“I attempted to struggle, but that sunk me faster. I cried out, but fancied that, too, forced me deeper into my yielding grave; ere daylight dawned I felt sure of being out of sight, and the horrid thought of thus sinking into eternity through a mud-gate, made every hair stand 'on its own hook,' and forced my heart to patter against my ribs like a trio-hammer. I had been in many a scrape, but I considered this the nastiest, and made up my mind that the ball of yarn allotted to me was about being spun out--my cake was all mud! I promised old Mississippi, if permitted to escape this time, I would lick anythin' human that said a word agin her; but it was no use--she was sure of me now, and, like old 'bare bones' to an expiring African, she held on, and deeper, and deeper I sunk. In a short time I was forced to elevate my chin to keep out of my mouth an over-supply of the temperance liquid, which was flowing so coaxingly about my lips. My eyebrows were starting, my teeth set, and hope had wasted to a misty shadow, when something touched me like a floating solid; I instantly grasped it--it slid through my hands--_all but the tail_--which I clung to with a grip of iron. “I soon discovered I had made captive a mammoth _catty_, huge enough to be the patriarch of his tribe, and a set of resolutions were quickly adopted in my mind, that he couldn't travel further without company. A desperate start and vigorous wiggle to escape was made by my friend, the catty, but there was six feet in length of desperation attached to his extremity, that could neither be coaxed or shook off. Soon succeeded another start, and out I came like a cork from a bottle. Off started the fish, like a comet, and after him I went, a muddy spark at the end of his tail. By a dexterous twist of his rudder, I succeeded in keeping him on the surface, and steered him to a solid landing, where I let him loose, and we shook ourselves, mutually pleased at parting company.” “That will do, Ben,” said we, “all but the tail.” “Tail and all, or none!” said Ben, so here you have it. Ben swears he'll father it himself. A SPIRITUAL SISTER, HER ENCOUNTER WITH A DOUBTFUL SMITH. |There goes Smith, the Attorney,” said a man to his friend; as a tall figure, slightly stooped, hurried by them. “I beg your pardon,” answered the friend, “that is the Rev. Mr. Smith, a preacher, I have heard him in Tennessee.” “Well that's curious,” replied the first, “for I'd swear I have heard him plead at the bar.” “Good morning Sol., how are you?” salutes another, as he hurries by a group of citizens. “What did you call him?” inquired one of the party. “Why, Sol. Smith, was the answer--old Sol., the manager of the theatre, to-be-sure; who did you suppose it was?--I thought you knew him--every body knows old Sol!” “Well that is funny,” answered the second, “for I'll swear he officiated as a physician on board our boat.” “Well who the d--------l is he?”