t
of a tavern, the destination of which was indicated by a sign, whose
hieroglyphics, according to our firm belief, neither Denon nor
Champollion could have deciphered. Under these was written, for those
who could read it, the customary announcement of "Entertainment for Man
and Beast." In the interior of the establishment a second fiddle was to
be heard; the performer upon which, of a less martial turn than his
rival, was performing a lively jig for the benefit of a crowd of
dancers.

The other group, more gravely disposed, had chosen a more respectable
parade-ground, and established itself in front of a store, containing a
miscellany of earthen jugs, rolls of chewing tobacco, felt hats, shoes,
knives, forks, and spoons, and (the most essential of all) a cask of
whisky and a keg of lead and powder. Above the door was a board, with
the inscription, "New Shop--Cheap for Cash;" and on the wall of the
crazy frame-house was written in chalk--"Whisky, Brandy, Tobacco,
Post-office."

On the stump of a tree stood a man who, to judge from his new beaver
hat, clean shirt-collar, and bran-new coat and breeches of a pompadour
red, was a candidate for some one of the offices in the gift of the
sovereign people. Near him were several other men of equally elegant
exterior, to all appearance also aspirants to the vacant post, and who
seemed to wait with some impatience for the termination of his harangue.
Comparatively speaking, tranquillity and order reigned here, only
excepting the noise of the dancers, and the occasional bellowing of some
noisy toper stumbling about through the mud, with which the single
street of the little town was covered knee-deep. Such interruptions,
however, the orator seemed totally to disregard, and he continued in
stentorian tones to inform his auditors how he would whip them damned
British, whom he hated worse than skunks. This he was setting forth in
the clearest possible manner, when the attention of his hearers was in
some degree distracted by a loud "Hallo!" proceeding from two boon
companions, who, after having for some time floundered about the street,
had at last rambled towards the edge of the forest, and now suddenly
began to shout violently, and to run as fast as their unsteady condition
would allow. Amongst their vociferations, the words, "Stop, you cussed
Redskin!" were clearly distinguishable--sounds far too interesting not
to create a sensation amongst backwoodsmen. A dozen of the orator's