WESTERN travelers have declared that a voyage down the Mississippi is monotonous. To test the question fairly, one must have plenty of leisure for travel and in great measure that chief qualification of a traveler, good-humor. With a fair proportion of both, I found myself one day in Memphis, hunting for a steam-boat to take me "down below." The first step was neither dull nor unpicturesque, for it led to a view of the mighty river rushing out of a rosy haze in the north, and disappearing in a smoky mist below the town,-just as the hopes and capital of many a Northern man have disappeared in the great bewildering mist of Southern investment. It is sweet water, this, but muddy; so muddy, they say, that washing one's hands in it cleans it; yet it is sweet to taste. All along the bank lay numbers of vast structures, looking, with the forests above them, like the stupendous turtles of Japanese legend, overgrown with trees. These were the steam-boats; had I time I would give their names as Homer catalogues his heroes. There was the Teuton, as stanch, sturdy, and stout as though it were the typical ark of the German Noah; and the De Soto, deserving, for name's sake, to have a better fate than upset chimneys and buckled wheel. Which boat should I take? How was I to know the special merits of all these Anchors, Telegraphs, Swans, and the vast harem of Belles of all sorts, which remain ever true to the Father of Rivers? All at once I saw one which was as the sight of a familiar friend, the Mark Twain, and at once I decided to take passage on it. I was welcomed to its deck warmly -very warmly-by the first mate, a personage in a coonskin cap, and a mantle lined, not with ermine, but with catskins. "Blank your blanked head, look

THE FIRST MATE.

"WHICH BOAT? I DUNNO."

out, or the boom 'll hit ye; now, then, right along, right ahead, 'shove em along, up with blank blank, I'll blank your etc., etc., etc., in one stream, without a pause, addressed to passengers, crew, loafers, the elements, and all things animate and inanimate, with such unstinted measure that the recipient is rather confused at first, if he has not been through the experience before. "Now, then, hurry out-Howdy, Sam?- Here, you nigga!Gimme your ticket!-Now, Mr. Johnson— Just let me catch you with that broom in the waatter-Pick that up, will you? - Here, you sawed-off nigger !" Having passed this Cerberus, I found the inside much more reassuring; Eastlake-ish furniture and much white paint are clean, at any rate, if not always comfortable and appropriate. I came on board to watch an hour before we steamed. A large amount of merchandise was deposited on the wharf, and the deck-hand "roustabouts," under the stimulus of the first mate, began to carry it aboard. Before long one of them began to sing in a low tone. The words, as near as I could catch them, were :

What this last simile means I know not. I noted it exactly as it was sung. There was a sudden interruption-an abrupt fall of voices, one or two quavering out " How-oh!" as if loth to quit-a rattling of casks, and then a clear baritone was uplifted with:

"Oh, Moses he strutch out he's rod,
Oh-o-o-oh de Red Sea.

And de Childern's Isr'el pass ober dry shod,

Oh, de R-e-d Sea.

An' Pharaoh come follerin' down

By de Re-e-d Sea.

Wid all de sojers in de town

By de R-e-d Sea!

An' dar de Lord confounded 'em
By de R-e-d Sea!

An' all de waters drownded 'em
In de Re-e-d Sea!
Dis de way dat folks begin

By de Re-e-d Sea,
An' dat's de way dey tumble in
In de R-e-d Sea!"
(Interloping improvisatore):

"Dis de way and dat's de style
By de R-e-d Sea!"
(Improvisatore No. II.):

"To git a drink dey'd run a mile,
By de R-e-d Sea!"

