rom the Monongahela country to Kentucky, which it entered at
Limestone, the present Maysville. This famous road, passing through
Zanesville, Lancaster, and Chillicothe, though at that time safe only
for men in parties, was a common route to and from Kentucky.

On such inland pathways as this, early travelers came to take for
granted a hospitality not to be found on more frequented thoroughfares.
In this hospitality, roughness and good will, cleanliness and filth,
attempts to ape the style of Eastern towns and habits of the most
primitive kind, were singularly blended. In one instance, the traveler
might be cordially assigned by the landlord to a good position in "the
first rush for a chance at the head of the table"; at the next stopping
place he might be coldly turned away because the proprietor "had the
gout" and his wife the "delicate blue-devils"; farther on, where "soap
was unknown, nothing clean but birds, nothing industrious but pigs, and
nothing happy but squirrels," Daniel Boone's daughter might be seen in
high-heeled shoes, attended by white servants whose wages were a dollar
a week, skirting muddy roads under a ten-dollar bonnet and a six-dollar
parasol. Or, he might emerge from a lonely forest in Ohio or Indiana and
come suddenly upon a party of neighbors at a dreary tavern, enjoying a
corn shucking or a harvest home. Immediately dubbed "Doctor," "Squire,"
or "Colonel" by the hospitable merrymakers, the passer-by would be
informed that he "should drink and lack no good thing." After he had
retired, as likely as not his quarters would be invaded at one or
two o'clock in the morning by the uproarious company, and the best
refreshment of the house would be forced upon him with a hilarity
"created by omnipotent whiskey." Sometimes, however, the traveler would
encounter pitiful instances of loneliness in the widespreading forests.
One man in passing a certain isolated cabin was implored by the woman
who inhabited it to rest awhile and talk, since she was, she confessed,
completely overwhelmed by "the lone!"

Every traveler has remarked upon the yellow pallor of the first
inhabitants of the western forests and doubtless correctly attributed
this sickly appearance to the effects of malaria and miasma. The psychic
influences of the forest wilderness also weighed heavily upon the
spirits of the settlers, although, as Baily notes, it was the newcomers
who felt the depression to an exaggerated degree. As he says:

"I