"The rumseller sat by his bar-room fire,
With his feet as high as his head, and higher,"

and a moment after I was strongly tempted to give the prolonged, stentorian shout of "B-o-o-t-s!" familiar to ears theatrical. Pardon the irreverence, O decorous Tribune! for there is such a woful dearth of amusement in this solemn, funereal city, that one waxes desperate. To complete my inventory, many members are reading this morning's Mississippian, or The New Orleans Picayune or Delta, and the rest listen to the one who is addressing the Chair.

They impress you by their pastoral aspect—the absence of urban costumes and postures. Their general bucolic appearance would assure you, if you did not know it before, that there are not many large cities in the State of Mississippi. Your next impression is one of wonder at their immense size and stature. Of them the future historian may well say: "There were giants in those days."

All around you are broad-shouldered, herculean-framed, well-proportioned men, who look as if a laugh from them would bring this crazy old capitol down about their ears, and a sneeze, shake the great globe itself. The largest of these Mississippi Anakim is a gigantic planter, clothed throughout in blue homespun.

J.P. Davis Ed

The Mississippi Convention Viewed by a Tribune Correspondent.

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