July 5th.—Come to Judge Chambers's,[29] a good tavern; 35 miles. On our way, pass French Lick, a strong spring of water impregnated with salt and sulphur, and called Lick from its being resorted to by cattle for the salt; close by this spring is another still larger, of fine clear limestone water, running fast enough to turn a mill.[30] Some of the trees near the Judge's exhibit a curious spectacle; a large piece of wood appears totally dead, all the leaves brown and the branches broken, from being roosted upon lately by an enormous multitude of pigeons. A novel sight for us, unaccustomed to the abundance of the back-woods! {292} No tavern but this, nor house of any description, within many miles.
July 6th.—Leave the Judge's, still in company with Mr. Jones. Ride 25 miles to breakfast, not sooner finding feed for our horses; this was at the dirty log-house of Mr. —— who has a large farm with a grist-mill on it, and keeps his yard and stables ancle deep in mud and water. If this were not one of the healthiest climates in the world, he and his family must have died in all this filth. About 13 miles further, come to New Albany, where we stop at Mr. Jenkins's, the best tavern we have found in Indiana, that at Harmony excepted.
July 7th.—Resting at New Albany. We were amused by hearing a Quaker-lady preach to the natives. Her first words were "All the nations of the earth are of one blood." "So," said I to myself, "this question, which has so long perplexed philosophers, divines and physicians, is now set at rest!" She proceeded to vent her rage with great vehemence against hireling priests and the trade of preaching in general, and closed with dealing out large portions of brimstone to the drunkard and still larger and hotter to those who give the bottle to drink. This part of her discourse pleased me very much and may be a saving to me into the bargain; for, the dread of everlasting roasting added to my love of economy will (I think) prevent me making my friends tipsy. A very efficacious sermon!
July 8th.—Jenkins's is a good tavern, but it entertains at a high price. Our bill was 6 dollars each for a day and two nights; a shameful charge. Leave New Albany, cross the Ohio, and pass through Louisville in Kentucky again, on our way to Lexington, the capital. Stop for the night at Mr. Netherton's, a good tavern. The land hitherto is good, and the country altogether healthy, if I may judge from the people who appear more cheerful and happy than in Indiana, always excepting Harmony. Our landlord is the picture of health and strength: 6 feet 4 inches high, weighs 300 lb. and not fat.
July 9th.—Dine at Mr. Overton's tavern, on our way to Frankfort; pay half a dollar each for an excellent dinner, with as much brandy and butter-milk {293} as we choose to drink, and good feed for our horses. In the afternoon we have the pleasure to be overtaken by two ladies on horseback, and have their agreeable company for a mile or two. On their turning off from our road we were very reluctantly obliged to refuse an obliging invitation to drink tea at their house, and myself the more so, as one of the ladies informed me she had married a Mr. Constantine, a gentleman from my own native town of Bolton, in Lancashire. But, we had yet so far to go, and it was getting dark. This most healthful mode of travelling is universal in the Western States, and it gives me great pleasure to see it; though, perhaps, I have to thank the badness of the roads as the cause. Arrive at Frankfort, apparently a thriving town, on the side of the rough Kentucky river.[31] The houses are built chiefly of brick, and the streets, I understand, paved with limestone. Limestone abounds in this state, and yet the roads are not good, though better than in Indiana and Ohio, for there there are none. I wonder the government of these states do not set about making good roads and bridges, and even canals.[32] I pledge myself to be able to shew them how the money might be raised, and, moreover, to prove that the expense would be paid over and over again in almost no time. Such improvements would be income to the governments instead of expense, besides being such an incalculable benefit to the states. But, at any rate, why not roads, and in this state, too, which is so remarkable for its quality of having good road materials and rich land together, generally all over it?
July 10th.—Leave Frankfort, and come through a district of fine land, very well watered, to Lexington; stop at Mr. Keen's tavern. Had the good fortune to meet Mr. Clay, who carried us to his house, about a mile in the country.[33] It is a beautiful residence, situated near the centre of a very fine farm, which is just cleared and is coming into excellent cultivation. I approve of Mr. Clay's method very much, especially in laying down pasture. He clears away all the brush or underwood, leaving timber enough to afford a sufficiency of shade to the grass, which does not thrive here exposed {294} to the sun as in England and other such climates. By this means he has as fine grass and clover as can possibly grow. I could not but admire to see this gentleman, possessing so much knowledge and of so much weight in his country's affairs, so attentively promoting her not less important though more silent interests by improving her agriculture. What pleased me still more, however, because I less expected it, was, to hear Mrs. Clay, in priding herself on the state of society, and the rising prosperity of the country, citing as a proof the decency and affluence of the trades-people and mechanics at Lexington, many of whom ride about in their own carriages. What a contrast, both in sense and in sentiment, between this lady and the wives of Legislators (as they are called), in the land of the Boroughmongers! God grant that no privileged batch ever rise up in America, for then down come the mechanics, are harnessed themselves, and half ridden to death.
July 11th.—This is the hottest day we have had yet. Thermometer at 90 degrees, in shade. Met a Mr. Whittemore, from Boston, loud in the praise of this climate. He informed me he had lately lost his wife and five children near Boston, and that he should have lost his only remaining child, too, a son now stout and healthy, had he not resolved instantly to try the air of the west. He is confident that if he had taken this step in time he might have saved the lives of all his family. This might be however, and yet this climate not better than that of Boston. Spent the evening with Colonel Morrison, one of the first settlers in this state; a fine looking old gentleman, with colour in his face equal to a London Alderman.[34] The people here are pretty generally like that portion of the people of England who get porridge enough to eat; stout, fat, and ruddy.
July 12.—Hotter than yesterday; thermometer at 91 degrees.
July 13.—Leave Lexington; stop at Paris, 22 miles.[35] a fine country all the way; good soil, plenty of limestone and no musquitoes. Paris is a healthy town, with a good deal of stir; woollen and cotton manufactures are carried on here, but upon a small scale. {295} They are not near enough to good coal mines to do much in that way. What they do, however, is well paid for. A spinner told me he gets 83 cents per lb. for his twist, which is 33 cents more than it would fetch at New York. Stop at Mr. Timberlake's, a good house. The bar-keeper, who comes from England, tells me that he sailed to Canada, but he is glad he had the means to leave Canada and come to Kentucky; he has 300 dollars a year, and board and lodging. Made enquiry after young Watson, but find he has left this place and is gone to Lexington.[36]
The following is a list of the wages and prices of the most essential branches of workmanship and articles of consumption, as they are here at present.