There is no house for three miles from Stukey's tavern, and from that to within a mile of New Lancaster, there are but two other settlements.—Then, on descending a low hill, and emerging from the woods into an extensive natural meadow on the western bank of the Hockhocking, that town presents itself suddenly to view, well situated on a rising ground on the opposite side of the river, and making a better appearance at that distance than it has on entering it. A wooden bridge crosses the river, which is here only a rivulet just below the town, and here I passed a number of men engaged in racing their horses.
New Lancaster[145] is a compact little town of one wide street, about six hundred paces long, containing {200} sixty houses, amongst which is a neat little court house of brick, forty-two by thirty-six feet, just built, with a cupola belfry. There are six stores and nine taverns. There is but one brick house, all the rest being of wood, amongst which conspicuously the best is that of Mr. Bucher a lawyer. In most towns in the United States, the best houses are chiefly inhabited by gentlemen of that profession.
After supping at the inn where the stage stopped, I was shewn to bed up stairs in a barrack room the whole extent of the house, with several beds in it, one of which was already occupied by a man and his wife, from the neighbouring country, who both conversed with me until I feigned sleep, in hopes that would silence them, but though they then ceased to direct their discourse to me, they continued to talk to each other on their most private and domestick affairs, as though there had been no other person in the room. In
