e country around The Bower.
The partridges had grown exceedingly wild, and we were obliged, each in his turn, to make long excursions into the woods and fields to keep our mess-table furnished.
I was therefore very much gratified when my friend Rosser appeared early one morning at my tent, with the news that there was to be a large auction sale of native wines and other supplies that very day, at a plantation only eight miles off in the direction of Charlestown.
As all was quiet along our lirive at a rattling pace, varying our discourse from the gay to the sentimental.
We had just reached the topic of the tender passion, when, all unheeding the roadway before us, I bumped the waggon against a large stone with so severe a shock that Rosser was thrown out far to the left, while I settled down, after a tremendous leap, far to the right.
Fortunately, beyond some slight contusions, neither of us sustained any damage by this rude winding — up of our romantic conversation.
The horses w