I thought long upon this theme, and wondered to what I was yet destined,--whether to some condition of real eminence, or to move on among that vulgar herd who are the spectators of life, but never its conspicuous actors. I really believe this ignoble course was more distasteful to me from its flatness and insipidity than from its mere humility. It seemed so devoid of all interest, so tame and so monotonous, I would have chosen peril and vicissitude any day in preference. About midnight I reached Croft's Gulley, where, after knocking for some time, a very sulky old negro admitted me into a stable while I baited my mare. The house was shut up for the night; and even had I sought refreshment, I could not have obtained it. After a brief halt, I again resumed the road, which led through a close pine forest, and, however much praised, was anything but a good surface to travel on. Charcoal, however, made light of such difficulties, and picked her steps over holes and stumps with the caution of a trapper, detecting with a rare instinct the safe ground, and never venturing on spots where any difficulty or danger existed. I left her to herself, and it was curious to see that whenever a short interval of better footway intervened, she would, as if to "make play," as the jockeys call it, strike out in a long swinging canter, "pulling up" to the walk the moment the uneven surface admonished her to caution. As day broke, the road improved so that I was able to push along at a better pace, and by breakfast-time I found myself at a low, poor-looking log-house called "Brazos." A picture representing Texas as a young child receiving some admirable counsel from a very matronly lady with thirteen stars on her petticoat, flaunted over the door, with the motto, "Filial Affection, and Candy Flip at all hours." A large, dull-eyed man, in a flannel pea-jacket and loose trousers to match, was seated in a rocking-chair at the door, smoking an enormous cigar, a little charmed circle of expectoration seeming to defend him from the assaults of the vulgar. A huge can of cider stood beside him, and a piece of Indian corn bread. He eyed me with the coolest unconcern as I dismounted, nor did he show the slightest sign of welcome. "This is an inn, I believe, friend?" said I, saluting him. "I take it to be a hotel," said he, in a voice very like a yawn. "And the landlord, where is he?" "Where he ought to be,--at his own door, a smokin' his own rearin'." "Is there an ostler to be found? I want to refresh my horse, and get some breakfast for myself too." "There an't none." "No help?" "Never was." "That's singular, I fancy." "No, it an't." "Why, what do travellers do with their cattle, then?" "There bean't none." "No cattle?" "No travellers." "No travellers! and this the high road between two considerable towns!" "It an't." "Why, surely this is the road to Austin?" "It an't." "Then this is not Brazos?" "It be Upper Brazos."