ttens. How
he handled the ribbons and took his cattle through Elm Street! How the
long bridges rumbled and thundered as we bowled along away, away into
the country! The country! it _was_ the country then; inhabited by
country people, not peopled with a mixed society of farmers and cits,
six o' one and half a dozen of t'other. How nicely we glided along!
There were birds, in those days, singing by the roadside; now the
confounded locomotives have scared them all off. By and by we came to a
tavern. Out rushed a troop of hostlers and keepers skilled in horse
flesh. The cattle were just allowed to wet their lips, water was dashed
on their legs and feet, and then, after the parcels and papers had been
tossed off, away we went again. Five miles farther on, we pulled up to
change. The fresh team was led out, bright, shining, and glittering, in
tip-top condition. The driver descended to stretch his legs and
personally superintend the putting to of the fresh horses. When he
mounted the box again, his experienced eye glanced rapidly at the team,
and then, with an 'all right--let 'em go!' we were on the road once
more."

The one-eyed gentleman paused, after this flow of eloquence, and gazed
pensively into the midst of the glowing coals. After a few moments'
silence, he resumed:--

"Rather a singular occurrence happened to me last year on the 14th of
October, about half past twelve, P.M. I am thus particular about
dates, because this event is one that forms an era in my life. I had
been driving across the country in my gig, to visit a friend who had
recently moved upon a farm. The localities were new to me, and the
roads blind. Guideboards were few, and human beings fewer. In short, I
got astray, and hadn't the remotest conception of what part of the
country I was in. It was a cold, cloudy day, with a sort of drizzling
Scotch mist that wet one to the bone. I plodded along in hopes of soon
reaching some tavern, where I could bait my horse and get some dinner
for myself. All at once, at a turn of the road, just after having
crossed the Concord River, I perceived a stage coach coming towards
me. I had heard no noise of wheels or horses' feet; but there it was.
The road was narrow, and the coachman pulled up to let me work my way
past. The vehicle was a queer old affair, that looked as if it had
been dug out of some antediluvian stable yard. The curtains were brown
with age and dust, and riddled with holes; the body was bare and
wor