t the motions of the driver, the
blacksmith, and the black 'huff'-holder, we trudged on through the mud,
and in about two hours reached the next station.

The reader will find the spot which bears the dignified cognomen of
'Tom's Store,' if he looks on the map of North-Carolina. It is there
destitute of a name, but is plainly designated by the circular character
which is applied by geographers to villages. It is situated on the bank
of a small tributary of the Neuse, and consists of a one-story building
about twenty feet wide, and forty feet long, divided into two
apartments, and built of pine slabs. One half of the village is sparsely
filled with dry-goods, groceries, fish-hooks, log-chains, goose-yokes,
tin-pans, cut-nails, and Jews'-harps, while the other is densely crowded
with logwood, 'dog-leg,' strychnine, juniper-berries, New-England rum,
and cistern-water, all mixed together. This latter region is the more
populous neighborhood; and at the date of my visit it was absolutely
packed with thirsty natives, who were imbibing certain fluids known
'down South' as 'blue-ruin,' 'bust-head, 'red-eye,' 'tangle-foot,'
'rifle-whisky,' and 'devil's-dye,' at the rate of a 'bit' a glass, and
of four 'bits' for 'as much as one could carry.'

I was introduced by the Squire to Tom himself, the illustrious founder
of the village. He was a stout, bloated specimen of humanity, with a
red, pimpled face, a long grizzly beard, small inflamed eyes, and a nose
that might have been mistaken for a peeled beet. His whole appearance
showed that he was an _habitue_ of the more fashionable quarter of his
village, (the groggery,) and a liberal imbiber of his own compounds. He
informed me that he did a 'right smart' business; bought dry-goods in
'York,' 'sperrets' in 'Hio, and rum in Bostin', and he added: 'Stranger,
I never keeps none but th' clar juice, th' raal, genuwine critter,
d----d ef I do. Come, take a drink.'

I declined, when a bystander who seemed to know--he could scarcely keep
his feet--overhearing the remark, confirmed it by saying with a big
oath:

'It's so, stranger, Tom do keep th' reg'lar critter, th' genuwine juice!
Thar's no mistake 'bout thet, fur it gets tight itself ev'ry cold
snap--d----d if it doan't!'

The village, at the date of my visit, had a population of about one
hundred men, women, and children, and they were all assembled on the
cleared plot in front of the store, witnessing a 'turkey-match.' Wishing
to a