“It's all up, now,” muttered Tom, “let's see you _lick_ her back out of this scrape,” and staggering towards the steam valves, to try the amount of water in the boilers, he fell sprawling; at that moment the boat struck the bank with a bang that shook every timber in her; the concussion, also, injured a conducting steam-pipe just enough to scald Tom's face and hands severely, without endangering his life. As the stream of hot vapour hit him, he rolled over, exclaiming:-- “Good God!--it's all up, now!” and soon became utterly insensible Tom was picked up and carried into the Social Hall, where restoratives were administered to recall him to consciousness, and remedies applied to heal his burns. All gathered in silence and anxiety around his pallet, watching for returning sensibility, the captain and clerk among the number, really grieved at the mishap, which they had no doubt was caused by their jest. While all breathlessly looked on, Tom gave manifestations of returning consciousness: of course, with sensibility returned feeling, and his burns appealed, most touchingly, to that sense. Twisting himself up, and drawing his breath through his teeth, he slowly remarked:-- “Jest as I thought--the d------l's got me, s-l-i-c-k enough, and I'm burnt already to a cinder!” There was no resisting this--all hands burst into a roar of laughter. Tom couldn't open his eyes, but he could hear, and after they had done laughing, he quietly remarked:-- “These imps are mightily glad because they've got _me!_ Here followed another roar, and when it subsided, the captain approached him, and called his name-- “Tom, old fellow,” said he, “you're safe!” “What, you here, too, captain? I thought you had jined meetin' and saved your bacon.--So they've got you, too,--well, a fellar aint alone then.” Here the clerk spoke to him. “What, you, too, Bill?--well, 'there's a party of us,' any how, but it's so confounded dark I can't see you, and its hotter than-(here he checked himself with a shudder, and added,) Yes, I'm certain we're _thar!_” sighing heavily, he murmured--“Poor Mary--Oh, my Mary.” By the efforts of the captain and clerk Tom was made to understand the true state of the case, and through their kindness and attention, was soon able to return to duty, and though he would after laugh at a jest about old Father Miller, yet he was never again known to drink whiskey. When irritated now, Tom always shuts his lips tight, and chokes down the rising oath. Mary is gratified with the change, although she wept at the severity of the means by which he was converted. SETTLEMENT FUN. BILL SAPPER'S LETTER TO HIS COUSIN. Liberti, Missury, May 6t. 18 forty 5.