabod, your aunt Bridget, your - "

* This name in French is pronounced very nearly like "Jack" in English.

        "Oh, mon Dieu, mon Dieu!" exclaimed the Frenchman, no longer able to contain his surprise; "dat is von 'Mericane familee. Dare vas not one French familee hab all dat name since dis vorl' vas make."

        "Now look at me, good Jack," said Ned, "and see if you don't recollect your old friend Obadiah Snoddleburg, who used to play with you, when a boy, in Sandy Creek."

        "Vel, Monsieur Snotborg, me look at you ver' vell, and, begar, me neber see you in de creek, nor out de creek. 'Tis ver' surprise you not know one name from one creek."

        "Oh, very well, sir, very well; I forgot where I was; I understand you now, perfectly. You are not the first gentleman I have met with in Savannah who knew me well in the country and forgot me in town. I ask you pardon, sir, and hope you'll excuse me."

        "Me is ver' will' to know you now, sair; but, begar, me will not tell you one lie, to know you twenty-five and tirty years ago."

        "It makes no difference, sir," said Ned, looking thoughtfully and chagrined. "I beg leave, however, before we close our acquaintance, to correct one mistake which I made. I said you were from Paris; I believe, on reflection, I was wrong; I think your sister Dilsy told me you were from Bordeaux."

        "Foutre, de sist' Dils! Here, Monsieur Middletong! My oystar ready?"

        "Yes, sir."

        "Vel, if my oystar ready, you give dem to my fren' Monsieur Snotborg; and ask him to be so good to carry dem to my sist' Dils, and my brodder Ichbod on Sand' Creek." So saying, he vanished like lightning.

        The next morning, at breakfast, I occupied Ned's seat. Mrs. Blank had no sooner taken her place, than she ordered a servant to bring her a waiter, upon which she placed a cup of tea and another of coffee; then ordering three plates, she placed them on it; sent one servant for one kind of bread, and another for an other, and so on through all the varieties that were on

the table, from which she made selections for plate No 1. In the same way did she collect meats for plate No. 2; No. 3 she left blank. She had nearly completed her operations, when her husband came to know why every servant was engaged, and no gentleman helped to anything, when the oddly furnished waiter met his eye, and fully explained the wonder.

        "In God's name, Sarah," said he, "who are you mixing up those messes for?"

        "For that strange gentleman we were speaking of last night," was the reply.

        "Why doesn't he come to the table?"

        "He was very anxious to come, but I would not let him."

        "You would not let him! Why not?"

        "Because I did not wish to see a man of his delicate sensibilities ridiculed and insulted at my table."

        "Delicate devilabilities! Then why didn't you send a servant to collect his mixtures?"

        "Because I preferred doing it myself to troubling the boarders. I knew that, wherever his plates went, the gentlemen would be making merry over them, and I couldn't bear to see it."

        The landlord looked at her for a moment with commingled astonishment, doubt, and alarm; and then, upon the breath of a deep drawn sigh, proceeded:

        "Well, d-n * the man! He hasn't been in the house more than two hours, except when he was asleep, and he has insulted one half my boarders, made fools of the other half, turned the head of my barkeeper, crazed all my servants, and run my wife right stark, staring, raving mad; a man who is a perfect clown in his manners, and who, I have no doubt, will, in the end, prove to be a horse thief."

        Much occurred between the landlord and his lady in

* I should certainly omit such expressions as this, could I do so with historic fidelity; but the peculiarities of the times of which I am writing cannot be faithfully represented without them. In recording things as they are, truth requires me sometimes to put profane language into the mouths of my characters.