of players,
leaving behind them the Chariot of the Muses.

At the time of their voyage down the Mississippi "the science of
piloting was not a thing of the dead and pathetic past," and wonderful
accounts were written of the autocrats of the wheel and the
characteristics of the ever-changing, ever-capricious river.
"Accidents!" says an early steamboat captain. "Oh, sometimes we run
foul of a snag or sawyer, occasionally collapse a boiler and blow up
sky-high. We get used to these little matters and don't mind them."

None of these trifling incidents was experienced by the players,
however, who thereby lost, according to the Munchausens of the period,
half of the pleasure and excitement of the trip. In fact, nothing more
stirring than taking on wood from a flatboat alongside, or throwing a
plank ashore for a passenger, varied the monotony of the hour, and,
approaching their destination, the last day on the "floating palace"
dawned serenely, uneventfully.

The gray of early morn became suffused with red, like the flush of
life on a pallid cheek. Arrows of light shot out above the trees; an
expectant hush pervaded the forest. Inside the cabin a sleepy negro
began the formidable task of sweeping. This duty completed, he shook a
bell, which feature of his daily occupation the darky entered into
with diabolical energy, and soon the ear-rending discord brought the
passengers on deck. But hot cornbread, steaks and steaming coffee
speedily restored that equanimity of temper disturbed by the morning's
clangorous summons.

Breakfast over, some of the gentlemen repaired to the boiler deck for
the enjoyment of cigars, the ladies surrounded the piano in the cabin,
while a gambler busied himself in getting into the good graces of a
young fellow who was seeing the world. Less lonely became the shores,
as the boat, panting as if from long exertion, steamed on. Carrolton
and Lafayette were left behind. Now along the banks stretched the
showy houses and slave plantations of the sugar planters; and soon,
from the deck of the boat, the dome of the St. Charles and the
cathedral towers loomed against the sky.

Beyond a mile or so of muddy water and a formidable fleet of old
hulks, disreputable barges and "small fry broad-horns," lay
Algiers, graceless itself as the uninviting foreground; looking out
contemplatively from its squalor at the inspiring view of Nouvelle
Orleans, with the freighters, granaries and steamboats, three
stories h