lecturer spoke from behind the drinking bar. Behind him long rows
of decanters glistened; above him hung pictures of race-horses and
prize-fighters; and beside him, in his shirt-sleeves and wearing
a cheerful smile, stood the bar-keeper. My speeches at the Bar
before this had been of an elegant character, perhaps, but quite
brief. They never extended beyond "I don't care if I do," "No
sugar in mine," And short gems of a like character.

I had a good audience at Big Creek, who seemed to be pleased, the
bar-keeper especially; for at the close of any "point" that I
sought to make he would deal the counter a vigorous blow with his
fist, and exclaim, "Good boy from the New England States! listen
to William W. Shakespeare!"

Back to Austin. We lose our way, and hitching our horses to a
tree, go in search of some human beings. The night is very dark.
We soon stumble upon a camp-fire, and an unpleasantly modulated
voice asks us to say our prayers, adding that we are on the point
of going to Glory with our boots on. I think perhaps there may be
some truth in this, as the mouth of a horse-pistol almost grazes my
forehead, while immediately behind the butt of that death-dealing
weapon I perceive a large man with black whiskers. Other large men
begin to assemble, also with horse-pistols. Dr. Hingston hastily
explains, while I go back to the carriage to say my prayers, where
there is more room. The men were miners on a prospecting tour, and
as we advanced upon them without sending them word they took us for
highway robbers.

I must not forget to say that my brave and kind-hearted friend
Ryder of the mail coach, who had so often alluded to "Ward" in our