Night has already fallen as we clear the town. The ruddy light, as the furnace-doors are opened, brings out with startling force

the forms of the stokers on the open lower deck. A train of sparks, going like man's life from mystery to mystery, ascend with the smoke and follow in a long line, and, finally falling on the water, are extinguished. Back in the steerage, huddled over the stoves and with no other light, are the crew and the secondclass passengers. At the small bar a motley crowd is singing and shouting. On the upper deck is the gentleman from Arkinsaw (as they call it here and as the State officially calls itself). The gentlemanly "drummer and the usual number of nondescripts are having a friendly set-to at seven-up. Before long the whistle blows, and the electric light, now used on these boats to make the landing by, flashes over the water. It is even more picturesque, perhaps the more for being dangerous, when great torches consisting of cressets holding pine-knots, light the scene. The lurid, wind-flickered flames, the burning pitch dripping in alarming proximity to the tinder-like boat and the cotton-bales, with perhaps a procession of Old World emigrants, sitting in rows, - Norwegians, Germans, or Bohemians, all form strange, quaint pictures, not to be forgotten for years. I cannot help dwelling, however, on the intensely dramatic effect of the more modern illumination. Imagine a pitch-dark night, during a freshet, when the water is far above its common level, roaring and rushing against unusual obstacles.

THE GENTLEMAN FROM ARKINSAW.

VOL. XXV.-38.

A CABIN PASSENGER.

Every condition is changed, and all tends to effect. The boat is steered toward some flickering lantern-lights, which look like will-o'the-wisps over the water, when suddenly a sea of light, a gush of aërial fire is turned on, and out of the darkness at a touch come the jagged, ghostly forms of the cotton-woods, stretching out their long, bare arms toward us as if to grasp us like kraken; men are brought into startling and incredible relief against a dead-black ground. It is a peculiarity of the people here, as it is of the peasantry of Southern France, to stand perfectly motionless when gazing at passing railroad trains, or, as in this instance, at the steam-boats, and the stillness gives a strangely picturesque and unearthly effect to the scene.

For however short a time any place is one's home, he can make it more home-like by getting acquainted with some one. My first move in this direction was to a black roustabout or steam-boat hand, named Billy. You have his portrait; it is almost all there was of him, to believe his own account of himself.

"I's jist nobody," he said. "I's de most lone man dere is. I's got no fre'n's. Fo' de war I was a slabe, now I's free; but, as de preacher says, 'Whar's de use o' being free ef you's a slabe to yourse'f."

Here he paused, and stared as if he had made a point. I could not see it, but I shook my head, and said:

"Yes, indeed."

He resumed:

"When I got free from de ole missus, I fell in lub. Dat was only changin' one missus for anudder, and I was a wuss slabe dan befo'. An' I had it all to myse'f, like a coon on a pra'rie-de gal didn't want me. Den I tuck to wuckin' hard and become a slabe to money. And dere I was all alone

Here a peremptory summons to duty, in florid language, gives a perfect point to Billy's remarks.

But Billy mournful and Billy at work with the other stokers in the fire-room, are two different characters. What a picture! It is like a black furnace, like Etna with Vulcan and the Cyclops, where huge forms are moving from light into darkness, and

"Come like shadows, so depart." Now the lonely slave appears to be the lively demon. And the alternate play of the fire-light and blackness is carried out in life by the contrast between the great activity of those awake and the slumbering forms which lie about the deck. Among these is, however, a knot of wakeful men, smoking and "swapping lies." These I join, and find them telling river-stories, and I come in time to hear the following:

"Yes, I was asleep in my state-room, and I was woke up by the most awful cries I ever heard in my life. There are all

kinds of awful cries. These were the bileddown sort, with agony peppered in. There was murder goin' on-that was as plain as lightnin'. First I heard a cry, 'Cut him down! -cut him!-down with him!' Then a row, and then, Now bring in another! Ayegive it to her!-hit her! Again!' I thought in. an instant that the darkeys had mutinied and were killing the passengers. I listened again. and was sure of it. I dared not enter the cabin. I climbed out of my state-room window-in my night-shirt-and hid behind. some cotton-bales. But there came a swarming, yelling crowd, rushing that way—and I rose-jumped up-gave myself up for lost. But if I was badly scared, it was nothing to the scare I gave the darkeys. 'It's a spook!' -Ghost!' Dat's an appearance!' 'Wahwah!' Warra wah!' they shouted. But, to explain it all, they had only been getting some cotton-bales on board, and Hit him again' was only applied to King Cotton. Nowadays, if anybody asks me if I believe in ghosts, I paraphrase Sydney Smith and answer, 'Yes, I've been one.""

