On one occasion I rode up to the bank of a small river, very near its mouth, and hailed the ferryman on the opposite side. While waiting for him to cross, I led her down upon the planks which extended a short distance into the river, that she might drink. Wading into the water, she stepped beyond the planks and instantly sank to her breast in the mud. It was the sediment that had been deposited there by numerous freshets. As she went down the entire depth of her fore-legs in an instant, she made one desperate effort to extricate herself, but in vain. She seemed to comprehend her condition perfectly, turned to me with a beseeching look and groan, and did not make another struggle. I told her to lie still, and started on a run to get some teamsters, whom I had met with their large six-horse teams as I rode up to the river-bank, to help me in getting her out. They kindly came to my aid, and by putting my saddle-girth under her breast, and tying ropes to each end of it, they lifted her out of the mud by main strength. When she was fairly on her feet, her demonstrations of gratitude were most remarkable. She thanked me over and over again as plainly and strongly as horse-language would possibly admit of, danced around me with delight, persisted in rubbing her nose against me in the most affectionate manner, and showed a joy that seemed wellnigh human. It was warm summer weather, and on reaching the hotel on the opposite shore I had her legs and her entire body from the tips of her ears to the end of her tail thoroughly washed and rubbed dry. After dinner I resumed my journey, and she was as well as ever. Everywhere, during all the years that I traveled in the Brush, my Jenny--for that was the name I gave her--made friends for herself and me. If I rode up to a house upon a plantation, hailed it according to the custom of the country, and was welcomed to its hospitalities by the owner, he would call a negro servant: "Ho! boy, carry this horse to the stable and take good care of her. D'ye hear?"