gala attire. In an instant she is hung from stem to stern with streamers and ribbons, gay as the best of them. The cutter is just in time, for a signal-gun now booms forth its warning that the royal procession is about to start. Four and twenty mighty white river-steamers, the escort of the newly-proclaimed king, come slowly round the bend where the city lies in the cool embrace of the Mississippi. The royal vessel is ablaze with jewels and gay uniforms, and as she passes alongside the flagship a salvo of guns blazes out from the sides of the veteran vessel, a shrill pipe sounds, and up the shrouds flash the white-clad sailors to man the yards in honor of the king. High up where the mainmast tapers, stand two youths, with comely faces and locks which catch and keep the sunlight. Festive music fills the air, and hearty cheers echo from war-ship to royal pleasure-barge. The procession moves on, every craft paying its homage to the merry train. The thick gray smoke half shrouds the vessels, and save for the merry music, the friendly cheer for cheer, and the harmless barking of the war-dogs, who open their mouths to greet but not to bite, one might have fancied the great river pageant a sea-battle. General Stuart Ruysdale, standing beside the commander of the flagship, found it hard to realize that this firing and counter-firing was all play. His thought reverted
