ith the Indians, and running the risk of losing my scalp,
in Minnesota; building frame shanties out of green lumber for
lodgers, at a dollar a head, at Winona; and running a restaurant,
saloon, billiard and keno room at Dubuque, Iowa. I was kept pretty
busy looking after and attending to my different branches of
business, and I divided my time between them.

At one time while I was in Dubuque looking after my restaurant,
saloon, billiard and keno rooms, I met a robust, rosy-cheeked young
man, who had come out West seeking his fortune in the show business.
He came into my place and introduced himself, as he was a total
stranger in those parts. I took quite a liking to the good-looking
young man, and I told him to make my place his home while he remained
in our town. He thanked me for my kindness (for in those days I
was kind), and said he would be pleased if I would assist him in
advertising his show. They did not have such large, handsome show-
bills to draw the crowds (to the bill-boards, I mean) in those
days, as they have now; but this young showman knew a thing or two,
so he adopted the plan that is largely practiced by our minstrel
troupes at this late day. He got some of us ordinary-looking chaps
to show him the town--I don't mean like it is done in these days.
He wanted us to walk around all the nice streets, so he could see
the people, and so the girls could see him. We did it; and the
result was, all the girls in that place were at the show the first
night. I got all the boys to go over and give the young fellow a
lift; and when he left the town, he was much better fixed financially
than when he landed. All the girls (and some of the boys) were
sorry to see him leave. He thanked me for the favors (more especially
for the one of showing him the town), and he has not forgotten them
to this day, for we often speak of the old times out West; but he
insists that it is not near forty years ago. But I know why he
don't want me to give dates. He need not fear, for I will not tell
who the good looking, rosy-cheeked boy was that I met in Dubuque
about forty years ago; and no one would ever guess, for at that
time he was not running a Grand Opera House--and, "by Joe" (Bijou),
I don't believe he ever expected to.

CANADA BILL.

Canada Bill was a character one might travel the length and breadth
of the land and never find his match, or run across his equal.
Imagine a medium-sized, chicken-headed, tow-haired