The inhabitants of Dixie invent neither cotton-gins, caloric engines, nor sewing-machines, but when they apply their faculties to downright lying, the mudsill head is forced to bow in reverence.
In the last day of this ride, we passed over a plateau twelve miles across, also over a mountain of considerable height.

Near the summit of this mountain, we struck a small brook, whose growth was an interesting study.

At first, barely perceptible as it issued from a spring by the roadside, it grew, mile by mile, until, at the foot of the mountain, it formed a respectable stream.

The road crossed it every few hundred yards, and at each crossing we watched its increase.
At the base of the mountain it united with another and larger stream, which we followed on our way to Rolla.
Late in the afternoon we reached the end of our journey.

Weary, dusty, hungry, and sore, we alighted from our tired horses, and sought the office of the commandant of the post.