those of many a Texan. He had been a thriving
coach-builder at St. Louis, but getting together
some money, and pining for a less dependent and
more daring life, he resolved to settle in Texas—
the land of all American outlaws and runaway
bankrupts, as well as of all the fiery spirits that
require more elbow-room, and brook no control.
He had married well in Texas, and now lived near
his father-in-law, an old settler, and was lord of
much land and many cattle. Both Amos and
Ichabod were Texan Rangers, and bound on the
first call to "boot, saddle, to horse, and away,"
if the Indians were out on the foray.

The visit of the two brothers to England was
characteristic of the Texan mind. They had
started from Hewston two months ago with
a string of horses for sale. They had then
pushed on for a few days' pleasuring in New
York. There, one afternoon, seeing a ship starting
for England, they determined suddenly, without
writing home, to sell their traps and pack
up a chest and go to see " the old country" for
six weeks. These six weeks had been spent, as
far as I could learn, in tavern evenings at Woolwich,
at cheap tavern concerts, and in dancing
revelries at Rosherville Gardens. Their impressions
of London were confined to the Bank of
England, the Lord Mayor, the two Horse Guards,
the Parliament House, Robson, and Madame
Tussaud's. Their purchases consisted of some
dozen knives (the pincers-and-tweezers fat-bodied
knife), presents for Texan friends, and some small
bundles of gay silk handkerchiefs and merino
waistcoats—articles which are very dear in
America. On fine days it was Amos's delight to take
out these knives, one by one, name the price,
unwrap its folding, and make it glitter in the
sun, as he described how Uncle Sam or Cousin
Zach would appreciate the " ripping" bit of English
cutlery. As for our English hats, clothes,
and boots, Amos held them in sovereign
contempt as clumsy, barbarous, and ill-made.

One day after luncheon, when the sea-billiards
or round disks of wood were sliding over
the deck, when the emigrants were dozing,
and the passengers reading, or promenading
with luxurious persistency, I and Amos got
together in the changes of the promenade, and
fell a talking about the wars of the Texans with
the Comanchee Indians.

Amos explained to me that the Rangers were
on horseback on the slightest rumour of Indians.
Dress? Blue Flewjens! just a red shirt or a
blue poncho, and leather pants; a pannikin for
cooking at the saddle, and the lasso or lariat
by its side; the five-shooter in the belt, bullets,
patches, and caps in the belt, and the rifle at the
back; generally, too, a bowie-knife in the waistband,
and then " skinned boots."

"Skinned boots?"

Yes. Boots with the trousers tucked into
them. The blanket on the horse served to sleep
on if they camped out.

"Nothing else?"

Yes. A tickler.

"A tickler?"

A bottle of rye-whisky in our holsters, to
wash one's liver with of a morning after a hard
sleep on the bare perary, after a race after the
darned Injuns, or a wet night at the camp fire.
Just a horn-full does, and a Ranger never stirs
without his tickler; it is his meat and drink on
the perary.

It was a beautiful afternoon, and the ropes
were casting dark dancing shadows, such as
branches, before the leaves come, cast in the
spring sunshine. The brass binding of the
capstan shone like gold. The sailors were busy
with the sails, and cheery voices ran about
from cross-tree to deck, and from deck to cross-
tree. As for the emigrants, they were all
crowded round a circle in the forecastle, where
an old man-of-war's-man was playing at single-
stick with a broken-down South American
gambler, who was the great authority among the
poorer passengers. I need not say that pleasant
flirtations, and gambols of children, and the
cozy chat of cronies, enlivened the quarter-deck
as we sat. Amos and I on the wheel-house
looked over the cold, sullen, blue Atlantic, mile
on mile, and sat and talked of the equally boundless
"perary." Amos had just been telling me
a story about a rowdy he had met on a Hudson
boat. The fellow had never been on board a
steam-boat before, and the natural impudence of
his curiosity was quickened a thousand-fold by
the novelty of all he saw. Suddenly he observed,
as the steamer began to snort and blow, the
captain seize the handles of a large wheel and
begin to bring it round, now pulling, now yielding.
The Rowdy looked for several minutes
open-mouthed, and said with a knowing, not-to-
be-put-down air,

"Wall, I guess, captain, you are a winding of
her up."

This provoked a story from me of Deaf Jim,
the prize-fighter, who, on his first steam-boat
excursion to Scotland, was holding on very ill,
with a yeasty sea, not far from the wheel. It
occurred to his sagacious mind that it was the
man at the wheel who caused the motion of the
vessel and his inconvenience; but he daren't
move; so he held on to a rope with one hand,
shaking the other at the helmsman, and crying
out, "Oh, if I could only get at him, I'd soon
tap his infernal claret for him!" And after this
episode, Amos returned to the Indians by telling
me that he had met several ladies at Hewston
who had been scalped by the Indians, but who
had since recovered, and now wore wigs.

"If they had only worn them before!" I said;
and told Amos the fine old story of the Indian
going to scalp the old officer, and his wig coming
off, and the Indian's astonishment, and the
officer's enormous advantage.

"Lord gracious!" was Amos's constant
exclamation to express pleasure and surprise.

As a fine sturdy sailor, in a blue Jersey,
fitting close as a coat of mail, passes to take his
"trick" at the wheel, we ask him when we
shall be off the Banks? And he tells us the fogs
will commence in probably about thirty hours,
if the wind holds west-sou'-west.

"O Lord!" says Amos, "how tired I am of