off, and at last every troop on 'em goes, as if Old Nick
was arter them, till they amount to two or three hundred
in a drove. Well, he chases them clear across the Tantramer
marsh, seven miles good, over ditches, creeks, mire holes,
and flag ponds, and then they turn and take a fair chase
for it back again seven miles more. By this time, I
presume, they are all pretty considerably well tired,
and Blue Nose, he goes and gets up all the men folks in
the neighborhood, and catches his beast, as they do a
moose arter he is fairly run down; so he runs fourteen
miles, to ride two, because he is in a tarnation hurry.
Its e'en a most equal to eatin soup with a fork, when
you are short of time. It puts me in mind of catching
birds by sprinkling salt on their tails; its only one
horse a man can ride out of half a dozen, arter all. One
has no shoes, tother has a colt, one arnt broke, another
has a sore back, while a fifth is so etarnal cunnin, all
Cumberland could'nt catch him, till winter drives him up
to the barn for food.

Most of them are dyke marshes have what they call 'HONEY
POTS' in 'em; that is a deep hole all full of squash,
where you can't find no bottom. Well, every now and then,
when a feller goes to look for his horse, he sees his
tail a stickin right out an eend, from one of these honey
pots, and wavin like a head of broom corn; and sometimes
you see two or three trapped there, e'en a most smothered,
everlastin' tired, half swimmin' half wadin, like rats
in a molasses cask. When they find 'em in that are
pickle, they go and get ropes, and tie 'em tight round