ide--then only at certain hours.

I was not one of the privileged. Out of the hundred and odd passengers
on board, I did not know a soul, male or female; and I had the happiness
or misfortune of being equally unknown to them. Under these
circumstances my entry into the ladies' cabin would have been deemed an
intrusion; and I sat down in the main saloon, and occupied myself in
studying the physiognomy and noting the movements of my
fellow-passengers.

They were a mixed throng. Some were wealthy merchants, bankers, money
or commission brokers from New Orleans, with their wives and daughters,
on their annual migration to the north, to escape from the yellow fever,
and indulge in the more pleasant epidemic of life at a fashionable
watering-place. There were corn and cotton-planters from the
up-country, on their return home, and storekeepers from the up-river
towns; boatmen who, in jean trousers and red flannel shirts, had pushed
a "flat" two thousand miles down stream, and who were now making the
back trip in shining broadcloth and snow-white linen. What "lions"
would these be on getting back to their homes about the sources of Salt
River, the Cumberland, the Licking, or the Miami! There were Creoles,
too--old wine-merchants of the French quarter--and their families; the
men distinguished by a superabundance of ruffles, plaited pantaloons,
shining jewellery, and light-coloured cloth boots.

There was a sprinkling of jauntily-dressed clerks, privileged to leave
New Orleans in the dull season; and there were some still more
richly-dressed gentlemen, with the finest of cloth in their coats, the
whitest of linen and raffles, the brightest of diamonds in their studs,
and the most massive of finger-rings. These last were "sportsmen."
They had already fathered around a table in the "smoking-saloon," and
were fingering a span new pack of cards--the implements of their
peculiar industry.

Among these I observed the fellow who had so loudly challenged me to bet
upon the boat-race. He had passed me several times, regarding me with a
glance that appeared anything but friendly.

Our close friend the steward was seated in the saloon. You must not
suppose that his holding the office of steward, or overseer, disentitled
him to the privileges of the first-class cabin. There is no "second
saloon" on board an American steamer. Such a distinction is not known
so far west as the Mississippi.

The overseers of plantations are u