ally; flowers come up and bloom
spontaneously. The distinguished citizens wear buck-skin trowsers,
coon-skin hats, buffalo-skin overcoats, and alligator-hide boots. Old
San Jacinto walked into the Senate last winter--fresh from home--with a
panther-skin vest, and bear-skin breeches on! Great country, that
Texas.

A Yankee in a Pork-house

"Conscience sakes! but hain't they got a lot of pork here?" said a
looker-on in Quincy Market, t'other day.

"Pork!" echoes a decidedly _Green_ Mountain biped, at the elbow of the
first speaker.

"Yes, I vow it's quite as-_tonishing_ how much pork is sold here and
_et_ up by somebody," continued the old gent.

"Et up?" says the other, whose physical structure somewhat resembled a
fat lath, and whose general _contour_ made it self-evident that _he_ was
not given much to frivolity, jauntily-fitting coats and breeches, or
perfumed and "fixed up" barberality extravagance.

"Et up!" he thoughtfully and earnestly repeated, as his hands rested in
the cavity of his trousers pockets, and his eyes rested upon the first
speaker.

"You wern't never in Cincinnatty, _I_ guess?"

"No, I never was," says the old gent.

"Never was? Well, I cal'lated not. Never been _in_ a Pork-haouse?"

"Never, unless you may call this a Pork-house?"

"The-is? Pork-haouse?" says Yankee. "Well, I reckon not--don't
begin--'tain't nothin' like--not a speck in a puddle to a Pork-haouse--a
Cincinnatty Pork-haouse!"

"I've hearn that they carry on the Pork business pooty stiff, out
there," says the old gentleman.

"Pooty stiff? Good gravy, but don't they? 'Pears to me, I knew yeou
somewhere?" says our Yankee.

"You might," cautiously answers the old gent.

"'Tain't 'Squire Smith, of Maoun-Peelier?"

"N'no, my name's Johnson, sir."

"Johnson? Oh, in the tin business?"

"Oh, no, I'm not _in_ business, at all, sir," was the reply.

"Not? Oh,"--thoughtfully echoes Yankee. "Wall, no matter, I thought
p'raps yeou were from up aour way--I'm from near Maoun-Peelier--State of
Varmount."

"Ah, indeed?"

"Ya-a-s."

"Fine country, I'm told?" says the old gent.

"Ye-a-a-s, 'tis;"--was the abstracted response of Yankee, who seemed to
be revolving something in his own mind.

"Raise a great deal of wool--fine sheep country?"

"'Tis great on sheep. But sheep ain't nothin' to the everlasting hog
craop!"

"Think not, eh?" said the old gent.

"I swow _teu_ pucker, if I hain't seen more hogs killed,