black mud,
and water. Had the original trees been standing, it must have approached
quite as near the correct type of the 'howling wilderness,' the _horrida
inculta_, as could be exhibited this side of 'Turkey Buzzard's Land,
Arkansas.' Few strangers were suffered to pass by the locality in
company with any of the East Hampton folk, without having their
attention directed to 'Abijah Witherpee's Retreat;' and the opinion was
apt to be freely ventured that at some period of his life, that
gentleman had come into what is popularly termed 'a tight fix.'

The place had originally belonged to nobody in particular, and one day
fell into the hands of a Mr. Jones, at a merely nominal price, in
connection with a large tract through which it was thought the railroad,
then contemplated, would be likely to run. The railroad changed its
mind, as all railroads do, and Mr. Jones's speculation was not so
profitable as he had anticipated. It happened that among his friends was
a wild, freakish fellow, Charley Davis, who undertook to be on the best
of terms with everybody, and had succeeded admirably, with the exception
of Justice Witherpee, who, he swore, had swindled him outrageously in a
business transaction they had together in getting out lumber. What made
it all the worse, the aggrieved party used to say, was the shameful
manner in which the 'old reprobate' would publicly boast of it.

'I say, Jones,' exclaimed the Major (as he was called) one day as he sat
smoothing off a new ramrod for his fowling piece, 'what would you say to
a chance of getting that old stick-in-the-mud, Witherpee, on the hip? I
rather flatter myself that I can do it.'

'Go ahead, my son,' said Jones, pleasantly, by way of encouragement.

'You own that infernal piece of swamp down by the railroad crossing,
don't you? That air's a valuable piece of real estate!'

'Well, yes. It's never been spoilt by too much cultivation that I know
of.'

'I reckon I can just get a heap of money for that air; and what's more,
I can have the satisfaction of selling it to a gentleman who can
appreciate it.'

'It does you credit, Major. That's what I call a genuine love of nature.
It ain't every man that sees the beauties of a first-class rural retreat
like that,' and the speaker's countenance was radiant with
benignity--whether at the high-toned sentiment of his friend, or at the
prospect of getting the better of the 'Squire, it was difficult to
determine. He thought it we