named Marion, and with his old wife, reminded me of Baucis and Philemon, or of Darby and Joan. They came here with the first emigrants from Burgundy—bought some town lots, on which they planted fruit trees, and converted into corn fields, as they could not procure tenants {130} nor purchasers to build on them. They have no children—they seem much attached to each other, and are healthy, and content with their situation.—They insisted with much hospitality on our tasting the old lady's manufacture of cherry bounce, before they knew that we could converse with them in their native tongue; but, when they found that we could not only do so, but that I could make a subject of conversation of their own country, and even of their own province, from having visited it long since they had bid it a final adieu—it was with difficulty they would permit us to leave them, before we had spent at least one day with them. Indeed I never saw the amor patriæ more strongly manifested, than in the fixed and glistening eyes, which they rivetted on my face, whilst I described the present state of their provincial capital Dijon.
Galliopolis abounds with fruit, to the planting of which, French settlers always pay great attention; but the town does not thrive, although very pleasantly situated on an extensive flat.
Pursuing our voyage at ten o'clock, half a league below Galliopolis, we passed a skiff containing a family, the head of which was a carpenter and farmer from Baltimore, going to Green river about five hundred miles lower down.
At two o'clock we had rowed fourteen miles, having passed Racoon island and creek on the right, during which the bottom was so extensive on each side, that we could not see the tops of the river hills over the banks. We were here charmed with the melody of the red birds responding to each other from the opposite banks, particularly on passing
