nd one of them said, "Heaven save you, friend!
You seem to be happy to-day."

"O yes, fair sirs," the rascal laughed,
And his voice rang free and glad;
"An idle man has so much to do
That he never has time to be sad."

"This is our man," the courier said;
"Our luck has led us aright.
I will give you a hundred ducats, friend,
For the loan of your shirt to-night."

The merry blackguard lay back on the grass,
And laughed till his face was black;
"I would do it," said he, and he roared with the fun,
"But I haven't a shirt to my back."

* * * * *

Each day to the King the reports came in
Of his unsuccessful spies,
And the sad panorama of human woes
Passed daily under his eyes.

And he grew ashamed of his useless life,
And his maladies hatched in gloom;
He opened his windows and let the air
Of the free heaven into his room.

And out he went in the world, and toiled
In his own appointed way;
And the people blessed him, the land was glad,
And the King was well and gay.

JIM BLUDSO.

BY COLONEL JOHN HAY.

Wall, no! I can't tell whar he lives,
Because he don't live, you see:
Leastways, he's got out of the habit
Of livin' like you and me.
Whar have you been for the last three years
That you haven't heard folks tell
How Jimmy Bludso passed in his checks,
The night of the _Prairie Bell?_

He weren't no saint--them engineers
Is all pretty much alike--
One wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill
And another one here, in Pike.
A keerless man in his talk was Jim,
And an awkward man in a row--
But he never funked, and he never lied,
I reckon he never knowed how.

And this was all the religion he had--
To treat his engine well;
Never be passed on the river;
To mind the Pilot's bell;
And if the _Prairie Bell_ took fire--
A thousand times he swore,
He'd hold her nozzle agin the bank
Till the last soul got ashore.

All boats has their day on the Mississip,
And her day come at last--
The _Movastar_ was a better boat,
But the _Belle_ she _wouldn't_ be passed.
A