the cabin so small and thin. Out on the main street there were all manner of discordant noises loud and angry talking, with an occasional report of fire-arms; nearer, even close to the cotton door, were the tinkle of cow-bells and the lowing of cattle. I call to Ned to explain their uneasiness. He says, an ox was shot close by, yesterday, and the skin hangs not far distant upon a fence, around which the cattle paw the ground, and moan, after the fashion of an Irish "wake." This is too novel a position to be wasted in sleep. The moon comes in through the cotton windows. I watch the mice (not less than a dozen) play over the bridge of a floor, race over our baggage, climb up our nice shawl curtains; and, growing strong with the necessity for it, I drive them away only when they come too near the quilt. Morning comes, with no bread for breakfast, and no bread-store or baker to fall back upon in such an emergency.
There is some Graham flour, so we will have some griddle cakes. But what can we make them up in? Our utensils consist of a wash-basin of tin, a tiny tea-pot, a mug, brought
