The inexperienced dweller in a quiet home, who has never been tempted to wander from its peaceful precincts, has but a faint idea of the emigrant's troubles, and many may fail to deeply sympathise with Michael O'Reily, the subject of our sketch; but there are those who have mingled in the perilous tide, and can knowingly speak of its dangers. “Maybe,” as Michael would say, “it's mesilf that has had a full peck measure of thim, barrin' what I injayneously iscaped.”

Michael's brother, Patrick, had induced him to quit the little cottage and pratie patch on the green sod, for a home where “goold” flowed up the rivers. At the time we encountered him he had reached the spot where “a great man intirely,” had prophesied this shiny metal would flow to, and he but waited to reach Patrick's home on the Missouri river, to set a net in the stream and catch his share. As he and Mrs. O'R., who was well, but, naturally enough, “wakely,” were seated on the boat, considering how they could get further up stream, a steamboat runner came to their aid, and forthwith made every necessary arrangement for taking them safe. Michael's mind being at ease about that matter, he ventured to indulge in a whiff of the pipe, when he was accosted by another of the off-in-twenty-minutes agents.

“Passage up the Missouri, sir?” inquires the runner.

“Yis, I'm goin' wid ye's,” says Michael, “sure wan uv your boys ingaged me a minnit ago.”

The runner perceiving in a moment that a rival had encountered Michael, resolved to do the aforesaid rival out of his passenger, and accordingly hurried him off to his own boat, by telling him that steam, was up!

The “done” runner, on returning and finding his passenger off, suspected that the rival boat had secured him, and ventured upon the “terror experiment” to win him back. Michael instantly recognised his first friend, and saluted him with—“I'm here, ye see!”

“Yes, but you've got yourself into a kingdom-come snarl, if you only know'd it, without half tryin'.”

Twist the snarl which way Michael would, it sounded unpleasantly, and he ventured to inquire—“Its what did ye say kind of snarl, I was in?”

“I only just want to open your peepers to the fact, of having been trapped on board an old boat, fully insured, with a desperate shaky 'scape-pipe, and engaged to be blow'd up this trip; so good by old fellow, you're ticketed.”

“Och! if she's fully insured, all's right,” says Michael, whispering safety to his heart, “and the boy that I came wid, says she can run up a tree if there's a dhrap of wather on it.”

“If she don't run up a tree,” was the reply, “she'll be sure to run agin a snaggy one, and then, I predicate, some of her passengers 'll be blow'd tree high, so you're in for it, old hoss! Good by,—I say, if you should see my old uncle down thar,” pointing at the same time significantly to the rushing river, “the one I mean who didn't leave me any money, tell him for me, as he's gone to the d———l, to shake himself—will you?” and after delivering himself of this soothing request, he vanished, leaving Michael fancying himself astride of a 'scape pipe riding over tree tops, rocket fashion.

“Och sorra the day I iver put fut among sich hay-thins!” soliloquised Michael, “to talk of a man's bein' blown to smithereens, as if it were but a gintle rap wid a shillaleh—faith its out uv this I'll be immigratin' quicker than you could peel a pratie,” and forthwith he proceeded to move, with all possible haste, his stock of worldly effects; observing which the runner, who had awoke his fears, shouted out as a quickener, “don't forget uncle, for he would think it dreadful mean, if I didn't send word by somebody I knew goin' direct.”

“Leave that luggage alone,” savagely shouted the mate, “you can't leave this boat—you're engaged.”

“Thrue for ye's,” says Michael in a doleful tone, “be dad I was omadhaun enough to do that same, and ye's can blow me up when iver you're a mind to.”

“We don't blow her up,” says the mate, “until the downward trip, unless some gentleman's requested it in his bargain; if you've got a flying ticket we are bound to accommodate you,” and just at that moment, whiz went a steam-cock.

“Be aisy for the Lord's sake,” shouted Michael, “blow her up for the gintleman comin' down; as I'm not used to it, I might fall awkwardly in some man's apple orchard and desthroy a peach tree—d'ye mind.” Having been assured that all was safe, and that by express desire the blowing up was deferred, he took his seat at the stern. As the shades of evening gathered around the boat and over the waters, the steamer pushed from her moorings,—the last we saw of Michael he was holding in one hand a small string of beads, with a rosary attached, while the other grasped the painter of the jolly-boat towing astern, and his eye with a doubtful, but resigned expression, was firmly fixed on the shaky 'scape-pipe-.