Crash, crash, went the thunder, and on, on, went “Garibaldi” through the gloom of the forest, emerging at length upon a clearer ground with a more visible pathway. Reaching the top of the slope, a large house stood out far in front of us to the left; and the horse had apparently determined to make straight for that, as if it were his home. He skirted along the hill, and took the track as his own familiar ground, all my effort to hold him in or guide him having no more effect than that of a child. By this time, I suspect, I really had lost all power. “Garibaldi” had been at that house, probably frequently before; he knew those stables; and my fate seemed to be instant death against door or wall. Some members of the family, on the outlook for the Missionary, saw us come tearing along as if mad or drunk; and now all rushed to the verandah, expecting some dread-catastrophe. A tall and stout young groom, amazed at our wild career, throwing wide open the gate, seized the bridle at great risk to himself, and ran full speed, yet holding back with all his might, and shouting at me to do the same. We succeeded,—“Garibaldi” having probably attained his purpose,—in bringing him to a halt within a few paces of the door. Staring at me with open mouth, the man exclaimed, “I have saved your life. What madness to ride like that!” Thanking him, though I could scarcely by this time articulate a word, I told him that the horse had run away, and that I had lost all control. Truly I was in a sorry plight, drenched, covered with mud, and my hat battered down over my eyes; little wonder they thought me drunk or mad! Finally, as if to confirm every suspicion, and amuse them all,—for master, mistress, governess, and children now looked on from the verandah,—when I was helped off the horse, I could not stand on my feet! My head still went rushing on in the race; I staggered, and down I tumbled into the mud, feeling chagrin and mortification; yet there I had to sit for some time before I recovered myself, so as either to rise or to speak a word. When I did get to my feet, I had to stand holding by the verandah for some time, my head still rushing on in the race. At length the master said, “Will you not come in?” I knew that he was treating me for a drunken man; and the giddiness was so dreadful still, that my attempts at speech seemed more drunken than even my gait. As soon as I could stand, I went into the house, and drew near to an excellent fire in my dripping clothes. The squatter sat opposite me in silence, reading the newspapers, and taking a look at me now and again over his spectacles. By-and-bye he remarked, “Wouldn’t it be worth while to change your clothes?” Speech was now returning to me. I replied, “Yes, but my bag is coming on in the cart, and may not be here to-night.”