Here, if the reader will pardon a digression, I will relate a little anecdote illustrative of the times.  We were passing through French Prairie in Marion County.  The spot, one of the richest and most beautiful in all Oregon, derived its name from the fact that it was settled principally by Canadian French, employees of the Hudson Bay Company.  They were typical frontiersmen, hospitable and generous to a degree.  We had asked at several farm houses for accommodations for the night, but there was so much travel that all were full and running over.  Our party consisted of six, the Driskols, Smiths, Ben Allen and myself.  Trudging through the mud, all were tired and hungry.  As we neared the upper edge of French Prairie, Ben Allen remarked that he had an old friend, a Frenchman, and he was satisfied we would be welcomed to his home.  He lived nearly a mile off the road, but that was better than walking to Salem, six or seven miles.  Accordingly, we turned off to the home of Ben’s friend.  The old Frenchman received us with open arms.  He was simply delighted and gave us the best of everything the house afforded.  In fact, the old man fairly danced with delight that “Bin” and his friends had paid him a visit.

Seated in home-made rocking chairs, before an open fire place in which was a roaring fire of oak logs, it was, as Zim Smith expressed it, “solid comfort.”  Finally supper was announced, and the announcement was never more welcome than to that hungry crowd.  Besides ham, vegetables and other accompaniments of a farm house dinner, there was a certain stew with dumplings.  This was an especially toothsome dish, and all partook freely and with relish.  As we neared the end of the meal our host exclaimed, addressing Mr. Allen: 

“Well, Bin, how did you like the cat!”

“Cat, h—­l” said Ben.

“Oh, yes Bin, he very fine cat.  We fatten him three week.”

Somehow, our dinner came to a sudden close.  Urged by our host to have more, all politely declined, “Bin” saying it was very good, indeed, but he had eaten heartily and didn’t care for more.

The next morning we bade our hospitable host adieu, before breakfast, saying we were anxious to get to Salem as we expected to catch a boat for Albany, Corvallis or possibly Eugene City.

That was the first cat I ever ate and since that time I have eaten bear, wild cat, horse, mule, but as a matter of fact, I never ate a more toothsome dish than the old Frenchman’s cat—­until I discovered it was cat.  Hence I am inclined to the opinion that it is all a matter of education.