t this sound the landlord wheeled suddenly
round, which fortunately set the poor manager at liberty. Both stared
at Bertram: the Frenchman looked up for a moment: even the White Hat,
being taken by surprise, made a half wheel on his chair; though
immediately reverting, not without some indignation at himself, to his
former position; in fact every soul in the room looked at Bertram
except the Dutchman. Silence ensued; and the landlord, after raising
and dropping his eyes alternately from Bertram's head to his foot,
demanded if he had a horse with him.

"No, I am on foot," replied Bertram.

"Very late time of night," the landlord muttered, "to be walking: pray,
which way do you come?"

"From the sea-side, where I was set ashore this evening about 5
o'clock."

After a little further cross-examination, the landlord appeared to be
satisfied; and directed "Jenny" to bring the wine; the buz of
conversation, which had been hushed during the landlord's colloquy with
the stranger, freshened again; and Bertram proceeded to take his seat
amongst the company.

It is affirmed by some philosophers that Timon of Athens himself, if,
on issuing from the darkness and cold of a fifteen miles' walk on a
frosty winter's night succeeding to a day of hardship and exposure, he
were suddenly to burst on a gay fire-side of human faces, lights, wine,
and laughter,--would inevitably forget his misanthropy for that
evening, and be glad to take his share in the conversation. Bertram was
probably so disposed; it was therefore unfortunate for him that he took
his seat by the side of the Dutchman.

"I perceive," said Bertram, "that you have had a play performed this
evening."

Without looking up from his pipe, Minheer replied--"Like enough! I was
told there were players here."

Nothing discouraged Bertram turned to his opposite neighbour, the White
Hat: "You, Sir, probably attended the performance?"

"_I?_" replied the indignant man, "_I_ trouble myself with such
fooleries, when the poor country is ruined and perishing for bread?"

"_Fooleries!_ Mr. Dulberry," exclaimed the manager, "what! Venice
Preserved?"

"Venice Preserved, or Venice Treacle; what care I? It's a play-book,
isn't it?--Here we are taxed already for the support of libraries,
museums, Herculanean manuscripts, Elgin marbles, and God knows what.
Very soon, I suppose government will assess us so much a head for the
theatres."

"Ah, poor Venice Preserved!" ejaculated the ma