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elephant, which at some future day, I may perhaps publish in a separate treatise; but they would be irrevelant to my present journey, which towards noon I was left to prosecute alone. The elephant, however docile, would not travel without his dinner; and Mr. Owen halted under a pine-tree to feed the mute companion of his toils.

For my own part, I dined at a solitary loghouse in the woods, upon exquisite venison. My host was a small Planter, who cultivated a little rice, and maintained a wife and four children with his rified-barrel-gun. He had been Overseer to a Colonel Fishborne, and owned half a dozen negroes; but he observed to me bis property was running about at large, for four of them had absconded.

As I purposed to make Pocotaligo the end of my day's journey, I walked forward at a moderate pace; but towards evening I was roused from the reveries into which my walking had plunged me, by a conflagration in the woods. On either side of the road the trees were in fames, which extending to their branches, assumed an appearance both terrific and grotesque. Through these woods, belching flames and rolling smoke, I had to travel nearly a mile, when the sound of the negro's axe chopping of wood, announced that I was near P cotaligo.

At Pocotaligo I learned that the conflagration

in the woods arose from the carelessness of some back-wood-men, who having neglected to extinguish their fires, the flames had extended in succession to the herbage and the trees.

I was somewhat surprised on entering the tavern at Pocotaligo, to behold sixteen or more chairs placed round a table which was covered with the choicest dishes ; but my surprise ceased when the Savannah and Charleston stage-coaches stopped at the door, and the passengers flocked to the fire before which I was sitting. In the Charleston coach came, a party of comedians. Of these itinerant heroes the greater part were my countrymen ; and, as I was not travelling to see Englishmen, but Americans, I was not sorry when they retired to bed,

I was in a worse condition at Pocotaligo than Asheepo; for at Pocotalig, the beds were so small that they would hold only respectively one person. But I pity the Traveller who takes umbrage against America because its houses of entertainment cannot always accommodate him to his wishes. If he images no other happiness to himself in travelling, but what is to be obtained from repasts that minister to luxury, and beds distinguished by their softness, let him confine his excursions to the cities of polished Europe. The Western Continent can supply the Traveller an employment more noble than a minute attention to the casualties of the road, which are afterwards to be enlarged upon with studied declamation,

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The world is called upon to sympathise with the sufferer ; he who at home had been accustomed to the luxury of a bed, groaned the night out in America on the rack of a mattress; and for this the country is to be execrated, and the beautiful scenes of nature beheld with a jaun

diced eye.

Finding there was no bed to be procured, I seated myself in a nook of the chimney, called for wine and segars, and either attended to the conversation of the negro-girls who had spread their blankets on the floor, or entertained myself with the half-formed notions of the landlord and coachman, who had brought, their chairs to the fire, and were disputing on politics. Both Americans and English are subject to loquacious imbecility. Their subjects only differ. The American talks of his government, the Englishma:l of himself.

Early in the morning, I resumed my journey in the coach that was proceeding to Savannah ; I had but a short distance more to go; for Coosohatchie is only ten miles from Pocotaligo. In journeying through America, the Indian names of places have always awakened in my breast a train of reflection ; a single word will speak volumes to a speculative mind; and the names of Pocotaligy, and Coosohatchie, and Occoquan, have pictured to my fancy the havcc of time, the decay and succession of generations, together with the final extirpation of sayage nations, who, unconscious of the existence of another people, dreamt not of invasions from foreign enemies, or inroads from colonists, but believed their power invincible, and their race eternal.

I was put down at the post office of Coosobatchie. The post-master was risen, expecting the mail. He invited me to partake of a fire he had just kindled, before which a negro-boy was administering pap to a sickly infant, whom the man always addressed by the homeric title of My Son.

I sat with the post-master an hour, when I sought out the village tavern, where with some trouble I knocked up a miserable Negress, who, on my entrance, resumed her slumbers on an old rug spread before the embers of the kitchen fire, and snored in oblivion of all care. After all, I know not whether those whose condition wears the appearance of wretchedness, are not greater favourites of nature than the opulent. Nothing comes amiss to the slave; he will find repose on the flint, when sleep flies the eye-lids of his master on a bed of down. I seated myself in a nook of the chimney till daylight, when the landlord came down; and, not long after, a servant was announced with horses, to conduct me to the house of Mr. Drayton.'

An hour's ride through a forest of stately pines, brought me to the plantation, where I was received with much affability, by Mr. Drayton and his lady, and where I was doomed to pass the winter in the woods of Carolina.

CHAP. III.

MEMOIR OF MY LIFE

IN THE WOODS OF SOUTH CAROLINA.

Ocean Plantation.-Poetry delightful in Solitude.

Walks in the Woods.-Family of Mr. Drayton. ---Midnight Lucubrations.--Sketches of Natural History.Deer-Hunting.--Remarks on Slaves and Slavery.-Militia of Coosobatchie District.A School Groupe. Journey into Georgia.

Deep in the bosom of a lofty wood,
Near Coosohatchie's slow revolving flood,
Where the blithe Mocking-bir:) repeats the lay
Of all the choir that warble from the spray ;
Where the soft fawn, and not less tim'rous hind,
Beset by dogs, outstrip in speed the wind;
Where the grim wolf, at silent close of day,
With hunger bold, comes near the house for prey ;
Along the road, near yonder fields of corn,
Where the soft dove resorts at early morn,
There would my breast with love of Nature glow,
And oft my thoughts in tuneful numbers flow;
While friendly George, by ev'ry Muse belov'd,
Smild his assent, and all my lays approv’d.

About half

way on the road from Charleston to Savannah, is situated a little village called Coosohatchie, consisting of a blacksmith's shop, a courthouse, and a jail. A small river rolls its stagnant

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