“Bravo!” exclaimed his old friend, “you will have to get elected from some of the Western states, and set about cleaning the Augean stable.”
“Not I,” answered John. “It's too dirty a job, and besides, the sovereign people claim it as their peculiar privilege, let them smell it out for themselves.”
Discussing thus, things political, they jogged on to their place of parting, without incident worthy of noting by the way. John still held to his desire of visiting the Mississippi country, and his old friend insisted on paying his expenses to Cincinnati, our hero easily yielded to his proposition, with the understanding that it was to be paid when they again met.
“I may one day see you in Cleveland,” said John, “with fortune buckled on my back, and if it should be there, 'whether I will or no,' be assured I shall not cut my old friends.”
The old man laughed at the careless abandon of his young friend, insisted upon his calling upon him in Cleveland when he had become tired of strolling, and they parted with warm expressions of regard. Our hero having found a boat which drew so little water, that it would, as the captain said, “run up a tree with a drop of the element upon it,” he embarked on board, and stretching his form out in one of the state-room berths, gave liberty to his thoughts, and wandered back in memory to his childhood. Vainly did his memory search for some kindred face to dwell upon, the only semblance to such was the old shoemaker and his wife; and next to them he placed his late companion,—for he and his adopted parents were the only beings in his recollection who had ever bestowed upon him disinterested, kindly regard. He felt that he had floated like a moat in the sunbeam, whithersoever the breeze listed, having no home where he might nestle in health, or lie down in when seized by affliction—no port opened its arms to his bark, nor had it any destination—because it had no papers! but floated upon the broad wave of life the sport of fortune—and a hard fortune at that. As these thoughts stole over his heart, it became sad, and for the first time in years its fountains filled up to overflowing, and poured its burning waters over his cheeks. The future was a matter of such uncertainty, that he did not care to think upon it, nor at that moment did he care what it might bring forth—if good, well; if evil, it would be but a change from one feature of hard fortune to another. In due course of time the queen city of the west appeared in the distance, and his heart revived as he gazed upon her young greatness—hope awoke from her short slumber to urge him forward to greater efforts. On landing he sought out a printing establishment, and at his first application fortune favored him—a streak of fat was waiting for his arrival in the pork city, so throwing off his coat, he was soon clicking the type to the tune of “better days” and here we shall leave him until our next chapter.
CHAPTER II. AN ADVENTURE AMONG THE OFFICIALS.
Our hero passed about two months in the queen city, when the desire to move again attacked him, and with the impulse he shaped his way for the Hoosier state, alone, and on foot. He was in that peculiar state of mind, and pocket, which calls forth all the coolness and wisdom of the philosopher, and to strengthen him on his journey he called up to mind all those illustrious examples of his craft, who had entered strange towns barefooted, and after rose to eminence and distinctions; several of whom now figured conspicuously upon the stage of public action. Trudging along thus, now stopping by the roadside to rest and muse, again plodding onward; now weary and desponding, again cheered by the carolling of the wood songsters, he would flourish his staff with sovereign contempt for care, whistle—“While you are young, you should be gay,” and fixing his hat tighter upon his brow step out again with a republican stride. Earth had on her gayest livery, and the rich foliage of the western forests fluttered in a gentle breeze; which also fanned the brow of the solitary wanderer, as he toiled up a rising hill in his pathway. On reaching the brow of this small eminence he looked down upon a flourishing town which lay in the valley below him, and his spirits rose as he gazed upon the national flag, invitingly fluttering from the top of a snug-looking hotel.
“Huzza for the old striped bunting!” shouted John, “there is luck wherever it waves supreme, and if I don't come across a streak of fat soon, to recompense me for the long lean one I have been enjoying, then 'republics are ungrateful,' and I shall join the aristocracy and declaim against them.”