I almost slipped overboard in my surprise. Twenty thousand kegs of powder! Jehovah! how much of Madison Tensas, M. D., would be left, I wonder, after that quantity of explosive material had ignited under him? One of the finest instances on record of molecular disintegration would be presented, I expect. This explains why the passengers left so summarily. “I must get out of this.” “I believe I will go ashore, captain; there is where I want to land,” pointing to a house at least two miles below the “Stores.” The boat landed; and, after getting ashore, I did not cease running until I got considerable space and a large tree between her and myself. The crew, suspecting from my movements that I had discovered the nature of their cargo, gave vent to a hearty peal of laughter, with which sounding in my ears, I gained the high-road. And this was my first introduction to the state of my future adoption. Having a letter of introduction for the principal physician in the “Bend,” I slung my saddle-bags over my shoulder, and trudged along through the mud to his house, the direction of which I obtained from a passer-by. Upon presenting my letter to Doctor J--------, I was received with as much kindness and consideration as if I had been a magnate of the land, rolling up in my carriage and four, instead of a poor young doctor, saddle-bags on shoulder, seeking a home in the swamp. Thine was a good, kind welcome, Doctor Tom, and the “Swamp Doctor,” I assure you, often recurs to it with pleasure. Thine was the first stranger's hand, in my adopted state, that I pressed, and found, ere it had unclasped its pressure, that I held, a friend's. Thine was the first roof in this land of hospitable homes that sheltered me; and oh! thy hands compounded the first _julep_ which for long, long months had ecstasied my lips, thou hast to answer to old D------e for the apostacy of one of his chosen disciples; and though I have felt contrition for the fall, yet I forgive thee, Doctor Tom, cheerfully I forgive thee. Would that one sat before me now, as I write in my lonely bachelor den, the skies obscured with darkness, the rain pattering against the casement, the single bed looking so cold, so cold, and the December blast whistling through the chinks of the logs; would that I had one now! winter as it is, though it were heaped with ice, if it came from thy hands, thy warmth of heart would impart to it some of its cordial fire, and kindle up a genial glow within my frame. Though I were thrice a Son of Temperance, I could not refrain from a julep of thy mixing, and though my lips might murmur, my heart would not dictate, “Deliver me from temptation.” Oh! what a glorious barkeeper was spoiled when they made you a doctor, Doctor Tom!