saw the winners dividing the spoil, and the
poor shorn "greenhorn," leaning over the
back of their chairs, staring intently at the
money.

The notes were deliberately spread out,
one after another. Those which the loser had
staked were new, fresh from the press, he
said, and they were sorted into a heap distinct
from the rest. They were two-dollar, three-
dollar, and five-dollar notes, from the Indiana
Bank, and the Bank of Columbus, in Ohio.

"I say, Ned, I don't think these notes are
good," said one of the winners, and examined
them.

"I wish they were 'nt, and I 'd crow," cried
out the loser, very chop-fallen, at his elbow.

This simple speech lulled the suspicions of
the counter, and he resumed his counting. At
last, as he took up the last note, and eyeing
it keenly, he exclaimed, in a most emphatic
manner, " I'll be hanged if they are genuine!
They are forged!"

"No, they an't! " replied the loser, quite as
emphatically.

A very opprobrious epithet was now hurled
at the latter. He, without more ado, knocked
down the speaker at a blow, capsized the
table, which put out the lights, and, in the
next instant, darted out of the window, whilst
a bullet, fired from a pistol, cracked the pane
of glass over his head. He had leaped into
the small court-yard, with a wooden paling
round it. The winners dashed towards the
door, but found that the "green one" had
secured it.

When the three worthies were convinced
that the door would not yield to their efforts,
and when they heard their "victim" galloping
away, they gave a laugh at the trick played
them, and returned to the table.

"Strike a light, Bill, and let's pick up
what notes have fallen. I have nearly the
whole lot in my pocket."

The light soon made its appearance.

"What! None on the floor? Capital; I
think I must have them all in my pocket,
then:" saying which, he drew out the notes,
and laid them on the table.

"Fire and Furies! These are the forged
notes! The rascal has whipped up the other
heap!"

While all this was going on I stepped
towards the window, but had not stood there
long, before I heard the clanking hoofs of a
horse beyond the paling, and a shout wafted
into the room—"Sloped for Texas!"

The worst part of the story remains to be
told: it was my horse on which the rogue
was now galloping off.

RIO DE JANEIRO AND ITS FEATHER-FLOWERS.

WE derive the following Chip from the
manuscript journal of a traveller:—

On we rustled, steadily passing and answering
the hail from the forts that crown the
rock, and emerged into San Sebastian Bay.

What a scene! never shall I forget it. An
inland lake, some sixty miles in circumference,
stretched before me, studded with ships of
every clime. Amid the Stripes and Stars of the
Great Republic; the Tricolor of the royal
sailor, Joinville; my heart warmed to the
British Union Jack beneath the broad pendant
of an admiral. Hundreds of canoes manned
by negroes in scanty costume, glided swiftly
over the placid waters, plying between the
ships and shore; in front rose the white
city of Rio de Janeiro. Churches and
convents, and tall warehouses, backed up by
mountains, all covered with the richest tropical
vegetation, save where the bare peak of
Corovado towered above all. A sky of that
clear intense blue only seen in the tropics,
framed this matchless panorama. The
quarantine boat, pulled by twelve negroes in white
canvas shirts without sleeves, and drawers
reaching to the knee only, first reached and
examined us.

On landing, it was impossible not to be
struck by the crowds of black boatmen,
childish, submissive, and gay; the Europeans
with ghastly white faces, white broad-
brimmed Panama hats, white jackets, shirts,
and trowsers, hurrying about rapidly and
earnestly among the languid deliberation of
the tawny Brazilians.

Threading my way through a wilderness of
hogsheads of sugar, and bags of coffee, I entered
a long street of lofty white houses and green
jalouss, undrained, ill-paved, and never
cleaned. Before I had gone many yards, I
was startled by a strange compound of
sounds of rattling, singing, and groaning;
from a cross street, prancing round the
corner, came a hideous half-naked black; in
his hand he held aloft a sort of gigantic
wicker hour-glass full of stones, shaking and
waving this, like a drum-major in front of his
regiment, in regular time to a song, part
words, part grunts, part groans: he led the
way capering, fifty negroes followed in single
file, some more hideous, barbarous, and
unearthly than any I ever before beheld; each
carried on his back a huge bag of coffee, and
all joined in an unearthly chorus. I stood
transfixed with amazement until they
disappeared like a procession in a pantomime;
surprise, disgust, horror, pity for these poor
beasts of burden, overcame me. Next I
encountered an enormous negress, a perfect
mountain of black flesh, in a blue cotton robe,
with a red and yellow cotton handkerchief
round her head, garnished with large-headed
gilt pins and strings of many-coloured beads
as a necklace. She carried a basket full of
tempting fruit. Smiling the good-humoured
smile peculiar to Africans, she invited me by
signs to select something from a stock of
oranges and bananas. Oh, after a sea-voyage,
salt meat and no fresh vegetable for many
weeks, what a treat it was! The oranges,
full of juice, and cold as ice, were more
delicious than any thing I ever before tasted;