hool how my teacher used to serve me
when I was a bad boy and would annoy the other boys. So I told
the scholars we would take a recess for about twenty minutes. They
all threw down their books, and most of them went out to play.
During recess I walked up to the bad boy and said:

"You are a very bad boy to come in here and annoy my pupils, and
you deserve a whipping."

He replied: "You are not man enough to whip me."

That was all I wanted him to say; so I let fly and gave him a good
one on the jaw, and then I kept it up, until he cried worse than
I ever did when I went to school. He got out of that school room
faster than he came in, and then I called order and went on with
my duties just as if nothing had happened out of the regular order.

I remained in Portage City for some time. My pupils liked me and
paid their tuition promptly. Some of them paid much more than they
could well afford, but they did it voluntarily. I went from Portage
to Madison, where I had a good game, but I had to whip a fellow
the second day, and in fact I had one or more fights in every town
I went to; for there is nearly always some big bully in a town or
city that has whipped some one, and he thinks that every one is
afraid of him, and he can do just as he pleases; but they found
out that they could not run me on my keno business.

A BULL FIGHT.

The steamer _John Walsh_ was on an upward trip, two days out from
New Orleans. A crowd of gentlemen were gathered about the bar,
punishing wine at $5 a bottle. With flushed faces, jocund laughter,
and the incessant pop of the champagne corks, the time flew unheeded
past. The barkeeper smiled when at the little window of the bar
the ebony head of a stalwart negro appeared.

"Say, boss, gimme some whisky."

Everybody turned, and laughter that was about to burst forth, or
the jest that was ready, was hushed; for the negro's head was split
open and the blood pouring down his cheeks in rivulets, crimsoning
his swarthy, shiny skin and clothing.

"Been fighting?" said the barkeeper.

"Yes; de fireman he butted me."

Up came the mate, who observed:

"We've got a fireman down below who has killed two or three niggers
by butting them to death with his head."

"Send him up," I said, "and I'll butt him till he is sick of
butting."

We had all been drinking wine, and everybody laughed, supposing
that it was the liquor talking, and not me.

"Why, Devol, I wouldn't give five cents