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couraged. We were passing the lone shanty-boat of a river tradesman, tied up on shore, waiting for the wind 'to lay.' Chris hailed him and asked leave to boil coffee on his stove. I expected a rebuff, but the trader cordially invited us to 'walk in, gentlemen; you seem ruther fagged. Set down, set down. I seen you uns a passin' us above t'other day, but this old tortus runs night and day and gits ahead of the rabbit sometimes while you're taking a nap.' And so the loquacious old chap ran on. Glad of a rest, we stayed and drifted with him some ten or twelve miles that night, bunking on a pile of bags in a corner. To be sure the wily old fox turned our visit to his profit. He proved to us plainly, by river logic, what our experience had already shown—that we had certain cumbrous baggage that ought to be disposed of, and he bought it of us for a song, 'jest to accommodate you uns, you know; I'm allers a-buyin' a lot o' no-account truck, jest to help folks out.' Very likely! But the information he gave proved so valuable, his bacon tasted so good, that night spent with him drifting and resting was so