. Samuel Kercheval, and also in an interesting Philadelphia
publication, "Friends in Exile." To this day the old sun-dial in the
garden of "Bousch's Tavern" has upon it the inscription:

"_Exul patria causa libertates_" with the names of the unfortunate
exiles written under it--always provided that the dial itself remains,
and the rain, and snow, and sun, have not blotted out the words. That
they were there, the present chronicler knows upon good authority.
How the exiles passed their time at Winchester, and finally returned,
will, some day, be embodied in authentic history.

It was many years after the quaker inroad; in fact the eighteenth
century, with all its philosophical, political, and scientific
"protests" everywhere, was nearly dead and gone, when another scene
occurred at Bousch's tavern, which history knows something of. As that
august muse, however, does not bury herself with personal details, we
will briefly refer to this occurrence.

It was about mid-day, then, when a carriage, with travelling trunks
behind it, and a white, foreign-looking driver and footman on the seat
before, drew rein in front of the old hostelry we have described.

The footman descended from his perch, and approaching the door of
the carriage, opened it, and respectfully assisted two gentlemen to
alight. These gentlemen were dressed with elegant simplicity.

The first had an oval face, which was full of good-humor, and in
which an imaginative eye might have discerned an odd resemblance to a
_pear_; the second, who seemed to be his brother, was more sedate, and
did not smile.

The gentlemen entered the inn, and asked if dinner could be furnished.
The landlord replied that nothing could be easier, and called their
attention to a noise which issued from the next room.

The elder gentleman, whose accent had indicated his foreign origin,
approached the door which led into the dining-room, followed by his
companion.

They looked in.

A long table, covered with a profusion of everything which the most
robust appetite could desire, was filled with ploughmen, rough
farmers, hunters from the neighboring hills, and a nondescript class,
which were neither farmers, ploughmen, nor hunters, but made their
living by conveying huge teams from town to town. They were travelling
merchants--not wagoners simply, as might have been supposed from their
garments full of straw, and the huge whips which lay beside them on
the floor. When they chewed t