The great “bug-bear” of this road, Ma-zhee-gaw-gaw Swamp, was the next thing to be encountered.  We reached it about nine o’clock.  It spread before us, a vast expanse of morass, about half a mile in width, and of length interminable, partly covered with water, with black knobs rising here and there above the surface, affording a precarious foothold for the animals in crossing it.  Where the water was not, there lay in place of it a bed of black oozy mud, which looked as if it might give way under the foot, and let it, at each step, sink to an unknown depth.

This we were now to traverse.  All three of the gentlemen went in advance of me, each hoping, as he said, to select the surest and firmest path for me to follow.  One and another would call, “Here, madam, come this way!” “This is the best path, wifie; follow me,” but often Charlie knew better than either, and selected a path according to his own judgment, which proved the best of the whole.

On he went, picking his way so slowly and cautiously, now pausing on one little hillock, now on another, and anon turning aside to avoid a patch of mud which seemed more than usually suspicious, that all the company had got some little distance ahead of me.  On raising my eyes, which had been kept pretty closely on my horse’s footsteps, I saw my husband on foot, striving to lead his horse by the bridle from a difficult position into which he had got, Mr. Wing and his great white floundering animal lying sideways in the mud, the rider using all his efforts to extricate himself from the stirrups, and Dr. Philleo standing at a little distance from his steed, who was doing his best to rise up from a deep bog into which he had pitched himself.  It was a formidable sight!  They all called out with one accord,—­

“Oh, do not come this way!”

“Indeed,” cried I, “I have no thought of it.  Charlie and I know better.”  And, trusting to the sagacious creature, he picked his way carefully along, and carried me safely past the dismounted company.  I could not refrain from a little triumphant flourish with my whip, as I looked back upon them and watched their progress to their saddles once more.

Three hours had we been thus unpleasantly engaged, and yet we were not over the “Slough of Despond.”  At length we drew near its farthest verge.  Here ran a deep stream some five or six feet in width.  The gentlemen, as they reached it, dismounted, and began debating what was to be done.

“Jump off, jump off, madam,” cried Mr. Wing, and “Jump off, jump off,” echoed Dr. Philleo; “we are just consulting how we are to get you across.”

“What do you think about it?” asked my husband.

“Charlie will show you,” replied I.  “Come, Charlie.”  And as I raised his bridle quickly, with a pat on his neck and an encouraging chirp, he bounded over the stream as lightly as a deer, and landed me safe on terra firma.

Poor Mr. Wing had fared the worst of the company; the clumsy animal he rode seeming to be of opinion when he got into a difficulty that he had nothing to do but to lie down and resign himself to his fate; while his rider, not being particularly light and agile, was generally undermost, and half imbedded in the mire before he had quite made up his mind as to his course of action.