in front, and a back gallery, where
there were evidences of female refinement in pots of plants and flowers.
The landlord himself kept tavern very much as a hostler would, but we
had to make a note in his favor that he had never heard of a milk punch.
And it might as well be said here, for it will have to be insisted on
later, that the traveler, who has read about the illicit stills till
his imagination dwells upon the indulgence of his vitiated tastes in the
mountains of North Carolina, is doomed to disappointment. If he wants
to make himself an exception to the sober people whose cooking will make
him long for the maddening bowl, he must bring his poison with him.
We had found no bread since we left Virginia; we had seen cornmeal and
water, slack-baked; we had seen potatoes fried in grease, and bacon
incrusted with salt (all thirst-provokers), but nothing to drink
stronger than buttermilk. And we can say that, so far as our example
is concerned, we left the country as temperate as we found it. How can
there be mint juleps (to go into details) without ice? and in the summer
there is probably not a pound of ice in all the State north of Buncombe
County.

There is nothing special to be said about Boone. We were anxious to
reach it, we were glad to leave it; we note as to all these places
that our joy at departing always exceeds that on arriving, which is
a merciful provision of nature for people who must keep moving. This
country is settled by genuine Americans, who have the aboriginal
primitive traits of the universal Yankee nation. The front porch in the
morning resembled a carpenter's shop; it was literally covered with the
whittlings of the row of natives who had spent the evening there in the
sedative occupation of whittling.

We took that morning a forest road to Valle Crusis, seven miles, through
noble growths of oaks, chestnuts, hemlocks, rhododendrons,--a charming
wood road, leading to a place that, as usual, did not keep the promise
of its name. Valle Crusis has a blacksmith shop and a dirty, flyblown
store. While the Professor consulted the blacksmith about a loose shoe,
the Friend carried his weariness of life without provisions up to a
white house on the hill, and negotiated for boiled milk. This house was
occupied by flies. They must have numbered millions, settled in black
swarms, covering tables, beds, walls, the veranda; the kitchen was
simply a hive of them. The only book in sight, Whewell's--"Element