heart passed upward out of the bowels of the earth into the pleasant sunshine.

Major Campton is the name of a noted character, who once resided at Galena. He is a powerfully built man, who has spent his whole life among the wildest of mortals, and whose various occupations have caused him to be well known from the banks of the Ohio to the shores of Lake Superior, where he is now figuring in the copper line, having made and lost a fortune at Galena. A natural consequence of his peculiar experience is, that he perfectly understands the art of fighting: though he is so much of a gentleman, that he could not be called a bully.

It so happened that, while travelling in his own conveyance, and accompanied by his wife, during a pleasant day last summer he came to a halt on the margin of a certain river, and shouted for the ferryman. In due time the indispensable gentleman was ready, and while inquiring the news of the day, he was suddenly smitten by a new thought, and dropping the painter of the old scow, looked inquiringly into the Major’s face, when the following dialogue ensued:—

“Stranger, isn’t your name Major Campton?”

“Yes, sir, it is. What business have you to transact with me?”

“You are the very man I have long been wanting to see, for you must know that I am the Bully of the north.”

“Indeed! What do I care for that?”

“I’ve hearn tell that you are a famous fighter, and I should like to have you give me a thrashing if you can.”

“Why, man, I have nothing against you, and do not want to make a fool of myself.”

“But you shall, though, my honey; and you don’t cross this ferry until it is decided who is cock of the walk.”

Remonstrance on the part of the Major was all in vain, the ferryman was determined to fight. The Major held a short consultation with his lady, who was of course in great trouble, but taking off his coat and unbuttoning his straps, he stept out upon a grassy spot and waited for the ferryman’s attack. To shorten a long story, the fight was a tedious one, and ended in the total defeat of the challenger, who presented in himself, after the struggle, an admirable picture of a misspent life. He had strength enough left, however, to ferry the Champion over the river; and when the Major offered to pay the accustomed fare, the latter held not out his hand, but making a rude bow, he exclaimed;—“Not a dime, sir: good afternoon.”