ars to
occupy the space of three or four city blocks; there is the customary
band-stand in the center, and seats plentifully provided along the
graveled walks which divide neat plots of grass. Over the riverward
entrance to the square, is an arch of gas-pipe, perforated for
illumination, and bearing the dates, "1790-1890,"--a relic, this, of
the centennial which Gallipolis celebrated in the last-named year.

It was with some difficulty that we found a camping-place, this
evening. For several miles, the approaches were nearly knee-deep in
mud for a dozen feet back from the water's edge, or else the banks
were too steep, or the farmers had cultivated so closely to the brink
as to leave us no room for the tent. In one gruesome spot on the Ohio
bank, where a projecting log fortunately served as a pier, the Doctor
landed for a prospecting tour; while I ascended a zigzag path, through
steep and rugged land, to a nest of squalid cabins perched by a shabby
hillside road. A vicious dog came down to meet me half-way, and might
have succeeded in carrying off a portion of my clothing had not his
owner whistled him back.

A queer, dingy, human wasp-nest, this dirty little shanty hamlet of
Rosebud. Pigs and children wallowed in comradeship, and as every cabin
on the precipitous slope necessarily has a basement, this is used as
the common barn for chickens, goats, pigs, and cow. It was pleasant to
find that there was no sweet milk to be had in Rosebud, for it is kept
in open pans, in these fetid rooms, and soon sours--and the cows had
not yet come down from the hills. Water, too, was at a premium. There
was none to be had, save what had fallen from the clouds, and been
stored in a foul cistern, which seemed common property. I drew a
pailful of it, not to displease the disheveled group which surrounded
me, full of questions; but on the first turning in the lane, emptied
the vessel upon the back of a pig, which was darting by with murderous
squeal.

The long twilight was well nigh spent, when, on the Ohio side a mile
or two above Glenwood, W. Va. (287 miles), we came upon a wide,
level beach of gravel, below a sloping, willowed terrace, above which
sharply rose the "second bottom." Ascending an angling farm roadway,
while the others pitched camp, I walked over the undulating bottom
to the nearest of a group of small, neat farmhouses, and applied
for milk. While a buxom maid went out and milked a Jersey, that had
chanced to come home