nian, Jerome Davis-he of the celebrated ranchsticks by me like a twin brother, although I fear that in my hot frenzy I more than once anathematized his kindly eyes. Nurses and watchers, Gentile and Mormon, volunteer their services in hoops, and rare wines are sent to me from all over the city, which, if I can't drink, the venerable and excellent Thomas can, easy.

I lay there in this wild, broiling way for nearly two weeks, when one morning I woke up with my head clear and an immense plaster on my stomach. The plaster had operated. I was so raw that I could by no means say to Dr. Williamson, Well done, thou good and faithful servant. I wished he had lathered me before he plastered me. I was fearfully weak. I was frightfully thin. With either one of my legs. you could have cleaned the stem of a meerschaum pipe. My backbone had the appearance of a clothesline with a quantity of English walnuts strung upon it. My face was almost gone. My nose was so sharp that I didn't dare stick it into other people's business for fear it would stay there. But by borrowing my agent's overcoat I succeeded in producing a shadow.

I have been looking at Zion all day, and my feet are sore and my legs are weary. I go back to the Salt Lake House and have a talk with landlord

Townsend about the State of Maine.

He came from

that bleak region, having skinned his infantile eyes in York County. He was at Nauvoo, and was forced to sell out his entire property there for $50. He has thrived in Utah, however, and is much thought of by the Church. He is an Elder, and preaches occasionally. He has only two wives. I hear lately that he has sold his property for $25,000 to Brigham Young, and gone to England to make converts. How impressive he may be as an expounder of the Mormon gospel, I don't know. His beef-steaks and chickenpies, however, were first-rate. James and I talk about Maine, and cordially agree that so far as pine boards and horse-mackerel are concerned it is equalled by few and excelled by none. There is no place like Milan, very justly ob

home, as Clara, the Maid of serves; and while J. Townsend would be unhappy in Maine, his heart evidently beats back there now and then.

I heard the love of home oddly illustrated in Oregon, one night, in a country bar-room. Some welldressed men, in a state of strong drink, were boasting of their respective places of nativity.

"I," said one, "was born in Mississippi, where the sun ever shines and the magnolias bloom all the happy year round.”

"And I," said another, "was born in KentuckyKentucky, the home of impassioned oratory: the

home of Clay the State of splendid women, of gallant men!"

"And I,” said another, "was born in Virginia, the home of Washington: the birthplace of statesmen : the State of chivalric deeds and noble hospitality!"

"And I," said a yellow-haired and sallow-faced man, who was not of this party at all, and who had been quietly smoking a short black pipe by the fire during their magnificent conversation-" and I was born in the garden spot of America."

"Where is that?" they said.

"Skeouhegan, Maine!" he replied; "kin I sell you

a razor strop?"

XI.

"I AM HERE."

THERE is no mistake about that, and there is a good prospect of my staying here for some time to come. The snow is deep on the ground, and more is falling.

The doctor looks glum, and speaks of his ill-starred countryman Sir J. Franklin, who went to the Arctic once too much.

A good thing happened down here the other day," said a miner from New Hampshire to me. "A man of Boston dressin' went through there, and at one of the stations there wasn't any mules. Says the man. who was fixed out to kill in his Boston dressin', 'Where's them mules?' Says the driver, Them mules is into the sage-brush. You go catch 'emthat's wot you do.' Says the man of Boston dressin',

Oh no!' Says the driver, 'Oh yes!' and he took his long coach whip and licked the man of Boston dressin' till he went and caught them mules. How does that strike you as a joke?”

It didn't strike me as much of a joke to pay a

hundred and seventy-five dollars in gold fare, and then be horse-whipped by stage-drivers, for declining to chase mules. But people's ideas of humor differ, just as people's ideas differ in regard to shrewdness— which "reminds me of a little story." Sitting in a New England country store one day, I overheard the following dialogue between two brothers:

66

Say, Bill, wot you

of yourn ?"

done with that air sorrel mare

"Sold her," said William, with a smile of satisfac

tion.

"Wot'd you git?"

"Hund'd an' fifty dollars, cash deown!"

"Show! Hund'd an' fifty for that kickin' spavin'd critter? Who'd you sell her to?"

'Sold her to mother!"

"Wot?" exclaimed brother No. 1, "did you railly sell that kickin' spavin'd critter to mother? Wall, you air a shrewd one!”

A Sensation-Arrival by the Overland Stage of two Missouri girls, who had come unescorted all the way through. They are going to Nevada territory to join their father. They are pretty, but, merciful heavens! how they throw the meat and potatoes down their throats! This is the first squar' meal we've had since we left Rocky Thompson's," said the eldest. Then, addressing herself to me, she said"Air you the literary man?”

E