7.1. THE CRUISE OF THE POLLY ANN.

In overhaulin one of my old trunks the tother day, I found the
follerin jernal of a vyge on the starnch canawl bote, Polly Ann,
which happened to the subscriber when I was a young man (in the
Brite Lexington of yooth, when thar aint no sich word as fale) on
the Wabash Canawl:

Monday, 2 P.M.--Got under wa. Hosses not remarkable frisky at fust.
Had to bild fires under 'em before they'd start. Started at larst
very suddent, causin the bote for to lurch vilently and knockin me
orf from my pins. (Sailor frase.) Sevral passenjers on bored.
Parst threw deliteful country. Honest farmers was to work sowin
korn, and other projuce in the fields. Surblime scenery. Large
red-heded gal reclinin on the banks of the Canawl, bathin her feet.

Turned in at 15 minits parst eleving.

Toosdy.--Riz at 5 and went up on the poop deck. Took a grown
person's dose of licker with a member of the Injianny legislater,
which he urbanely insisted on allowin me to pay for. Bote tearin
threu the briny waters at the rate of 2 Nots a hour, when the boy
on the leadin hoss shoutid--

"Sale hoe!"

"Whar away?" hollered the capting, clearin his glass (a empty black
bottle, with the bottom knockt out) and bringing it to his Eagle
eye.