"Tile, sir, tile-mercantile, not mercanteel-tile is the word," said John. "Now, sir, you think because you're a merchant (and you may be a broken merchant for all I know) you may turn me into ridicule, make me a laughing-stock before those rowdies, soaplocks, and loafers."

The bridegroom still carried on the joke, though John was getting serious. He protested that he had not the remotest idea of such a thing; he thought every man in the room had a right to seek information from the sapient John, because, as a public character, he was, like all great men, public property.

"Who calls me public property?" said John. "Take care, sir, how you attack my character. You respect neither feelings nor morals."

A gin-sling served to close the breach which was fast widening between this comical pair; and John was induced to make an oration upon the present predicament and awkward position of the varsal world, &c. &c.; his audience being swelled by the arrival of sundry cab-men, one of them frequently interrupting John's speech with boisterous exclamations and shouts of laughter.

"Yes, sir, as a mercantile man, you will suffer," said John; "as a mercantile people as a mercantile people we will suffer in this war with Great Britting. There is only a rope between us and a bloody war; we hang Mac Leod and take the Canadas, therefore, I say, there is only a rope between us

"And the gallows !" interrupted the cabman.

"You'll come to that soon!" said John, and then continued. "We all know what Washington said when he ordered that Britisher officer to execution,

with tears in his eyes. With tears in his eyes Washington said, 'I dined with this very man on a sweet potato in a tamarak swamp, but I'll do my duty; take him away,' said he; though he was my brother, or my father, he, I say, he should be hanged.' "Who-who, John?" bawled the cabman, "Look in your history," replied John.

"Look yourself, John,” cried the cabman; "you don't know the officer's name."

John, rising up with great indignation, “Begone, you rowdy! I'll kick you into the middle of next week if you dare interrupt me again."

"Go on, go on, sir, I beg," said the bridegroom; "don't mind him, he's beneath

your notice." "He is," said John, resuming his seat, "a vile, barking, coon-tree cur! As I was saying, that long, low, black schooner, off New Orleans, and her piratical crew of slave-dealers

"I beg your pardon, you were speaking about Washington and an historical event," said the bridegroom.

“Well, sir, I'll change my subject when I please," said John; "I'll not harp on about Washington to please you or any other man, no way you can fix it. Banking, sir, banking and the sub-treasury bill engross my thoughts. I have given up much of my serious attention to banking."

"Canals, John, or railroads!" bawled the cabman. Here John made a short run at his tormentor, who escaped from him through the street-door; and John was prevailed on to resume his seat.

"The question is," said John, "what's to be done with our surplus cash? Are we to hide our talents,

like the Dutchmen, burying their hard dollars in their cabbage plots? or shall we invest it in the public funds, loan it to the banks, Nicholas Biddle, or-"

"Black Nancy is at the door, with the child in her arms; give her some of the cash, John," cried the cabman.

up,

Here John's self-possession deserted him. Starting he made a short kick and a box at the cabman, pursued him three times round the room, chased him half way down the wharf, and returned, puffing and blowing like an angry walrus. He found the bridegroom laughing over a fresh brandy cocktail, and rebuked him with his selfish conduct.

"I have entertained you and instructed you— enlightened your weak mind," said John; "but the moment I turn my back, you get another glass for yourself. I took you for a man, but I find you're a hog —you're a hog, a hog, a hog,—hog!"

John, John," cried the host, "for shame, John; after all the gentleman's kindness to you, you call him a hog."

"I do!" retorted John; "I call every selfish guttler and guzzler a hog. I call him a hog, and I call you another; but if he's a hog, you're a bigger hog!"

"Go the whole hog, John!" bawled the cabman, peeping in at the door. But some of that malicious wag's companions pushing him forward, he fell head foremost into John's clutches, and the pair rolled over a portmanteau into a basket of oyster shells, while the bridegroom and spectators rushed to separate the struggling foes. The ferryboat bell rang shrilly, and a shoal of passengers pouring into our bar-room, announced that the New York mail had just arrived; the bridegroom ran to look for his bride; I hunted

out my baggage, paid my score, and as I stepped into a cab, saw John emerge from behind the bar-counter, with his hat knocked and crushed all out of shape, as he shook hands with one of the fresh arrivals, a most comical smile and frown playing about his glowing visage the while.

"Good night, John !" exclaimed the cabman, as he thrust my portmanteau into his cab, then plied his whip, and the next moment we were rattling over the stones to the Baltimore railway station.

CHAPTER VIII.

Tarry town-Washington Irving's dog-Caldwell-Uncle Sammy and his friends-Saratoga springs-Boarding-house acquaint-A printer on the road-Barrister versus boatman-Stray damsel of the woods-Episcopalians and Universalists.

ances

I HAD walked four or five miles from Dobbs' Ferry, under the broiling rays of a June sun; a war of extermination had been carried on against the trees, till, at last, not so much as a sheltering gooseberry bush dare flourish a leaf near the public way. Gladly diverging from the dusty road, I entered a shady lane, which seemed to lead to the river-I was not disappointed. Passing through a quiet, sequestered ravine, I found a pretty little bijou of a Dutch cottage, with its picturesque gable ends and grotesque outoffices peering through the cool green foliage of the surrounding groves; and, turning a corner, the broad sunny waters of the Hudson lay before me. Two labourers were slowly removing some sticks and stones from a little boat pier, lading a cart sustained by a team of heavy oxen, standing knee-deep in the water, quietly chewing the cud of contentment. Seating myself upon a stump on the sandy shore, I enjoyed the cool air and bright prospect before me, now counting the white sails glimmering about the Tappanzee, anon glancing