un out of a hoss's huf, and this, d'ye see, is a
tooth-pick;" putting it to immediate use by way of explanation. At the
table he talked long and loud upon the rinderpest, and other kindred and
appetizing topics. "I've been a butcher myself," he would say. "I've cut
up hundreds o' critters. What part of an ox, now, d'ye think that was
taken from?" pointing to the joint before him, and addressing a refined,
delicate-faced old gentleman across the table, who only stared in silent
horror.

But even the "Cattle Man" was less marked in his peculiarities than the
"Jersey Man," a melancholy-eyed, curly-wigged individual from the Jersey
shore, who wore his slouched hat upon one side of his head, and looked
as though he were doing the rakish lover in some fifth-rate theatre; who
was "in the musical line myself; Smith and Jones's organs, you know;
that's me;" and who, being neither Smith nor Jones, we naturally
concluded must be the organ. He recited poetry in a loud tone at
daybreak, and discussed politics for hours together, arguing in the most
satisfactory manner with the principles, and standing most willingly
upon the platform, of everybody. He assumed a patronizing air towards
the Mowing Machine Man. "Well, you _are_ a green Yankee," he would say;
"lucky for you that you fell in with me;" to which the latter only
chuckled, "That's so." He had much to tell of himself, of his
grandmother, and of his friends generally, who came to see him off;
"felt awfully, too," which we could hardly credit; rolled out snatches
of sentimental songs, iterating and reiterating that his bark was on the
sea,--and a most disagreeable one we found it; wished we had a piano on
board, to which we murmured, "The Lord forbid;" and hoped we should soon
be well enough to join him in the "White Squall." He was constantly
reminding us that we were a very happy family party, so "congenial," and
evidently agreed with the Mowing Machine Man, who said, "They're the
best set of fellows I ever see. They'll tell ye anything."

We numbered a clergyman among us, of course. "Always a head wind when
there's a parson aboard," say the sailors. So this poor dyspeptic little
man bore the blame of our constant adverse winds. Nothing more bigoted,
more fanatical than his religious belief could be imagined. You read the
terrors of the Lord in his eye; and yet he won respect, and something
more, by his consistency and zeal. Earnestness will tell. "The parson
will have great