and tide wait for no man," says the captain.

"For God's sake, stay only a few minutes," says the finder of the
book--"the true claimant will presently appear."

"Can't wait!" replies the man in authority; "cast off there, d'ye hear?"

"What am I to do?" asks the finder, in great tribulation. "I am about
to leave the country for some years, and I cannot conscientiously retain
this large amount in my possession. I beg your pardon, sir," [here he
addresses a gentleman on shore,] "but you have the air of an honest
man. Will you confer upon me the favor of taking charge of this
pocket-book--I know I can trust you--and of advertising it? The notes,
you see, amount to a very considerable sum. The owner will, no doubt,
insist upon rewarding you for your trouble--

"Me!--no, you!--it was you who found the book."

"Well, if you must have it so--I will take a small reward--just to
satisfy your scruples. Let me see--why these notes are all
hundreds--bless my soul! a hundred is too much to take--fifty would
be quite enough, I am sure--

"Cast off there!" says the captain.

"But then I have no change for a hundred, and upon the whole, you had
better--

"Cast off there!" says the captain.

"Never mind!" cries the gentleman on shore, who has been examining
his own pocket-book for the last minute or so--"never mind! I can fix
it--here is a fifty on the Bank of North America--throw the book."

And the over-conscientious finder takes the fifty with marked
reluctance, and throws the gentleman the book, as desired, while the
steamboat fumes and fizzes on her way. In about half an hour after her
departure, the "large amount" is seen to be a "counterfeit presentment,"
and the whole thing a capital diddle.

A bold diddle is this. A camp-meeting, or something similar, is to
be held at a certain spot which is accessible only by means of a free
bridge. A diddler stations himself upon this bridge, respectfully
informs all passers by of the new county law, which establishes a toll
of one cent for foot passengers, two for horses and donkeys, and so
forth, and so forth. Some grumble but all submit, and the diddler goes
home a wealthier man by some fifty or sixty dollars well earned. This
taking a toll from a great crowd of people is an excessively troublesome
thing.

A neat diddle is this. A friend holds one of the diddler's promises to
pay, filled up and signed in due form, upon the ordinary blanks printed
in red ink. The diddler pur