At each landing there is a bale or two of cotton to be put on board. The pilot runs the nose of the boat into the levee. They lower away the gang-plank, and forth rush the roustabouts, followed by the mate and the clerk with horrible cries; on comes the bale in a jiffy, and the boat is off again.

Sometimes, there is only a "collud gemplum" emigrating from one plantation to another, carrying his "lares and penates" in a bandana in one hand, and an antiquated stove-pipe hat and umbrella in the other; then the boat runs near the bank, the engineer slows down, the mate yells " Now then, you!" down comes the gangway to a level, and the "lone traveler" has to "walk the plank." As he nears the shore end, some one tips up the other end, and he loses his head, frantically grasps at nothing, and household gods, umbrella and he take a brief sail through the air, only to alight in the mud. Then the boat backs off and leaves him, and

WAITING FOR THE BOAT,

the passengers and crew bestow upon him much good advice, which has the usual effect.

The first mate of the vessel, he of the fur cap, was a character. It was appropriate to find him in the Mark Twain. He was bald and looked very old, but declared he was thirty.

"Ef you had been through what I hev, my travelin' stranger," quoth he, "you too would look like an example of the longest kind of long-gevity. My name figures prominently in history. I've been published in four hundred and thirty-nine newspapers and one almanac. I've been blown up by steamboats in twenty-two States and several territories. On most occasions, everybody on board perished except myself. Pieces of my skull is layin' round loose all up and down this river, and numerous of its tributarrys. Awful? Yes. Once I was aboard the Obiona. I knew we were goin' to bust that arternoon, for it was about bustin' time with me, and bust we did. When I come down I couldn't find nothin'. Everything had blowed to dust, or gone so fur that nothin' was within visible distance. But, bless you! that's nothin'. Minor catasterfies? Oh, yes. Once we smashed a wheel against a snag. Of course when we progressed we went round and round, and so went round and round all the way down to New Orleans, describin' circles the whole time. We all got orful headaches owin' to the centripetal tendency of the periphery."

A LANDING FOR ONE.

I begin to realize the penetration of the Romans when they said nomen est omen, that a name is a sign, for the very name of Mark Twain seems a spell to call up yarns. I could stock a library with the stories I heard on board that boat.

The journey was effected without accident, -all save one to a small man with a prominent nose, who distinguished himself by always being forward-nay, obtrusive, whenever there was any danger. He was more than indifferent to it, he seemed to court it. At last he was qualified, for, while putting himself very much in the way, a cotton-bale rolled over him. I never saw any man so brave before an injury who seemed so weak after it. He yelled-wept-swore-and finally, seeing that I was friendly, asked me to write for him a testimonial that he had been hurt. This I did,

A ROUSTABOUT.

and, seeing that it would please him, I put it very strong. As soon as he had procured the precious document, with the names of witnesses appended, he seemed to be greatly relieved.

"Yesh-I feels mosh bedder," he said, "I feels nicht mehr so sick ash earlier. Dish comfort me. Mine life ish insured fur von tousand dollar for accidents. Dis hits him."

I do not believe that the famous Meander can entangle itself in such a fearful maze as the Mississippi has succeeded in getting into just above Arkinsaw City.

When about three miles in a straight line from this city (composed of a dozen or so palatial residences of planks), the knowing ones among the passengers got off and walked across the country, whiling away the intervening hour occupied by the steamer in going twelve or fifteen miles around.

If patience is a virtue, the dwellers upon the banks of this stream have this redeeming quality in large measure. They will sit patiently for hours in a dug-out or on the fencecorners, waiting for the boat, and then, just before she comes in sight, will accept an invitation to go back in the country a mile or two, to get a drink, and thus will be in good season for the next boat. "What's the use of bein' in a hurry. If I can get suthin' good, I goin' to get it. All I live for is to eat and drink," a prosperous individual told me; and he considered himself about the measure of a man. By the way, you see some fine specimens of physical manhood on the banks. I remember a man who came aboard one night from a small landing, dressed in blue jeans, but with a god-like form and face.

And so, amid a leisurely monotony which is relieved by oddities, we arrive in due time at New Orleans.