ream
through upon the floor of water which the shower had left. As we
slowly plashed through, I thought I was never in a better place for
vespers.

That night we rested, or rather tarried, at a grove some miles beyond,
and there partook of the miseries, so often jocosely portrayed, of
bedchambers for twelve, a milk dish for universal hand-basin, and
expectations that you would use and lend your "hankercher" for a
towel. But this was the only night, thanks to the hospitality of
private families, that we passed thus; and it was well that we had
this bit of experience, else might we have pronounced all Trollopian
records of the kind to be inventions of pure malice.

With us was a young lady who showed herself to have been bathed in
the Britannic fluid, wittily described by a late French writer, by
the impossibility she experienced of accommodating herself to the
indecorums of the scene. We ladies were to sleep in the bar-room, from
which its drinking visitors could be ejected only at a late hour. The
outer door had no fastening to prevent their return. However, our host
kindly requested we would call him, if they did, as he had "conquered
them for us," and would do so again. We had also rather hard couches
(mine was the supper-table); but we Yankees, born to rove, were
altogether too much fatigued to stand upon trifles, and slept as
sweetly as we would in the "bigly bower" of any baroness. But I think
England sat up all night, wrapped in her blanket-shawl, and with a
neat lace cap upon her head,--so that she would have looked perfectly
the lady, if any one had come in,--shuddering and listening. I know
that she was very ill next day, in requital. She watched, as her
parent country watches the seas, that nobody may do wrong in any case,
and deserved to have met some interruption, she was so well prepared.
However, there was none, other than from the nearness of some twenty
sets of powerful lungs, which would not leave the night to a deathly
stillness. In this house we had, if not good beds, yet good tea, good
bread, and wild strawberries, and were entertained with most free
communications of opinion and history from our hosts. Neither shall
any of us have a right to say again that we cannot find any who may
be willing to hear all we may have to say. "A's fish that comes to the
net," should be painted on the sign at Papaw Grove.

CHAPTER III.

ROCK RIVER.--OREGON.--ANCIENT INDIAN VILLAGE.--GANYMEDE TO
HIS EAGLE.-