but the big lubber said, "That will do."

In ten minutes after I knocked him down we were drinking wine
together, and no one would have though we ever had a difficulty.
He was so big that he thought he could bluff me; but he did not
know that I was about the worst man in that part of the country at
that time to bluff at any game, more especially at the game of
fight--for I would rather have fought than not, and I did not think
there was a man living in those days that could whip me in a rough-
and-tumble.

We had several bottles of wine on the strength of our little
misunderstanding. The result was, we were all feeling pretty good
and liberal, and I do believe we opened 200 bottles of wine before
2 o'clock.

There were about seventy-five teams hitched around the hotel, and
I knew when their owners started home they would get to racing on
the shell road, and some of the horses and buggies would get hurt;
so I told a stable-boy to put my horse up, and I would wait until
morning. A few of the others did the same thing, but the balance
started, and some of them were so drunk that they could not see
the road, although it was as white as marble. The next morning
after I had eaten my breakfast I had my team brought out, and
started for the city. The wine of the night previous had done its
work, for I saw seven buggies, or parts of them, strewn along the
road. Dueane had run into the toll-gate, and came near killing
himself and his horse.

Wine is a great worker when one gets too much of it inside. It
gave employment to the buggy-makers, and put me to bed on that
occasion; and I was glad of it when I saw the wrecks it had made
of my boon companions of the night before.

A MILE DASH.

About the time referred to in the preceding story, the livery
business was very good in New Orleans, and some of the livery-men
kept quite fast horses, which they would let out to persons they
knew would not abuse them. My old friend Dick Barnum was running
a stable in those days, and is in the same business to-day; but he
is getting old now, like myself, and I suppose he goes to church
regularly every Sunday instead of going out to the race-track, as
he and I did twenty-five years ago.

I was at Dick's stable one day when he was feeling pretty good,
and he began bragging on a horse that he had, and which he called
"Tom Parker." I let him blow for some time, when I said to him:

"Dick, you don't weigh more than 140 pounds, an