An Active Settlement.
Gen. Houston lives, when at home, at Huntsville, Texas; the inhabitants mostly live, says Humboldt, Beeswax, Borax, or some of the other historians, by hunting. The wolves act as watchmen at night, relieved now and then by the Ingins, who make the wig business brisk by relieving straggling citizens of their top-knots. A man engaged in a quiet smoke, sees a deer or bear sneaking around, and by taking down his rifle, has steaks for breakfast, and a haunch for next day's dinner, right at his door. Vegetables and fruit grow naturally; flowers come up and bloom spontaneously. The distinguished citizens wear buck-skin trowsers, coon-skin hats, buffalo-skin overcoats, and alligator-hide boots. Old San Jacinto walked into the Senate last winter—fresh from home—with a panther-skin vest, and bear-skin breeches on! Great country, that Texas.
A Yankee in a Pork-house
"Conscience sakes! but hain't they got a lot of pork here?" said a looker-on in Quincy Market, t'other day.
"Pork!" echoes a decidedly Green Mountain biped, at the elbow of the first speaker.
"Yes, I vow it's quite as-tonishing how much pork is sold here and et up by somebody," continued the old gent.
"Et up?" says the other, whose physical structure somewhat resembled a fat lath, and whose general contour made it self-evident that he was not given much to frivolity, jauntily-fitting coats and breeches, or perfumed and "fixed up" barberality extravagance.
"Et up!" he thoughtfully and earnestly repeated, as his hands rested in the cavity of his trousers pockets, and his eyes rested upon the first speaker.