ON THE MISSISSIPPI*

CHAPTER XLVITI.
SUGAK AND POSTAGE.
ONE day, on the street, I encountered the man whom, of all man, 1
most wished to see—Hoi-ace Bixby; formerly pilot under me—or
rather, over me—now captain of the great steamer * City of Baton
Bouge,' the latest and swiftest addition to the Anchor Line. The
same slender figure, the same tight curls, the same springy step, the
same alertness, the same decision of eye and answering decision of
hand, the same erect military hearing ; not an inch gained or lost in
girth, not an ounce gained or lost in weight, not a hair turned. It is
a curious thing, to leave a man thirty-five years old, and come back
at the end cf twenty-one years and find him still only thirty-five. I
have not had an experience of this kind before, I believe Theitt
were some crow's-feet, but they counted for next to nothing, since
they were inconspicuous.
His boat was just in. I had been waiting several days for her,
purposing to return to St. Louis in her. The captain and I joined a
party of ladies and gentlemen, guests of Major Wood, and went down
the river fifty-four miles, in a swift tug, to ex-Governor Warmoutk's
sugar plantation. Strung along below the city, were a number of
decayed, ram-shaekly, superannuated old steamboats, not one of
which had I ever seen before. They had all been built, and worn
ont, and thrown aside, since I was here last. This gives one a
realising sense of the frailness of a Mississippi boat and the briefness
of its life.
Six miles below town a fat and battered brick chimney, sticking
above the magnolias and live-oaks, was pointed out as the monument
erected by an appreciative nation to celebrate the battle of New