fair hands of Maudlin, her daughter--the best favored lass that ever
danced under a Maypole. Ha! have at ye there, young sir! Not to speak of
the October ale of old Gregory, her father--ay, nor the rare Hollands,
that never paid excise duties to the king."

"I'm afraid," said the young traveler timidly, "there's over a century
between us. There's really some mistake."

"What?" said the groom, "ye are NOT the young spark who is to marry
Mistress Amy at the Hall, yet makes a pother and mess of it all by a
duel with Sir Roger de Cadgerly, the wicked baronet, for his over-free
discourse with our fair Maudlin this very eve? Ye are NOT the traveler
whose post-chaise is now at the Falcon? Ye are not he that was bespoken
by the story writer in London?"

"I don't think I am," said the young man apologetically. "Indeed, as I
am feeling far from well, I think I'll get out and walk."

He got down--the vehicle and driver vanished in the distance. It did not
surprise him. "I must collect my thoughts," he said. He did so. Possibly
the collection was not large, for presently he said, with a sigh of
relief:--

"I see it all now! My name is Paul Bunker. I am of the young branch of
an old Quaker family, rich and respected in the country, and I am on a
visit to my ancestral home. But I have lived since a child in America,
and am alien to the traditions and customs of the old country, and even
of the seat to which my fathers belong. I have brought with me from the
far West many peculiarities of speech and thought that may startle my
kinsfolk. But I certainly shall not address my uncle as 'Hoss!' nor
shall I say 'guess' oftener than is necessary."

Much brightened and refreshed by his settled identity, he had time,
as he walked briskly along, to notice the scenery, which was certainly
varied and conflicting in character, and quite inconsistent with his
preconceived notions of an English landscape. On his right, a lake of
the brightest cobalt blue stretched before a many-towered and terraced
town, which was relieved by a background of luxuriant foliage and
emerald-green mountains; on his left arose a rugged mountain, which he
was surprised to see was snow-capped, albeit a tunnel was observable
midway of its height, and a train just issuing from it. Almost
regretting that he had not continued on his journey, as he was fully
sensible that it was in some way connected with the railway he had
quitted, presently his attention was directed