They have on the Hudson river some of the finest boats in the world—low-pressure boats of immense size, that never think of bragging on speed that falls below twenty miles an hour. Some of them, by straining a muscle or two, have made twenty-five miles an hour, and felt none the worse for it next morning. We started at eight o’clock one August morning; and what a change of atmosphere we experienced as we left the hot streets of the city far behind us, and glided up the Hudson—that most picturesque and romantic of rivers! The sky was bright and clear; and, however hot and close may have been the narrow and crowded streets of New York, the air with us was charming. Most of the passengers sat on the cabin deck, which was protected from the sun by an awning, that hovered over us like the ghost of some broad sail that Old Ocean might have swallowed. We had not gone far, when a band of musicians from the land of Horace, Virgil, Cicero, Titus, Vespasian and the Cesars, treated us with some melodious strains on the violin, harp, and some other instruments. Although we would have regarded them as a nuisance in front of our doors in the city, we now really appreciated their talent; and when they had played half-an-hour, and one of them came round with an empty hat in his hand, there were but few, if any, who did not acknowledge their approbation by contributions of ten cent notes, or the like. They had just disappeared, and I was beginning to regard the delightful scenery that began to unfold itself to us along the shores, when a very black African made his appearance on deck, and leaning over a kind of sky-light, called out to some one below in a loud tone: “Hillo, Bill, down dah!” “Well, what does you want?” was the response from below. It was evident that William was also a gentleman from the land where snakes, crocodiles, and savage beasts grow to their full size. “Are you gwine up to Albany?” asked the darkey on deck. “Yes, reckon I’se gwine up dah,” came from below. “How’d you leabe all de folks?” “O, well enough—but don’t ask so darned many questions,” said Bill, testily. “Gettin’ rudder techy, ain’t you?” “O, don’t bodder me! I didn’t git no sleep last night—I didn’t.” By this time the attention of the passengers in the vicinity was attracted, and all eyes were turned upon the darkey. As for myself, I felt somewhat annoyed, and wondered why the black cuss didn’t go below and carry on his animated chat with his friend, instead of standing up there, yelling down, and disturbing the tranquillity of the passengers. “Well, why didn’t you sleep? It was your own fault.” “O, let me ’lone, Sam,” came from below. “I don’t want no foolin’!” “I won’t let you ’lone. You ain’t gwine to get no sleep dis day, you isn’t,” said Sam, thrusting a cane he had in his hand down through the open sky-light. Some one appeared to seize it from below, and at the same time the voice of Bill said: