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is true of their associations. Your genuine vaquero, however, is generally, when off duty, more of a dandy in the style and get-up of his attire than his careless and impetuous compeer. He is fond of gaudy clothes, and when you see him riding well mounted into a frontier town, the first thought of an Eastern man is, that a circus has broken loose in the neighborhood, and this is one of the performers. The familiar broad-rimmed sombrero covers his head; a rich jacket, embroidered by his sweetheart perhaps, envelopes his shapely shoulders; a sash of blue or red silk is wrapped around his waist, from which protrude a pair of revolvers; and buckskin trousers, slit from the knee to the foot, and ornamented with rows of brass or silver buttons, complete his attire, save that enormous spurs, with jingling pendants, are fastened to the boots, and announce in no uncertain sound the presence of the beau ideal vaquero in full dress.

His saddle is of the pure Mexican type, with high pommel, whereon hangs the inevitable lariat, which in his hands is almost as certain as a rifle shot.

Ordinarily he is a peaceful young fellow, but when the whisky is present in undue proportions, he is a good individual to avoid. Like the cow-boy, he is brave, nimble, careless of his own life, and reckless when occassion requires of those of other people. At heart he is not bad. The dependence on himself which his calling demands, the dangers to which he is subjected while on duty, all compel a sturdy self-reliance, and he is not slow in exhibiting the fact that possesses it in a sufficient degree at least for his own protection. True types of this peculiar class, seen nowhere else than on the plains, will be among the attractions of the show; and the men will illustrate the methods of their lives in connection with the pursuit and catching of animals, together with the superb horsemanship that is characteristic of their training.

ON A MUSTANG.
BY THE EDITOR OF "TEXAS SIFTINGS."

The majority of Texas ponies buck, or pitch, as it is sometimes termed, whenever circumstances seem to demand an exhibition of this facetious break, or the condition of things seems to justify the sportive caprice. In fact, some ponies will buck for hours, only stopping to get breath for a fresh start. This kind is recommended for the use of dyspeptics and invalids suffering from torpidity of liver. A pitching mustang, when working on full time and seems to be of whalebone, and he appears to possess all the elements of a steamboat explosion, a high-pressure pile-driver, an earthquake, in addition to the enthusiasm of a country convention. We were glad to find that ours were not bucking ponies, and we congratualated each other on the fortunate circumstance. Of course, as we argued, if there had been any buck in them it would have developed itself at an early stage in the journey. Understand, we were not afraid. I named my pony "Deliberation;" the name seemed so appropriate--no pomp or circumstance about him--and he was so gentle and tranquil; nothing seemed to flurry him. You could throw the reins on his neck and strike a match on the pommel of the saddle. I say you could do this, but the after fate of that match would be of no moment to you; you would be otherwise engaged. I regret to say that I tried the experiment. I lighted a match--at least I think I did--but there was a haziness about the subsequent proceedings that prevents accuracy of statement. I distinctly remember striking the match. At that moment, however, I was fluently propelled upward; a tornado caught me--whirled me around eleven times. As I came down a pile-driver me in the stomach, and I came to earth with that sensation (only intensified) that a man feels who sits down in what he imagines to be a high chair, and which he afterward thinks was about seven feet lower than his estimate. I saw whole milky ways of constellations that never before existed. I real-