There was no possibility of doubting my wife’s word； butI never knew genuine Kalydor， such as I use for my owncomplexion， to smell so much like cherry-brandy. I wasabout to express my fears that the lotion would injure herskin， when an accident occurred， which threatened morethan a skin-deep injury. Our Jehu had carelessly drivenover a heap of gravel， and fairly capsized the coach， withthe wheels in the air， and our heels where our heads shouldhave been. What became of my wits， I cannot imagine；they have always had a perverse trick of deserting me， justwhen they were most needed； but so it chanced， that， inthe confusion of our overthrow， I quite forgot that therewas a Mrs. Bullfrog in the world. Like many men’s wives，the good lady served her husband as a stepping-stone.
I had scrambled out of the coach， and was instinctivelysettling my cravat， when somebody brushed roughly byme， and I heard a smart thwack upon the coachman’s ear.
“Take that， you villain！” cried a strange， hoarse voice.
“You have ruined me， you blackguard！ I shall never be thewoman I have been！”
And then came a second thwack， aimed at the drivet’sother ear， but which missed it， and hit him on the nose，causing a terrible effusion of blood. Now， who， or whatfearful apparition， was inflicting this punishment on thepoor fellow， remained an impenetrable mystery to me.
The blows were given by a person of grisly aspect， with ahead almost bald， and sunken cheeks， apparently of thefeminine gender， though hardly to be classed in the gentlersex. There being no teeth to modulate the voice， it hada mumbled fierceness， not passionate， but stern， whichabsolutely made me quiver like a calves foot jelly. Whocould the phantom be？ The most awful circumstance ofthe affair is yet to be told； for this ogre， or whatever it was，had a riding-habit like Mrs. Bullfrog’s， and also a greensilk calash， dangling down her back by the strings. In myterror and turmoil of mind， I could imagine nothing less，than that the Old Nick， at the moment of our overtum，had annihilated my wife and jumped into her petticoats.
This idea seemed the more probable， since I couldnowhere perceive Mrs. Bullfrog alive， nor， though I lookedvery sharp about the coach， could I detect any traces ofthat beloved woman’s dead body. There would have been acomfort in giving her Christian burial！
“Come， sir， bestir yourself！ Help this rascal to set upthe coach，” said the hobgoblin to me； then， with a terrificscreech to three countrymen， at a distance— “Here， youfellows， an’t you ashamed to stand off， when a poor womanis in distress？”
The countrymen， instead of fleeing for their lives， camerunning at full speed， and laid hold of the topsy-turvycoach. I， also， though a small-sized man， went to work likea son of Anak. The coachman， too， with the blood stillstreaming from his nose， tugged and toiled most manfully，dreading， doubtless， that the next blow might break hishead. And yet， bemauled as the poor fellow had been， heseemed to glance at me with an eye of pity， as if my casewere more deplorable than his. But I cherished a hope thatall would turn out a dream， and seized the opportunity， aswe raised the coach， to jam two of my fingers under thewheel， trusting that the pain would awaken me.
“Why， here we are all to rights again！” exclaimed a sweetvoice， behind. “Thank you for your assistance， gentlemen.
My dear Mr. Bullfrog， how you perspire！ Do let me wipeyour face. Don’t take this little accident too much toheart， good driver. We ought to be thankful that none ofour necks are broke！”
“We might have spared one neck out of the three，”
muttered the driver， rubbing his ear and pulling his nose，to ascertain whether he had been cuffed or not. “Why， thewoman’s a witch！”
I fear that the reader will not believe， yet it is positivelya fact， that there stood Mrs. Bullfrog， with her glossyringlets curling on her brow， and two rows of orientpearls gleaming between her parted lips， which wore amost angelic smile. She had regained her riding-habit andcalash from the grisly phantom， and was， in all respects，the lovely woman who had been sitting by my side， atthe instant of our overturn. How she had happened todisappear， and who had supplied her place， and whencedid she now return， were problems too knotty for me tosolve. There stood my wife. That was the one thing certainamong a heap of mysteries. Nothing remained， but tohelp her into the coach， and plod on， through the journeyof the day and the journey of life， as comfortably as wecould. As the driver closed the door upon us， I heard himwhisper to the three countrymen—
“How do you suppose a fellow feels， shut up in a cagewith a she-tiger？”
