In due time we arrived, and moored the
schooner to the Levee, as the artificially-
raised quay on the river's bank is called.
Here my connection with the little schooner
ended ; and, taking what dollars were due to
me, exchanged her fok'stle for a home at a
boarding-house, on the Levée, where they give
three meals a day, and a little room, for three
dollars a week. New Orleans, at this time—
some six years ago—was the scene of as much
debauchery and dissipation to say nothing of
worse crimes that are not included in the
list these two headings comprise—as any city
of its size in the world. My observation
was certainly confined to classes not the
wealthiest or most respectable; but that
they reflected, with increased or diminished
vividness, the vices of the higher portion of
the community, the history of New Orleans
tells plainly.

To see in every house that I entered a pack
of cards in use, and a carouse in progress; to
hear, every morning, of four, or perhaps five
bodies found dead in bye-streets; and to
be without a home or a friend, except what
my boarding-house afforded, was my lot; as
every day I walked from one end of the Levee
to another, looking at the ships, and listening
to the cheerful songs of the men at work, and
longing for a home with them.

I had paid my last week's board, and had
just twenty-five cents left in the world, when
I turned out after breakfast for my usual
walk.—"Shall I have a cigar or no? "I
pondered while passing my usual place for that
indulgence. "Yes, I will—something will
turn up to-day, I feel sure;" so I invested
a portion of my last coin; and walked along,
puffing with as much satisfaction and
complacency as if I had owned a tobacco plantation.

"Hallo! Where did you spring from? "
roared a voice, suddenly startling my
meditations.

I looked up;—before I had time to answer,
my hand was seized by a man whose face
seemed familiar to me, though I could not, for
the life of me, tell where I had seen it.

"Reckon you don't know me—eh?" added
the stranger, observing the look of doubtful
recognition I glanced at him. "Know you,
though—you look just the same—may be a
little better, in a straw hat and blue frock,
than you used in your gold band and buttons,
aboard the 'Jumna' Indiaman."

"Why, bless my soul, it's Myers!"

"Guess it is—what's left of him, leastways.
And what are you doing here in this
rig, if I may make so bold?"

"Why, I'm loooking for a ship, Myers."

"Well, be darned if this don't beat
all! Come in here, and have something to
drink—yes, you must. Well by gracious!"
continued he, lugging me along; "I've seen
some queer starts since I was young
gentlemen's steward in the old 'Jumna,' but this
beats everything by chalks."

We required sundry glasses of bottled beer
to wash away enough of my friend Myers'
astonishment and delight, to permit him to
talk rationally; and then I ascertained that
he was captain's steward of a vessel called the
"Bohemian," on board of which there was
not a soul besides the captain and himself.
She was lying at the opposite bank of the
river, at "Algiers," preparatory to going into
dry dock for repairs.

"He's a first-rate sort of old man,"
continued Myers; "and there's a capital chance
for you if you like; for he's lookin' out
for a ship-keeper—so say the word, and I'll
be off and speak to him at once."

"I am very much obliged to you, I said."

"Stop here till I come back," cried Myers,
running off; and in half an hour in he came
again, out of breath. "It's all right—I
was just in time; you can come aboard
today, he says—the regular port wages—and
all you've got to do is to order yourself
about."

I shook Myers by the hand, and thanked
him cordially for what was the greatest
service any one could have then done me.

"But I can't understand how it is you're
here in this fashion," continued he; "a young
gentleman as used to sport gold lace, ain't no
business to be rigged out in tarpaulin."

"Why, you see, Myers—to make a long
story short—I found that wearing a fine
jacket would never teach me to be a good
sailor; so I thought I had better begin at the
right end of the ship at once; and, after a
considerable deal of knocking about, I got into a
Yankee craft, and was discharged only the
other day."

"Well, I believe you are just about right,
sir. Flashing about in them buttons ain't
the way to make a navigator; and they pays
pretty dear for it, too, I reckon!"

"Now then, Myers, we will go on board the
' Bohemian,' if you are ready."

On our way across the river to Algiers, in
the little ferry-steamer that is continually
plying, Myers told me the history of his
wanderings since we had been shipmates—
when I was one of the inmates of the so-called
midshipman's berth of the "Jumna" East
Indiaman, and he was our steward—but there
was nothing in it beyond the usual ups and
downs of a sailor's life.

The Algiers side of the river is devoted
entirely to yards and workshops, where everything
connected with the fitting and repairing
of ships and their rigging is carried on.
Through this labyrinth of half-made masts,
ropes, chains, and old boats, we made our way;
and at length arrived opposite an old vessel,
with her topmasts struck, that was lying
grinding rustily against the quay.

"Here we are," said Myers, stepping across
the gangway-board. Following him, I found
myself on the deck of the "Bohemian."
She was an old craft; the seams of her
narrow planks were gaping with age, and
the paint on her side was musty and