the outline of the timber on the hills beyond the river, so that the scene brought to my recollection the heaths of a well known land.
Stopped for the night in a tolerably good tavern, two miles from Bloody Run. The bar-room is nearly filled with people. On our being shewn to a more retired apartment, I could see one person make a wry face, and then smile to his acquaintance. It would seem that our being separated from the large party, was not attended by the most pleasant sensations.
September 24. Last night we slept in a large room containing five beds. It was proposed that one of these should hold two of us. My companions went together, and I congratulated myself on {50} monopolizing one of the beds,—but here I reckoned without mine host. About midnight a man entered the room, groped all the beds, and finding that I was alone, tumbled in beside me. Such is a common occurrence, I am told, in this country, but it is the first time that I have met with it. In the morning I discovered that my neighbour was a person of good address, and respectable appearance.
After resuming our journey, we came up to a family rising from their beds by the embers of a fire in the wood. The father fired off a rifle, which it would seem he had kept in readiness for defence. There can be no great objection to sleeping in the woods, in such fine weather. From several heaps of ashes that we have seen by the sides of the road, it is evident that the practice is common, even where taverns are numerous. Emigrants carry their moveables in one horse carts, or two or four horse waggons, as the quantity of goods may require. They carry much of their provisions from Philadelphia, and other towns, and many of them sleep in their own bed clothes, on the
