tle pine table, with oilcloth tacked over the top
of it, stands in one corner of the room, upon which are arranged the
chess and cribbage boards. There is a larger one for dining purposes,
and as unpainted pine has always a most dreary look, F. went everywhere
in search of oilcloth for it, but there was none at any of the bars. At
last, "Ned," the Humboldt Paganini, remembered two old monte-table
covers which had been thrown aside as useless. I received them
thankfully, and, with my planning and Ned's mechanical genius, we
patched up quite a respectable covering. To be sure, the ragged
condition of the primitive material compelled us to have at one end an
extra border, but that only agreeably relieved the monotony. I must
mention that the floor is so uneven that no article of furniture gifted
with four legs pretends to stand upon but three at once, so that the
chairs, tables, etc., remind you constantly of a dog with a sore foot.

At each end of the mantelpiece is arranged a candlestick, not, much to
my regret, a block of wood with a hole in the center of it, but a real
britanniaware candlestick. The space between is gayly ornamented with
F.'s meerschaum, several styles of clay pipes, cigars, cigarritos, and
every procurable variety of tobacco, for, you know, the aforesaid
individual is a perfect devotee of the Indian weed. If I should give
you a month of Sundays, you would never guess what we use in lieu of a
bookcase, so I will put you out of your misery by informing you
instantly that it is nothing more nor less than a candle-box which
contains the library, consisting of a Bible and prayer-book,
Shakespeare, Spenser, Coleridge, Shelley, Keats, Lowell's Fable for
Critics, Walton's Complete Angler, and some Spanish books,--spiritual
instead of material lights, you see.

There, my dainty Lady Molly, I have given you, I fear, a wearisomely
minute description of my new home. How would you like to winter in such
an abode? in a place where there are no newspapers, no churches,
lectures, concerts, or theaters; no fresh books; no shopping, calling,
nor gossiping little tea-drinkings; no parties, no balls, no picnics,
no tableaus, no charades, no latest fashions, no daily mail (we have an
express once a month), no promenades, no rides or drives; no vegetables
but potatoes and onions, no milk, no eggs, no _nothing_? Now, I expect
to be very happy here. This strange, odd life fascinates me. As for
churches, "the groves were God