addresses to the horses, who are kicking, and floundering, and straining, under repeated cracks of the whip. Carriage
springs up, with another bounce,—down go the hind wheels,—senator, woman, and child, fly over on to the back seat,
his elbows encountering her bonnet, and both her feet being
jammed into his hat, which flies off in the concussion. After
a few moments the "slough" is passed, and the horses stop,
panting;—the senator finds his hat, the woman straightens
her bonnet and hushes her child, and they brace themselves
firmly for what is yet to come.
For a while only the continuous bump! bump! intermingled, just by way of variety, with divers side plunges and compound shakes; and they begin to flatter themselves that they are not so badly off, after all. At last, with a square plunge, which puts all on to their feet and then down into their seats with incredible quickness, the carriage stops,—and, after much outside commotion, Cudjoe appears at the door.
"Please, sir, it's powerful bad spot, this yer. I don't know how we's to get clar out. I'm a thinkin' we'll have to be a gettin' rails."
The senator despairingly steps out, picking gingerly for some firm foothold; down goes one foot an immeasurable depth,—he tries to pull it up, loses his balance, and tumbles over into the mud, and is fished out, in a very despairing condition, by Cudjoe.
But we forbear, out of sympathy to our readers' bones. Western travellers, who have beguiled the midnight hour in the interesting process of pulling down rail fences, to pry their carriages out of mud holes, will have a respectful and mournful sympathy with our unfortunate hero. We beg them to drop a silent tear, and pass on.
