trees than he could count, and from that vine there was gathered two hundred and fifty cart loads of cymlings. It may be that the hauling away of these cymlings so injured the mule that he was no longer of service to the company. There is no doubt he was turned over to Uncle Alek, which must have been during the year 1832. I was in the Swamp during that year and saw the cymling vine above alluded to, and no one could tell how it came to grow there. It will be impossible for me to tell how old Uncle Alek's mule was or what became of him. I have never heard that he died or was killed. He was no doubt the most remarkable mule that ever lived. The last that I heard from him was related by Uncle Alek himself, and which was no doubt true. I will relate as near as I can what the old man told me. He came to Suffolk one day and I noticed that he was very much excited. I said to him: "Uncle Alek, what has happened to you?" He answered: "Marse Robert I neber was in sich a fix befo' in all my life. I hav' fit bars, rattlesnakes, wild cats and bees, but I tell you sumfin' has happened to me to-day dat neber bin known to befall any one." "What was that Uncle Alek?" I inquired. "I'm terribly upsot, and I dunno what to do. I shall hab to mov' 'way frum my place; a whirlwind struc' my well dis mornin' an' has twisted it so dat I can't git de bucket down in de well, an' I can't git no water, an' what is wuss den all, my mule has bin translated. He wus a good mule, and his loss ruins me." I saw Uncle Alek some time after that, when he told me that he was out in the Swamp hunting bees, when lo and behold! he heard his mule bray. He cast his eyes up and saw him lodged in the forks of a large tree. There was no way by which he could get him down, and left him as he thought to die. But his surprise can be imagined when he heard nuzzling at the door one morning, when, upon opening, what should he see but his mule. How he came down he could not tell, but said he should always believe that his mule could climb a tree. I said it must have been a Providential interference, and that the same Power which landed him in the tree was able to lift him out. "Dat is so," said the old man, "an' I will nebber agin' complain at de ways ob an Over-Rulin' Providence." I often think of Col. Godfrey and his remark, when he said that what best conduces to the happiness of mankind is right. Uncle Alek, knowing that his mule was at home with his head well in the crib, and he in the Swamp fighting bears and bees, was perfectly happy. Uncle Alek and his mule are both now dead, and I shall always have a lively recollection of them. I often think of them, and that I rode Uncle Alek's mule as Knight of the Dismal Swamp at a tournament, won the first honor, and was ruled out on account of my mule not making time, much to the mortification of Uncle Alek. As Uncle Alek and his mule will appear again, I will leave them for the present and relate an interesting conversation with Mr. Richard