particular incident occurred; and having fine weather, we escaped wrecking or putting back.  On ascending the river to Wilmington, you see royal—­I beg pardon, republican—­sturgeons jumping about in all directions, and of all sizes, from three to five feet in length.  We reached the town in time to catch the train, and off we started.  When about six miles on our journey, a curious motion of the carriages, added to their “slantingdicular” position and accompanied by a slight scream, proclaimed that we were off the rails.  Thank God! no lives were lost or limbs broken.  The first person that I saw jump from the train was a Spanish colonel, who shot out with an activity far beyond his years, hugging to his bosom a beloved fiddle, which was the joy of his heart, and about the safety of which he was evidently as anxious as about his own.  He sat down by the side of the carriages, a ludicrous picture of alarm and composure combined.  He was on his way to England with the intention of presenting some musical compositions to the Queen, and possibly had a floating idea he might do a bit of Paganini before Her Gracious Majesty.  Gradually, all the party unkenneled; and it was then discovered that, had we run off the rails a few yards further on, we should have had a nasty cropper down a thirty-feet bank; fortunately, we ran off on the level, and merely stuck in the sand.

Upon inquiry as to the cause of the accident, I ascertained that it was in consequence of a point for turning off on to another set of rails being broken.  Upon examining the said point, I found it was as worn and rotten as time could make it.  I mentioned this to the engineer, who told me he was perfectly aware of it, and had reported it to the superintendent a fortnight before, but that he—­the superintendent—­had guessed it would do very well for some time yet; consequently, the engineer always went slower when approaching the spot, to avoid, if possible, an accident.  By this precaution we had been saved the capsize over the bank, which otherwise would inevitably have been our fate.  Thus, for the sake of twenty shillings, they had smashed an engine, doing damage to the amount of twenty pounds at least, besides risking the lives of all the passengers.  What was to be done?  There was nothing for it but to go back to Wilmington, chew the cud of disgust, and hope the rascally superintendent might break every bone in his body the first favourable opportunity.  This done, and a night’s rest over, we again tempted fate, and continued our journey, which for a long time ran through large pine-forests, every member of which community was a victim of laceration, inflicted on him for the purpose of drawing off his life’s blood, which dribbled into a box at the root, and, when full, was carried off to make turpentine.