“No,” retorted my male companion, who probably thought this (because he knew me to be from Pennsylvania,) a thrust at Iowa generally, “he looks like a Pennsylvanian.” This, he certainly meant for a hit at the old Keystone State. I said nothing, however, but silently determined to have revenge at checkers, when we should get on the boat—unless my companion should prove to be a remarkable player. So, when we had embarked at Fort Madison, and were gliding up the river, I saw the Iowa gentleman sauntering through the cabin, and said: “Are you ready for that game of checkers?” “O, yes,” he replied; “I was looking for you.” We sat down by one of the tables, arranged the board and “men,” and went at it. He moved with much circumspection, and was very careful lest he should make a blunder. But, with all his caution, he soon made one, which I quickly saw; and I gave him one of my men, took three of his in exchange, and hopped into the king-row. “Pshaw!” he exclaimed, in a tone of vexation. “I wasn’t watching!” I soon won that game, and he didn’t get a king. “Let’s try it again,” said he. “I will do better next time.” “I hope so,” I replied, as we replaced the men—but I _didn’t_ hope so. This time he moved with more care than ever, and succeeded—in getting beaten as badly as before. He tried it again and again, till we had played eight games, and I had won two-thirds of a dozen of them. “I will not play any more,” he said, petulantly, as he arose from the table. “I never met with such a player.” “I play the Pennsylvania game,” I complacently observed. I landed at Muscatine, Iowa, that evening, where I remained all night. Muscatine is about thirty miles below Davenport, and is called a city. Its population is eight or ten thousand. Next morning, I took an early train for Wilton, a flourishing town situated at the intersection of two railroads, in the interior of the State. I visited some relatives there, and passed a week or two with them very pleasantly. CHAPTER XXXV. JOHN IN CHICAGO. EARLY in July, having visited various sections of Iowa, I started one evening for Chicago, where I arrived next morning about daylight—the distance from Wilton being a little over two hundred miles. Chicago is styled the “Garden City,” because handsome private gardens are attached to many of the residences. There are other cities, however, which, for the same reason, are equally entitled to the sobriquet. Chicago is much the largest city of the north-west. It has sprung up faster than any other, and has now a population of about two hundred and ten thousand. It is situated in North-eastern Illinois, on the shore of Lake Michigan. It is one of the liveliest cities in the country, and must always be the largest city of the Mississippi Valley, except Saint Louis, which will naturally stand number one, on account of the numerous advantages of its position.