hunting; while their wives and daughters sat
in lazy ignorance, despising occupation as fit only
for negroes, and having no higher ambition than
to get the gaudiest show of trumpery in all the
State upon their backs.

In such a family the doctor and his young
friends were desired to make themselves at
home; the farmer encouraging them with the
usual declaration that he had plenty of "hog
and hominy" to give them. It was agreed that
all the ladies and children should occupy one
room, and that the host, the parson, and the boys
should live in the other.

These points were settled, and the united
families were at supper, when a party of eight
or ten men trooped into the house. These were
already in possession of quarters. They occupied
a sort of loft under the roof, the way to which
was by a ladder through a hole in the rough plank
ceiling of the lower rooms. The men of this party
professed to be traders—chiefly in horses, but
also in furs, skins, and general barter—with the
Indians. A more daring, cut-throat, rough-and-ready
set of men the discomfited D.D. had never
seen together. Their leader was almost a dwarf;
his legs were bent, and he carried his crooked
arms with the elbows out, the shoulders
humped, and his head buried between them. He
squinted, and the sedate doctor never knew
towards whom his evil glances were directed.
He had a villanous look, and carried a long sharp
butchery-sort of compound dagger, knife, and
pike. It was a recreation of his to draw this
instrument from its sheath and brandish it with
a swagger, as if to warn off spies and intruders.
Divers kinds of fire-arms were secured in his belt,
and he seemed to carry a deadly instrument
in every pocket: to load or sharpen some of
which was the occupation of his quiet moments.
Among his companions were men of various
ages and sizes, all powerfully armed, to not
one of whom did the doctor feel disposed to
volunteer a remark. This repulsive set,
nevertheless, watched their leader's face, and
adapted themselves to him with that submission which
is always yielded to a strong will. Their conversation
soon convinced him that he had not gained
much by avoiding Van Buren. On behalf of the
young girls under his charge, he was uncertain
what to do; but he resolved to keep unobtrusive
watch over the movements of these
gentlemen without appearing to do so, and to be
very cautious in his behaviour. Exclusiveness
was impossible. The host, himself a coarse
rough man, recognised no distinction in his
guests.

The dwarf and his comrades in the loft
drank and gamed nearly all that night. As
the hours dragged on, their conversation
became loud and offensive. Through the loose
planks the doctor heard them shamelessly boasting
of their evil deeds, heard them name
travellers whom they had swindled, and the
fresh victims for whom their bait was laid. He
heard himself and his party talked over with
calculating curiosity, the voices sometimes growing
louder and sometimes sinking into a whisper.
Though a brave man, he quaked a little in his
blanket.  Want of light alone compelled them
to put an end to their riotous game.

Next morning, to the D.D.'s relief, these men
set off for town, where they remained all day,
coming back only in time for supper; then, with
a general understanding, they betook themselves
to the further end of the long table upon which
the supper was laid, and there they talked among
themselves, wholly busy on their own affairs.

There was a small church within a few
miles, where, on the Sabbath following, there
was to be "preaching:"  a rather rare event
in those parts. "A very smart man" was
"due," the doctor was informed. This smart
man appeared to be very popular in the
district—"quite an orator," the squire assured
the learned Bostonian. Orator or not, and
popular though he might be, it appeared that
the greater novelty—in the person of a D.D.
from enlightened Boston—proved the stronger
attraction to the inhabitants; for, when it became
known that Dr. B. was in the neighbourhood, a
deputation arrived on the Sunday morning to
ask him to preach for them. Dr. B. was
unwilling to take precedence of the orator who
had brought his ready rhetoric from a considerable
distance, so he only proposed to go back
with the deputation to the church. When he
got there, and was introduced to the divine of
the backwoods, he saw clearly that he would
run more risk of offending if he preached, than
if he didn't. Nevertheless, the host took
his refusal almost as a personal affront, feeling
himself responsible to the disappointed
citizens. In the craving for excitement, all the
"gentry" for miles around had crowded to this
little church, in vehicles as rough as the building,
and drawn by quadrupeds almost as rough
as themselves. The church, a mere log-hut, was
crowded, and, to the doctor's surprise, he saw the
dwarf and two or three of his companions occupying
a bench in the middle of the room so called.
After the usual exercises, the orator stood
up to preach, and immediately the dwarf and
his friends got up from their bench, and, without
any attempt to hush their movements,
hustled each other out of the building.

"I say, parson," broke forth the dwarf, from
his end of the long supper-table, that same
evening: "that was a regular sell of yours.
Warn't it now? That little shanty never
trapped such a shiny crowd as you seen there
to-day, I guess. All regularly sold.  He! he!
Pity the Boston scholard couldn't find a word
to say to any of them, neither."

The doctor then discovered that it was in the
expectation of hearing him preach, that these
men had gone to the church. He was not a
little puzzled to know how to take their haIf-angry
threat: "We shan't forget that sell, you
know, parson."

Nearly three weeks went by. The frost that
year had been so sharp in the upper country,
that, notwithstanding the advance of spring,
there was as yet no change in the river near
Arkansas.