all, with the serious resolution not to do any thing so mean as to "leap the twig," I should not be afraid of any snake yet created. The only proviso is that our old enemy must not touch an artery, and that the remedies must be at hand. Fifteen minutes lost, you are "down among the dead men." The history of fatal cases always shows some delay.[1]
We supped in the evening merrily. It was the best coffee we had tasted since leaving New Orleans; the cream was excellent, so was the cheese. But an antelope had unfortunately been brought in; we had insisted upon a fry of newly-killed flesh, which was repeated in the morning, and we had bitterly to regret it. While I was amusing myself by attempting to observe an immersion of Jupiter's satellites with a notable failure in the shape of that snare and delusion, a portable telescope, suddenly there arose a terrible hubbub. For a moment it was believed that the crotalus horridus had been taking liberties with one of Miss Moore's progeny. The seat of pain, however, soon removed the alarming suspicion, and—the rattlesnake seldom does damage at night—we soon came to the conclusion that the dear little fellow who boo-hoo'd for forty had been bitten by a musqueto somewhat bigger than its fellows. The poor mother soon was restored to her habits of happiness and hard labor. Not contented with supporting her own family, she was doing supererogation by feeding a little rat-eyed, snub-nosed, shark-mouthed half-breed girl, who was, I believe, in the market as a "chattel." Mrs. Dana pointed out to me one sign of demoralization on the part of Miss Moore. It was so microscopic that only a woman’s acute eye could detect it. Miss Moore was teaching her children to say "Yes, surr!" to every driver.
With renewed spirit, despite a somewhat hard struggle with the musquetoes, we set out at the respectable hour of 5 45 A.M. We had breakfasted comfortably, and an interesting country lay before us. The mules seemed to share in our gayety. Despite a long ringing, the amiable animals kicked and bit, bucked and backed, till their recalcitrances had almost deposited us in the first ford of the Sweetwater. For this, however, we were amply consoled by the greater misfortunes of our consort, the official wagon. After long luxuriating in the pick of the teams, they were to-day so thoroughly badly "muled" that they were compelled to apply for our assistance.
We forded the river twice within fifty yards, and we recognized with sensible pleasure a homely-looking magpie (Pica Hud-
- ↑ The author of "The Quadroon" (chap. xxxii., etc.) adduces a happy instance of a "hero" who, after a delay and an amount of exertion which certainly would have cost him his life, was relieved by tobacco and cured by the snakeroot (Polygala Senega). The popular snakeroots quoted by Mr. Bartlett are the Seneca snakeroot above alluded to, the black snakeroot (Cimicifuga racemosa), and the Virginia snakeroot (Aristolochia serpentaria).
