CROSSING THE CARRY. 117 



Never before did I so truly realize the aspiration 

 of the old hymn, — 



" O, had I the wings of a dove ! " 



At last I reached, what seemed impossible to 

 pass, — an oozy slough, crossed here and there 

 by cedar roots, smooth and slippery, lay before me. 

 From a high stump which I had climbed upon I 

 gave a desperate leap. I struck where I expected, 

 and a little farther. The weight of the basket, 

 which was now something over two hundred 

 pounds, was too much for me to check at once. It 

 pressed me forward. I recovered myself, and the 

 abominable oars carried me as far the other way. 

 The moccasins of wet leather began to slip along 

 the roots. They began to slip very often ; and, at 

 bad times. I found it necessary to change my posi- 

 tion suddenly. I changed it. It was n't a perfect 

 success. I tried again. It seemed necessary to 

 keep on trying. I suspect I did not effect the 

 changes very steadily, for the trout began to jump 

 about in the pail and fly out into the mud. The 

 gridiron got uneasy, and played against my side 

 like a steam-flapper. In fact, the whole baggage 

 seemed endowed with supernatural powers of 

 motion. The excitement was contagious. In a 

 moment, every article was jumping about like 

 mad. I, in the mean time, continued to dance a 

 hornpipe on the slippery roots. Now I am con- 



