ve. As we passed them, they gave it out
heartily--Phu--Phoo-iey. We arrived at Smith's tavern, seventeen
miles, at half-past seven, breakfasted, and stayed until ten, at that
miserable place.

We then drove on, and passed Moncey in Caradoc, so named from an
Indian tribe. It is a pretty village, where they had just finished a
church, whereon banners were flying, which showed us, that if we had
forgotten King William, some folks here had not; and, out of bravado,
a refugee American had stuck a pocket-handkerchief flag of the Stars
and Stripes up at his shop-door, which we prophesied, as evening
came, would be pulled down, because orange, blue, and red flags
flourished near it. This is an Indian village, into which the
Americans and other white traders and adventurers have set foot.

I was charmed with the scenery, consisting of fertile fields, rich
woods, the ever-winding Thames and undulating mammillated hills,
covered with verdure. Happy Indians, if unhappy Whites were not
thrusting you out!

We arrived at one o'clock at Fleming's Inn, much better than the last,
twelve miles. Here we rested awhile.--Starting again, the country was
found but very little settled, with long tiresome woods, but still
beautiful, all nearly oak. We halted at the German Flats, not to get
out, for there was no abiding-place, but to look at the ground, where
the battle in the last American war took place, in which Tecumseh, the
great Tecumseh, met his death, and where Kentucky heroes made
razor-straps of his skin.

Seven miles after leaving these immense woods, the valley of the
Thames opens most magnificently in a gorge below, and spreads into
rich flats to the left, embowered with the most beautiful forest
scenery, in which, about a mile off, stand the Moravian church,
school, and Indian village. A more lovely spot could not have been
selected. There is a large Indian settlement of old date here; and, as
we drove along, we passed through two deserted orchards; the road had
rendered them useless; and, from which and its neighbourhood, the
Indians had retired into their settled village below. Here the forest
was gradually regaining the mastery: fruit-trees had become wild, and
the Thames ran in a deep bold ravine far below, clothed with aged and
solemn trees, willows and poplars, intermixed with oak, beech, ash,
and altogether English and park-like. It put me in mind of the opening
chapter of "Ivanhoe."

The road was a deep sand; and we s