or
him. So--" I went on reading a newspaper: a fellow-passenger, on a back
seat, not having the fear of murdered English on his hands, coaxed the
Dutch driver into a long conversation, much to the delight of a very
pretty Jersey-blue belle, who laughed so merrily that it was contagious;
and in a few minutes, from being like unto a conventicle, we were all as
wide awake as one of Christy's audiences. By sunrise we were in
excellent spirits, up to all sorts of fun; and when, a little later on,
our stage stopped at the first watering-place, the driver found himself
the center of a group of treaters to the distilled "juice of apples." It
is just as easy to say "apple-jack," and be done with it; but the
writer, being very anxious to form a style, cribs from all quarters. The
so oft-repeated expression "juice of the grape" has been for a long time
on his hands, and, wishing to work it up, he would have done it in this
case, only he fears the skepticism of his readers. By courtesy, they may
wink at the poetical license of a reporter of a public dinner who calls
turnip-juice and painted whisky "juice of the grape," but they would not
allow the existence, for one minute, of such application to the liquors
of a Jersey tavern. It's out of place.

"Here's a package to leave at Mr. Scudder's, the third house on the
left-hand side after you get into Jericho. What do you charge?" asked a
man who seemed to know the driver.

"Pout a leffy," answered he. Receiving the silver, he gathered up the
reins, and put the square package in the stage-box. Just as he started
the horses, he leaned his head out of the stage, and, looking back to
the man who gave him the package, shouted out the question:

"Ter fird haus on ter lef hant out of Yeriko?" The man didn't hear him,
but the driver was satisfied. On we went at a pretty good rate,
considering how heavy the roads were. Another tavern, more watering,
more apple-jack. Another long stretch of sand, and we were coming into
Jericho.

"Anypotty know ter Miss Scutter haus?" asked the driver, bracing his
feet on the mail-bag which lay in front of him, and screwing his head
round so as to face in. There seemed to be a consultation going on
inside the stage.

"I don't know nobody o' that name in Jericho. Do you, Lishe?" asked a
weather-beaten-looking man, who evidently "went by water," of another
one who apparently went the same way.

"There wos ole Square Gow's da'ter, she marri'd a Scudder; mov