y strong cables to the bank, formed an
excellent floating wharf; while its spacious deck, cabins, and saloons,
served as a storehouse for all sorts of merchandise. It was, in fact,
used both as a landing and warehouse, and was known as the "wharf-boat."

It was late,--nearly midnight,--as I stepped aboard the wharf-boat.
Stragglers from the town, who may have had business there, had all gone
away, and the owner of the store-boat was himself absent. A drowsy
negro, his _locum tenens_, was the only human thing that offered itself
to my eyes. The lower deck of the boat was tenanted by this individual,
who sat behind a counter that enclosed one corner of the apartment.
Upon this counter stood a pair of scales, with weights, a large ball of
coarse twine, a rude knife, and such other implements as may be seen in
a country "store;" and upon shelves at the back were ranged bottles of
coloured liquors, glasses, boxes of hard biscuit, "Western reserve"
cheeses, kegs of rancid butter, plugs of tobacco, and bundles of
inferior cigars,--in short, all the etceteras of a regular "grocery."
The remaining portion of the ample room was littered with merchandise,
packed in various forms. There were boxes, barrels, bags, and bales;
some on their way up-stream, that had come by New Orleans from distant
lands, while others were destined downward: the rich product of the
soil, to be borne thousands of miles over the wide Atlantic. With these
various packages every part of the floor was occupied, and I looked in
vain for a spot on which to stretch myself. A better light might have
enabled me to discover such a place; but the tallow candle, guttering
down the sides of an empty champagne-bottle, but dimly lit up the
confusion. It just sufficed to guide me to the only occupant of the
place, upon whose sombre face the light faintly flickered.

"Asleep, uncle?" I said, approaching him.

A gruff reply from an American negro is indeed a rarity, and never given
to a question politely put. The familiar style of my address touched a
sympathetic chord in the bosom of the "darkie," and a smile of
satisfaction gleamed upon his features as he made answer. Of course he
was _not_ asleep. But my idle question was only meant as the prelude to
further discourse.

"Ah, Gollys! it be massa Edward. Uncle Sam know'd you, massa Edward.
You good to brack folk. Wat can do uncle Sam for massa?"

"I am going down to the city, and have come here to wait f