Good-by." "Misty Posson Jone,'" said St.-Ange, putting his hand on the parson's arm with genuine affection, "hol' on.

You see dis money--w'at I win las' night?
Well, I win' it by a specious providence, ain't it ?" "There's no tellin'," said the humbled Jones.

"Providence 'Moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform.'" "Ah!" cried the Creole, "_c'est_ very true.

I ged this money in the mysterieuze way.

_Mais_, if I keep dis money, you know where it goin' be to-night ?" "I really can't say," replied the parson.
"Goin' to de dev'," said the sweetly-smiling yonng man.
The schooner-captain, leaning against the shrouds, and even Baptiste, laughed outright.
"O Jools, you mustn't!" "Well, den, w'at I shall do wid _it ?_" "Any thing!" answered the parson; "better donate it away to some poor man"-- "Ah! Misty Posson Jone', dat is w'at I want.