tages of cultivation--the black
logging--the grain waving amidst stumps--and the smooth grassy
meadow--whilst at the south, where the little river makes a bold turn,
the sweet landscape is lost in the deep mantle of the aboriginal
forest.

Mastering the hill, the whole cavalcade was soon turning into a stony,
root-tangled, miry road, leading from the turnpike into the heart of
the "Barrens," the territory of the desired fruit. After sinking and
jolting for some little distance, we came to a part of the track which
had been laid over with small parallel logs, close to each other, and
forming what is called in country parlance "a corduroy road". We
"bumped along" (as Jim Stokes, one of our party, a plain young farmer,
expressed it) over this railway of the woods, until our bones seemed
so loose we thought we could hear them rattle at every jolt; and at
last stopped at a large log cabin which had been fitted up as a
tavern.

A fierce eagle, with his head nearly all eye, one striped claw
grasping a bundle of arrows, and the other the American flag, served
for the sign, and was elevated upon a tall hickory sapling, with the
ambitious legend of "Eagle Hotel; by A. Pritchard," flaunting in a
scroll from the ferocious bird's mouth.

A smaller log structure, with one large door, and a square opening
over it, through which a haymow seemed thrusting its brown head, as if
to look abroad, with a warm glow of sunshine upon it, told plainly
that our horses at all events would not suffer.

In a short time we scattered ourselves over the ground in the
vicinity, in search of our fruit. The appearance of things around was
quite characteristic of the region generally. The principal growth
were a dwarf species of oak, called in the language of the country
"scrub-oak"--low shaggy spruces--stunted gnarled pines, and here and
there, particularly in low places, tall hemlocks. The earth was
perfectly bestrewed with loose stones, between which, however, the
moss showed itself, thick and green, with immense quantities of that
beautiful creeping plant called the "ground pine," winding and twining
its rich emerald branching fingers in every direction. Scores of
cattle-paths were twisting and interlacing all around us, giving, in
fact, to the scene, notwithstanding its barrenness, a picturesque
appearance. There were stone-fences also intersecting each other every
where, erected for no earthly purpose, as I could perceive, but to
make way with