when the buxom lassies would tread mortar upon a dirt floor, to the tune of "old Virginia never tire,” with the mud oozing up between their toes, and the rain beating through the clap board roof. They were glorious days, and all the luxuries and sickening refinements of the Old Dominion can never make me forget them.

The next step in the ascent of life on Pocatalico Creek, is the voluptuous puncheon floor; but why should I proceed? My heart aches at the remembrance of those golden days, and I am almost tempted like Boon to retire still more and more to the West, and spend my days where the destroying hand of civilization can never reach me more. How many Saturday nights have I beat time in the good old sixhanded reel upon these split-log puncheon floors; and how many Sundays have I spent upon my knees before the cabin doors pulling the splinters from my partner's feet, while she sat (regardless of Sunday for every day was alike) on a chesnut log knitting a stocking. I never was happy after my father built his square, hewed-log-house, with a smooth oak plank floor; and when he grew rich and erected his present brick mansion 1 left him, and building me a hut of the most primitive construction, I married and raised hogs, which I have driven to market ever since once a year; but nothing else would ever force me into the "company of civilized man."

During this part of the narration, my uncle had gazed upon the backwoodsman's face, as if to enquire whether he was jesting or in earnest.

But

his countenance was impenetrable: he maintained an unbroken gravity, which it seemed nothing could interrupt.

"But," said my uncle at length impatiently, "whither does this description tend ?" "I will tell you," said the backwoodsman swallowing a glass of wine. "In this settlement there lived an old revolutionary misanthrope, who had settled in that country shortly after the close of our contest with Great Britain." "Indeed," said my uncle with interest. "There was a mystery about that old man,” continued the narrator, which was never developed. He came into the neighbourhood before I was born, but I have heard my father say that he landed from a bark canoe at his door, and by his uncouth figure and dress, had gathered half the neighbourhood into his yard; who had followed him from the water's edge with as much curiosity as was manifested by the people on the Ohio when the first steam-boat passed that river.

He was a queer looking odd sort of a genius, with a nose all spangled with carbuncles and warts, and turning up towards his forehead like the handle of a gourd. "Heavens," exclaimed Carmine, "what a nose for the pencil," as he pulled one from his pocket with an old letter. His mouth was wide and cut his face in a curvelinear direction; his upper lip was long and looked like that of a mud turtle. But how shall I describe his body, or shall 1 describe that which was indescribable? It was like nothing on earth, nor in the waters, except the cat-fish after a gorge; all mouth and head in the upper works,

and potted in the flanks. Heaven knows how he looked when naked, but when I saw him in an old three-cornered, triangular, continental cock'd hat, with a black worsted shad-bellied coat, blue breeches, clocked stockings and square-toed shoes with huge brass buckles; when I saw this antiquated fish out of water, he might have passed (if those celebrated characters had then been known) for the learned antiquarian, Dr. Dryasdust, or Diedrick Nickerbocker, the famous and renowned historian of Nieuw Nederlandts. He was asked many questions but he answered none: it was concluded upon, that he was deaf, and my father wrote to him on a piece of chesnut bark, but he did not, or would not understand writing. The neighbours built him a cabin, in a spot which he chose between two high cliffs, on the bank of a little rivulet, which headed about a mile above. About twenty years did this strange creature live in his little hut, and every morning did he wash his face in the spring which formed the head of his branch, completely unmolested; unless occasionally the report of a rifle would break close by him, when he would dart from his cornfield and barricade his cabin-door as if some savage enemy were at hand. His aversion to fire-arms could never be accounted for, and how he could hear them (being deaf) was truly mysterious.

Things passed on this way for some twenty years; the misanthrope was never suffered to want for any thing, for every morning the neighbours would place something good near his door, such as flap-jacks, crab-lantern pies, corn-dodgers, venison-hams, &c.

and as he never said any thing he became a great favorite with all the women.

One day our little neighbourhood was alarmed by an innovation from the Old Dominion; an innovation much more dreaded by our peaceable settlers, than any irruption from the other quarter. This was the arrival of an upstart son of a land claimant from Gloster-shore, by the name of Dirthead. But he was a yea nay, good for nothing sort of a creature, and as he had no claims upon our lands, my father treated him with hospitality and kindness; as he had never seen, much less been at the death of a deer, he expressed a great anxiety to kill one. We placed him at a stand, high up the ravine above the misanthrope's house; this stand was nearly equidistant from the deer lick and the spring, where the solitary was wont to bathe his hands and face of a morning. Our young land-claimant took his seat about midnight; it was drizzling rain and as dark as pitch; we left him with directions that so soon as day light appeared, he should place his rifle upon a fork and take good aim at the deer which would be sure to make his appearance at the lick.

The Gloster man when left by himself became frightened, and being chilled by the rain walked around in a circle, until he became completely bewildered. Day light, however, appeared at length, and he thought he saw the deer; it grew lighter, and he could plainly perceive it moving its head up and down at the lick. He took deliberate aim and fired. The deer fell. He ran whooping up to the lick; but what was his horror at beholding the recluse ex

tended at full length upon the ground: "My God," said the unfortunate youth, "have I murdered you? 1 took you for a deer." "Deer," said the deaf and dumb man springing up: "Deer, you damn'd fool! did you ever see a deer with a cock'd hat and blue breeches."

Here, the backwoodsman was iuterrupted by a loud and continued shout of laughter from the whole company; the sea captain, my old uncle, the painter, and even the melancholy young Minister seemed almost convulsed with laughter. Long and loud did the peal of mirth continue, till at last it seemed to die away from mere weakness. "And did he kill the poor old fellow?" cried my uncle. "Oh no," said the backwoodsman, "far from it." The ball, I will venture to say, did not pass within fifty steps of him. But, he was convinced that his hour was come, and begged us to carry him to his cabin and let him die in peace. He could not die, however, in spite of imagination, and after a few weeks came out well and sound; and to the amazement of the whole neighbourhood, was metamorphosed into a very agreeable quizzical fellow. My father and he became perfect cronies, and were afterwards but seldom separated.

"I have always been a firm believer in Physiognomy," said Carmine, "and this story, especially the latter part of it, would have convinced me of its efficacy, had I been the greatest sceptic on earth. When you first described his personal appearance, I could have sworn that the old cock'd hat was a genuine quiz, and expected every moment such a