faces smile,
Which I have loved long since, and lost a while.

NEWMAN

THE JOLLY SANDBOYS

The Jolly Sandboys was a small road-side inn with a sign, representing
three Sandboys, creaking and swinging on its post on the opposite side
of the road. As the travellers had observed many indications of their
drawing nearer to the race town, such as gypsy camps, showmen of various
kinds, and beggars and trampers of every degree, Mr. Codlin was fearful
of finding the accommodation forestalled; but had the gratification of
finding that his fears were without foundation, for the landlord was
leaning against the door-post, looking lazily at the rain which had
begun to descend heavily.

"Make haste in out of the wet, Tom," said the landlord; "when it came on
to rain I told 'em to make the fire up, and there's a glorious blaze in
the kitchen, I can tell you."

Mr. Codlin followed with a willing mind. A mighty fire was blazing on
the hearth and roaring up the wide chimney with a cheerful sound, which
a large iron cauldron, bubbling and simmering in the heat, lent its
pleasant aid to swell. There was a deep red ruddy blush upon the room,
and when the landlord stirred the fire, sending the flame skipping and
leaping up--when he took off the lid of the iron pot and there rushed
out a savoury smell, while the bubbling sound grew deeper and more rich,
and an unctuous steam came floating out, hanging in a delicious mist
above their heads--when he did this, Mr. Codlin's heart was touched.

He sat down in the chimney-corner and smiled.

Mr. Codlin sat smiling in the chimney-corner, eyeing the landlord as
with a roguish look he held the cover in his hand, and feigning that his
doing so was needful to the welfare of the cookery, suffered the
delightful steam to tickle the nostrils of his guest. The glow of the
fire was upon the landlord's bald head, and upon his twinkling eye, and
upon his watering mouth, and upon his pimpled face, and upon his round
fat figure. Mr. Codlin drew his sleeve across his lips, and said in a
murmuring voice: "What is it?"

"It's a stew of tripe," said the landlord, smacking his lips, "and
cow-heel," smacking them again, "and bacon," smacking them once more,
"and steak," smacking them for the fourth time, "and peas, cauliflowers,
new potatoes, and sparrow-grass, all working up together in one
delicious gravy." Having come to the climax, he smacked his lips a great
many times, and taking a long,