"Jonathan Slick, you must be a consarned sight harnsomer chap than ever I took you to be, that's sartin." Wal, I couldn't ketch a wink of sleep all night, but kept up a tarnal thinkin about that gal; and there lay Captin Doolittle a snorin away in the berth right above me, like a tin peddler's toot-horn run crazy. I swan, it was as much as I could du to keep from gettin up and chokin the varmint. Turights the daylight cum a sneakin intu the cabin as lazy as ever you see daybreak come on; and jest arter the sun got up, Captin Doolittle begun to stir his stumps about breakfast. He and I and the little nigger sot down, but I felt kinder peaked and couldn't hoe my row a bit; so the Captin and the nigger did extra duty, and stowed away for me. Your loving son, JONATHAN SLICK. * * * * * LETTER XXIX. Jonathan Visits the Handsome Girl--Describes a Gambling-House in the Morning before it is put to rights--Visits the Lady's Boudoir--Describes the Furniture, the Lady, her Dress, and Conversation--Is Interrupted by the Gentleman of the House--And leaves with a promise to return and escort Miss Sneers to Mad. Castellan's Concert. DEAR PAR: Wal, as I was sayin, I pulled foot down one of them streets that run off kinder catecorned by the Park, till I cum right agin the house pinted out in the paper which that harnsome gal had gin me. I kinder cut across the street and stood over agin the house, detarmined tu take a sort o' observation afore I sot my foot inside the doorway. It was an allfired harnsome consarn, with one story piled atop of t'other, till you could count four rows of winders, besides a row of young ones, stuck right in tu the edge of the ruff. A lot of stone steps run up tu the front door, and an iron fence twistified and curlecued round the edges run along each eend. The winders all on 'em had green slats shut over 'em, the door follered the fashion, and the hull consarn seemed tu be shut up agin winter. Wal, I cut across the street and went straight up the steps. There was a great chunk o' silver sot intu a kind of a silver sarser nailed agin the door post, and with a name writ round the edge on it. Arter giving the chunk a sneakin pull, to be sartin it would give and meant somethin, I gin it an allfired jerk--and turights there was a tinklin and ringin inside, as if an old wether with a fust rate bell on, had took to scootin over the house. I hadn't more'n got my hand off the chunk, when the green slats swung open jest as easy, and a yaller nigger stood inside a eyeing me from top tu toe, as if he had a sort of hankerin arter some human arnimal, but didn't think me jest good enough tu eat hull without considerable sarse. "How do you du," sez I, as mealy as a pink eyed potater jest out o' the pot--"How are all the folks this mornin?--purty smart I reckon."