"I give you gold for white," and pausing for a moment I perceived he had forgotten the name.

"Shirt," I remarked, promptingly.

"Yes, shirt-much gold-what you take, eh ?"

"I'll leave it to your own will, great chief," said Tom, who, not knowing what the Indian might be induced to give for the garment, tacitly desired, like a true Yankee as he was, to drive a bargain on the most advantageous terms. But the chief did not fully comprehend him.

"I I'll leave it to yourself-give me what say worth," pursued Tom.

you

think it's

"I'll give you gold-ounces," and he numbered five on his fin

gers.

"Good!" said Tom.

"For five ounces of gold the shirt shall be yours," and speaking aside to me, sotto voce, said, "That's a fair figure, is'nt it, old fellow ?"

The Indian, unshackling his pouch from his side, spread out a bit of cloth on the ground, and pouring a pile of precious dust, and balancing it in the palm of his hand, as if it were a scale, handed it to Tom and said,

"There! white shir' mine; ounces," and he repeated the process of numbering on his fingers.

Tom received the payment with a glow of satisfaction, and quickly laid the garment before him. No sooner did he receive it, than holding it high in the air, his tribe gathered round him and viewed it with signs of delight, not unmingled with wonder. The chief then folded it with great care, and tucking it in his sash, shook us by the hand ardently, and walked slowly with the assembled red-men into the house.

"Well done," said I, slapping my companion on the shoulder. "I told you something would turn up;" and as Tom spoke, he dangled the little bag of gold exultingly. "Now we've got lots of the 'ready,' and if old Dame Mab does'nt wrap up every word she utters in a smile, we'll cut her acquaintance, and leave the Blue Tent' in disgust."

When the old vixen learned from the Indian what had taken place, and that our finances were so greatly repaired, she was all smiles and condescension, and could not do too much to promote our comfort. It was all thrown away upon us, however, for purchasing a batch of bear-meat from the Indians, we cooked it in an oak glen, and slept on a bed of leaves.

It never rains but it pours, and one stroke of good fortune was quickly followed by another. The next day after this adventure, to our great joy, a caravan that was going our route, made its appearance, which we joined on the payment of a trifle, and in five days from the time we turned our backs on the Blue Tent,' we were home -or rather, once more in San Francisco.

It was fortunate for us that we met that party of Squatter Indians, and still more that Tom had taken it into his whimsical head to wear a ruffled shirt.

CHRISTMAS PANTOMIMES.

CHRISTMAS in England and Christmas in America differ slightly in various points, though in the general phases of the festivities of the day there exists a close and we may sa♬ a copied resemblance. The English delight in perpetuating the

customs of their fathers. While other nations in the strife of popular progress forget old traditions, and neglect time-honoured usages, the true Briton still cherishes that which his ancestors decreed; and, by conforming with their whimsical old notions, displays a trait of ancestral regard and unswerving faith rather to be admired than otherwise. Other nations kick down the fashions of past days without even advancing in the scale of progressive enlightenment. Look on the continent of Europe, and we find a tardiness and incertitude absolutely painful. The French are too vivacious and transient to honour old customs; the Italians too lazy; the Spanish too ardent in passing events; and the Russians by far too inert. We may, perhaps, except the Germans, who stick to "faderland" and its opinions with a stolidness and inflexibility quite refreshing. Commercial enterprise and a social revolution might serve as excuses for forgetfulness of the antiquated reminiscences of the past, but we note nothing of this sort on the Continent; and yet England, with all her wealth, power, and onward spirit of advancement, still finds time now and then to devote to the pastimes and enactments of the venerated dead. Experience has taught us that there is a solidity and dependableness about the real John Bull that characterize no nation on this side of the blue Atlantic.

A Scotsman will sometimes change his kilt; the blarney of an Emeralder puzzles us; but in dealing with an Englishman we know exactly where to find him. He never changes his views of friendship, unless some unaccountable circumstance interposes to enforce a sterling reason.

We commenced talking of the Christmas festivities. We like the mode of conducting these sports in "merrie England." We like the decorations of holly with its pretty red berries, the legend of the misletoe (especially that portion of the legend that allows one to kiss any pretty girl found under it), the adornments of verdure and the careful display of sweets and outlandish lollypops in the shop-windows, the little festive deception of Kriss Kingle, practised on the juveniles, the turkeys and plum-puddings (ah! how nice), the games of blindman's-buff, hunt-the-slipper, and the fairy Christmas bowl; but, above all, the pantomimes at the theatres. It is the pantomimes that thrill the hearts of the juveniles, and even the children of larger growth. It is glorious fun to see clever Mr. Clown slap poor old decrepid Pantaloon, and then witness their joint endeavours. to entrap agile Harlequin, who, first kissing graceful Columbine, shakes his head from side to side in defiance, quivers his hat, and then leaps with one miraculous bound and disappears through a clock-face.

If ever London puts on a suit of not sables-no, but gaudy habiliments, it is just a week before what is termed "Boxingnight" the night after Christmas, when all the pantomimes come out. The huge metropolis is plastered up to its neck with mammoth show-bills, incredible posters, and frightful announeements of the forthcoming pieces. The Strand, Cheapside, Poultry, Cornhill, Oxford-street, Holborn, and the various important thoroughfares, are crowded with bulletins in red, green, and black letters, telling of the "Magic Mince-pie" at such a place; the "Harlequin Tim Bobbin" at another; the "Fairy Florinda and the Swans of Pearl" at another; and so to the

end of the chapter. From Chelsea to Epping Forest, if one were to glance at an old wall in hopes of finding a cheap tailor's advertisement whom you remembered advertised liberally, and therefore must be everywhere, ten to one but the ominous words "GREEN MONSTER," the "Cream-coloured Imp of the Infernal Darkness," or something else just as ugly and suggestive, would stare you wickedly and unflinchingly in the face. If a stranger who knew nothing of holiday pantomimes and their idiosyncrasies could just one fine day before Christmas be dropped down in London-say in the neighbourhood of Lambeth-walk on the Surry side of the river-and commence reading the titles on the playbills, without pursuing the context, he would quickly make up his mind that he had made a pilgrimage to some sanguinary, enchanted hotbed a little this side of the moon, instead of the largest capital of the first kingdom of the civilized world. We mean to say that if his sensibilities were to any extent acute, and his misapprehensive ignorance correspondingly opaque, he could not be less alarmed than was the Baron Munchausan when he saw his horse dangling to the church spire, as recorded in the scarcely to be believed adventures of that extraordinary personage. It is a delicate point to touch on; but if we were a married man, and the silken knot had been tied only half a dozen months, we should really fear our dear little wife's appearing on the promenade just at this time, for if she were susceptible to the impulses of strange impressions, who knows but what our first-born would have a harlequin's patch on its arm instead of a "strawberry," or a miniature cartoon of a link of sausages graven on the small of its back, to' eternally remind our wife, when she washed her " dear little offspring," of the clown swallowing those elongated but suggestive edibles. We would not dwell on this subject so long if the anxious managers confined the blowing of their spectacular trumpets to bill-boards, old walls, the arches of the bridges, or even the interior of Hansem cabs; but their zeal not stopping here,