A large hotel, or station-house, and about a dozen log-shanties made up the village. Two of these structures were negro-cabins; two were small groceries, in which the vilest alcoholic compounds were sold at a bit (ten cents) a glass; one was a lawyer's office, in which was the post-office, and a justice's court, where, once a month, the small offenders of the vicinity 'settled up their accounts;' one was a tailoring and clothing establishment, where breeches were patched at a dime a stitch, and payment taken in tar and turpentine; and the rest were private dwellings of one apartment, occupied by the grocers, the tailor, the switch-tender, the post-master, and the negro _attachés_ of the railroad. The church and the school-house--the first buildings to go up in a Northern village, I have omitted to enumerate, because--they were not there. One of the natives told me that the lawyer was a 'stuck-up critter;' 'he don't live; he don't--he puts-up at th' hotel.' And the hotel! Would Shakspeare, had he known of it, have written of taking one's _ease_ at his inn? It was a long, framed building, two stories in hight, with a piazza extending across its side, and a front door crowded as closely into one corner as the width of the joist would permit. Under the piazza, ranged along the wall, was a low bench, occupied by about forty tin wash-basins and water-pails, with coarse, dirty crash towels suspended on rollers above them. By the side of each of these towels hung a comb and a brush, to which a lock of every body's hair was clinging, forming in the total a stock sufficient to establish any barber in the wig business. It was, as I have said, ten o'clock when we reached the station. Throwing the bridles of our horses over the hitching-posts at the door, we at once made our way to the bar-room. That apartment, which was in the rear of the building, and communicated with by a long, narrow passage, was filled almost to suffocation, when we entered, by a cloud of tobacco-smoke, the fumes of bad whisky, and a crowd of drunken chivalry, through whom the Colonel with great difficulty elbowed his way to the counter, where 'mine host' and two assistants were dispensing 'liquid death,' at the rate of ten cents a glass, and of ten glasses a minute. 'Hello, Colonel! how ar' ye?' cried the red-faced liquor-vender, as he caught sight of my companion, and--relinquishing his lucrative employment for a moment--took the Colonel's hand. 'Quite well, thank you, Miles,' said the Colonel, with a certain patronizing air, 'have you seen my man Moye?' 'Moye, no! What's up with him?' 'He's run away with my horse, Firefly--I thought he would have made for this station. At what time does the next train go up?' 'Wal, it's due half arter 'leven, but 'taint gin'rally 'long till nigh one.'