restlessness of that wasting disease, to travel without other aim or object, than present alleviation, or possibly an illusive, shadowy hope, of future gain. Beside herself, and the nurse, were two sweet little daughters, of six and eight, her only treasures, companions in all her wanderings; while she, apparently aware of her perilous condition, exchanged with those objects of her affection fond and mournful looks, like one journeying to that "bourne from whence no traveller returns."
After our party were again by ourselves, in our own vehicle, curiosity induced us, during the fervor of a summer-noon, to enter a log-house, and inspect its capacities, and the habitudes of its inmates. It was one of the larger order, and comprised two stories of moderate height. As there was no public house, in its immediate vicinity, the family were ambitious of providing us entertainment, and set forth from their own resources a decent dinner, with a dessert of freshly gathered berries from the neighboring field. Afterwards, they furnished conveniences for a siesta, to such as desired it, and produced for the readers, newspapers in German and English, with a few antique volumes. We discovered that in these unpretending tenements, there might exist more of comfort and even of refinement, than their rude aspect announces to the passing traveller.
At Montrose, and Centreville, we found good accommodations, and at the latter place were told the story of a calamity, which in the summer of 1833,