While here, we had occasion to extend our acquaintance with native types. Two young men came to the hotel, bringing a bag of small, hard peaches to sell. Slim, slab-sided, stomachless, and serene, mild, and melancholy, they might have been lotos-eaters, only the suggestion of poetry was wanting. Their unutterable content came not from the lotus, but from their digestion. If they could sell their peaches, they would be happy; if not, they would be happy. What they could not sell, they could as well eat; and since no bargain was made on this occasion, they took chairs on the hotel veranda, opened the bag, and fell to. I talked with the Benjamin of his tribe: "Is that a good 'coon dog?" "A mighty good 'coon dog. I hain't never seed him whipped by a varmint yit." "Are there many 'coons in this country?" "Several 'coons." "Is this a good year for 'coons?" "A mighty good year for 'coons. The woods is full o' varmints." "Do 'coons eat corn?" "'Coons is bad as hogs on corn, when they git tuk to it." "Are there many wild turkeys in this country?" "Several wild turkeys." "Have you ever caught many 'coons?" "I've cotched high as five 'coons out o' one tree." "Are there many foxes in this country?" "Several foxes." "What's the best way to cook a 'coon?" "Ketch him and parbile him, and then put him in cold water and soak him, and then put him in and bake him." "Are there many hounds in this country?" "Several hounds." Here, among other discoveries, was a linguistic one--the use of "several" in the sense of a great many, probably an innumerable multitude, as in the case of the 'coons. They hung around the hotel for hours, as beings utterly exempt from all the obligations and other phenomena of time. "Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things?" The guide bespoken the evening before had made arrangements for our ride of some eighteen miles--was it not forty?--to Williamsburg; and in the afternoon made his appearance with three horses. Of these one was a mule, with a strong leaning towards his father's family. Of the three saddles one was a side-saddle, and another was an army saddle with refugee stirrups. The three beasts wore among them some seven shoes. My own mincing jade had none. Her name must have been Helen of Troy (all horses are named in Kentucky), so long ago had her great beauty disappeared. She partook with me of the terror which her own movements inspired; and if there ever was a well-defined case in which the man should have carried the beast, this was the one. While on her back I occasionally apologized for the injustice of riding her by handing her some sour apples, the like of which she appeared never to have tasted before, just as it was told me she had never known the luxury of wearing shoes. It is often true that the owner of a horse in this region is too poor or too mean to have it shod.