"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?"

4.11. "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, of
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 'em--that's wot YOU do.' Says the man of Boston dressin',
'Oh no!' Says the driver! 'Oh, yes!' and he took his long