doing pretty well till the king come to show up, but after that he didn't think so so much.  He had set up and printed off two little jobs for farmers in that printing-office--horse bills--and took the money, four dollars.  And he had got in ten dollars' worth of advertisements for the paper, which he said he would put in for four dollars if they would pay in advance--so they done it. The price of the paper was two dollars a year, but he took in three subscriptions for half a dollar apiece on condition of them paying him in advance; they were going to pay in cordwood and onions as usual, but he said he had just bought the concern and knocked down the price as low as he could afford it, and was going to run it for cash.  He set up a little piece of poetry, which he made, himself, out of his own head--three verses--kind of sweet and saddish--the name of it was, “Yes, crush, cold world, this breaking heart”--and he left that all set up and ready to print in the paper, and didn't charge nothing for it.  Well, he took in nine dollars and a half, and said he'd done a pretty square day's work for it. Then he showed us another little job he'd printed and hadn't charged for, because it was for us.  It had a picture of a runaway nigger with a bundle on a stick over his shoulder, and “$200 reward” under it.  The reading was all about Jim, and just described him to a dot.  It said he run away from St. Jacques' plantation, forty mile below New Orleans, last winter, and likely went north, and whoever would catch him and send him back he could have the reward and expenses. “Now,” says the duke, “after to-night we can run in the daytime if we want to.  Whenever we see anybody coming we can tie Jim hand and foot with a rope, and lay him in the wigwam and show this handbill and say we captured him up the river, and were too poor to travel on a steamboat, so we got this little raft on credit from our friends and are going down to get the reward.  Handcuffs and chains would look sti