After coming to a flooded creek, where there was neither bridge nor boat, I waited a few minutes for the mail coach. The road is in several parts no other than the rocky bed of the stream. It also crosses the same creek four or five times. After riding a few miles, I left the coach. There is no great degree of comfort in travelling by this vehicle; stowed full of people, baggage, and letter bags; the jolting over stones, and through miry holes, is excessively disagreeable: and the traveller’s head is sometimes knocked against the roof with much violence. A large piece of leather is let down over each side, to keep out the mud thrown up by the wheels. The front was the only opening, but as the driver and two other persons occupied it, those behind them were almost in total darkness. A peep at the country was not to be obtained. Millersburg is a very small town, with several large grist-mills and a bank. To-day I have seen a number of young women on horseback, with packages of wool, going to, or returning from, the carding machine. At some of the houses the loom stands under a small porch by the door. Although Miss does not wear the produce of her own hands, it is pleasant to see such abundant evidence of family manufacture. I lodged at Paris, the head town of Bourbon county. A cotton-mill, and some grist-mills, are the manufactories of the place. The population is considerable. Several of the taverns are large, and, like many of the others in the western country, {105} have bells on the house-tops, which are rung at meals.