"As good luck wud hev it, they hed strength enough left to complete the crossin'; an' thar war another bit o' good luck in the Arkansaw bank bein' on a level wi' the surface o' the water; so that in five minits more I found myself among the bushes, the baldies still flutterin' about me, as if determined to carry me on over the great peraries. I feeled that it war time to stop the steam; so, clutchin' holt o' a branch, I brought up to an anchor. I tuk good care not to let the birds go,--tho' sartin I owed them that much for the sarvice they hed done me. But jest then I bethunk me o' the Englishman at Grand Gulf,--ah! it war you, ye say?" "Certainly! And those are the eagles I purchased from Mrs. Stump?" "Them same birds! Yer shed 'a' hed the young 'uns, but thar warn't no chance ever agin to climb that cyprus, an' what bekim o' the poor critters arterward I haint the most distant idee. I reckon they eended thar days in the neest, which ye can still see up thar, an' ef they dud, I reckon the buzzarts wudn't be long afore makin' a meal o' 'em." With my eyes directed to the top of that tall cypress-tree, and fixed upon a dark mass of dead sticks resembling a stack of faggots, I listened to the concluding words of this queer chapter of backwoods adventure. _Mayne Reid._ [Illustration] [Illustration: Round the Evening Lamp A Treasury of Charades, Puzzles, Problems and Funny Things.] CHARADES. NO. 2. My _first_ is, in sound, the odd creature that goes Into Hottentots' traps when he follows his nose: But in sense 't is an adjective, short, spick and span, Well hated by Hunkers and kept under ban. My _second_ it qualifies, also my _third_, Though a _high fen_ between can't be crossed nor be stirred. Now my _next_, like a swindler when cleaned out of tin, Has always its tick, and takes most people in. Amphibious its habit, as frequently found Beneath the blue sea as on top of the ground: Yet, oddest caprice out of destiny's cup, Just when in full feather 't is always "sewed up." What is forced and affected most all people spurn, Yet they like this because 't is a made-up concern. Best friend when our sunshine to gloom is converted, Yet the moment we rise in the world we desert it. Best friend, yet precisely its stead you can find, To which, strange to say, you are never inclined. And the warmer you get when a lieing you take it, The more you wink at it, the less you forsake it. Wet blankets you throw over swells, but not so O'er my _second_, however puffed up it may grow. My _third_ is so shallow you'll guess it before I've told you how many smart folks pass it o'er; Even Cæsar went o'er it and by it and through it, And lived long enough, the baldpate, to rue it. Tho' shallow it is, yet the bravest and best By keeping it give of their wisdom a test.