“Oh,” said Toby, assuming the gravity of a parson, “loves it mightily, mightily! Monstrous woman for drinking!—at least that’s my opinion. Monstrous fine woman, though! monstrous fine!” “Oh, daddy, for the Lord’s sake let’s go home; only see what a rain is coming?” said Billy. “Daddy’ll go presently, my son.” “Well, here’s your horse, git up and let’s go. Mammy’ll be sure to be sendin’ for us.” “Don’t mind him,” said Toby, winking to me; “he’s nothing but a boy; I wouldn’t take no notice of what he said. He wants me (_winking and smiling_) to go home with him; now you listen.” “Well, come,” said I to Uncle Toby, “get on your horse and go home, a very heavy rain is coming up.” “I’ll go presently, but you just listen to Bill,” said he to me, winking and smiling. “Oh, daddy, for the Lord’s sake let’s go home.” Toby smiled archly at me, and winked. “Daddy, are you going home or not? Jist look at the rain comin’.” Toby smiled and winked. “Well, I do think a drunken man is the biggest fool in the county,” said Bill, “I don’t care who he is.” “Bill!” said the old man, very sternly, “‘honour thy father and thy mother,’ that—that the woman’s seed may bruise the serpent’s head.” “Well, daddy, tell me if you won’t go home! You see it’s going to rain powerful. If you won’t go, may I go?” “Bill; ‘Leave not thy father who begot _thee_; for thou art my beloved son Esau, in whom I am well pleased.’” “Why, daddy, it’s dropping rain now.” Here Bill was relieved from his anxiety by the appearance of Aaron, a trusty servant, whom Mrs. Slow had despatched for his master, to whose care Bill committed him, and was soon out of sight. Aaron’s custom had long been to pick up his master without ceremony, put him on his horse, and bear him away. So used to this dealing had Toby been, that when he saw Aaron, he surrendered at discretion, and was soon on the road. But as the rain descended in torrents, before even Bill could have proceeded half a mile, the whole of them must have been drenched to the skin. As to Hardy, whom in the proper order we ought to have disposed of first, he was put on his horse by main force, and was led off by his wife, to whom he was muttering as far as I could hear him: “Why, Nancy! How, did, you, get, in, such a fix? You’ll, fall, off, your, horse, sure, as you’re born, and I’ll have to put you up again.” As they were constrained to go in a walk, they too must have got wringing wet, though they had a quarter of an hour the start of Toby. VII. BEN WILSON’S LAST JUG-RACE. Coming up from Newport, on the pretty little steamer ‘Perry,’ a few days ago, I fell in with, or chanced to lay across the track of, a Mississippi flat-boatman whom I had not seen for three years, and from having had, once upon a time, a rather personal adventure with him, you may guess that the meeting was one of curious congratulation.