A DRENCHED GOTHAMITE. 247 



story-telling. The fire was getting low, when Sachem 

 rose to his feet and called to Shamus. "Dobeen," 

 said he, "your country folks are always handy with 

 the sticks. Let's go for wood, and have a fire that 

 will warm up the witches on their broomsticks and 

 send them flying off to the clouds, to get cool." We 

 watched the pair go out of sight. Knowing well the 

 habits of Tammany, we all felt sure that, though he 

 might find the load, Irish shoulders would have to 

 bear it back to camp. 



Scarcely three minutes had elapsed, when out of 

 the timber, with garments as wet as water could make 

 them and dripping fast, a fat form came shivering to 

 our fire. Our alderman had taken a night bath in 

 the creek— an adventure which he thus related in his 

 own peculiar way : 



" Below us in the woods is a big beaver pond, I 

 don't know how deep. I seemed an hour going down, 

 and did n't touch bottom then. I was fooled by the 

 moon. (To be expected, though, as she 's a female ! ) 

 A few of her beams, thrown down through the trees, 

 glittered on the water like drift wood. That sort of 

 beams make poor timber for bridges, but I didn't 

 know it then as well as I do now. One of them went 

 from bank to bank, and I took it for a log, and got a 

 ducking. How frightened I was, though, when my 

 feet touched water and my body went, with a swash, 

 right under it ! I opened my mouth to shout and the 

 water rushed in, and I was like a vessel sinking with 

 open hatches. I took in so much, I was afraid I'd 

 be waterlogged and never come up. I did, though, 

 and found that rascally Irishman throwing sticks at 



