ad been mine at previous visits. Here, too, were evidences of change;
but not for the better. Then the room was as sweet and clean as it
could be; the sheets and pillow-cases as white as snow, and the
furniture shining with polish. Now all was dusty and dingy, the air
foul, and the bed-linen scarcely whiter than tow. No curtain made
softer the light as it came through the window; nor would the shutters
entirely keep out the glare, for several of the slats were broken. A
feeling of disgust came over me, at the close smell and foul appearance
of everything; so, after washing my hands and face, and brushing the
dust from my clothes, I went down stairs. The sitting-room was scarcely
more attractive than my chamber; so I went out upon the porch and took
a chair. Several loungers were here; hearty, strong-looking, but lazy
fellows, who, if they had anything to do, liked idling better than
working. One of them leaned his chair back against the wall of the
house, and was swinging his legs with a half circular motion, and
humming "Old Folks at Home." Another sat astride of a chair, with his
face turned toward, and his chin resting upon, the back. He was in too
lazy a condition of body and mind for motion or singing. A third had
slidden down in his chair, until he sat on his back, while his feet
were elevated above his head, and rested against one of the pillars
that supported the porch; while a fourth lay stretched out on a bench,
sleeping, his hat over his face to protect him from buzzing and biting
flies.

Though all but the sleeping man eyed me inquisitively, as I took my
place among them, not one changed his position. The rolling of
eye-balls cost but little exertion; and with that effort they were
contented.

"Hallo! who's that?" one of these loungers suddenly exclaimed, as a man
went swiftly by in a light sulky; and he started up, and gazed down the
road, seeking to penetrate the cloud of dust which the fleet rider had
swept up with hoofs and wheels.

"I didn't see." The sleeping man aroused himself, rubbed his eyes, and
gazed along the road.

"Who was it, Matthew?" The Irish bar-keeper now stood in the door.

"Willy Hammond," was answered by Matthew.

"Indeed! Is that his new three hundred dollar horse?"

"Yes."

"My! but he's a screamer!"

"Isn't he! Most as fast as his young master."

"Hardly," said one of the men, laughing. "I don't think anything in
creation can beat Hammond. He goes it with a perfect rus