132 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR
IN" WHICH PROPERTY GETS INTO AN IMPROPER STATE
It was late in a drizzly afternoon that a traveler alighted at the door of a small country hotel, in the village of N------, in Kentucky. In the bar-room he found
assembled quite a miscellaneous company, whom stress of weather had driven to harbor, and the place presented the usual scenery of such reunions. Great, tall, raw-boned Kentuckians, attired in hunting-shirts, and trailing their loose joints over a vast extent of territory, with the easy lounge peculiar to the race, — rifles stacked away in the corner, shot-pouches, game-bags, hunting-dogs, and little negroes, all rolled together in the corners, — were the characteristic features in the picture. At each end of the fireplace sat a long-legged gentleman, with his chair tipped back, his hat on his head, and the heels of his muddy boots reposing sublimely on the mantel-piece,— a position, we will inform our readers, decidedly favorable to the turn of reflection incident to Western taverns, where travelers exhibit a decided preference for this particular mode of elevating their understandings.
Mine host, who stood behind the bar, like most of his countrymen, was great of stature, good-natured, and loose-jointed, with an enormous shock of hair on his head, and a great tall hat on the top of that.
In fact, everybody in the room bore on his head this characteristic emblem of man's sovereignty; whether it were felt hat, palm-leaf, greasy beaver, or fine new cha-peau, there it reposed with true republican independence. In truth, it appeared to be the characteristic mark of