an inn in the south of Scotland; and although, as
already said, it was rather a weary thing on the whole, yet was it not
without its enjoyments. Our _ennui_ was often delightfully relieved by
the diversity of character as developed in our little community; for we
had, if we may so speak, the salt, the pepper, and the vinegar of human
dispositions, sprinkled throughout the party, which not only took from
the cold insipidity of our confinement, but gave to it a rich and
pleasant relish. Our host's cellar and larder happened to be well
stored, while the house was, in all other respects, an excellent one;
so, what with the produce of the former, and the roaring fires kept up
by Jamie, the waiter, we had really nothing to complain of on the score
of creature comforts--and it is amazing how far the possession of these
will go to reconcile men to otherwise very unpleasant situations. In
this case, they were enhanced by the dreary prospect from without--the
howling storm, the drifting snow, and the wide, dismal, monotonous waste
of dazzling white that lay all around us.

The consciousness of the comforts we enjoyed, in short, put us all in
good humour with one another; while a fellowship in misfortune, and a
community of feeling, as well as of persons, introduced a degree of
friendliness and intimacy, to which few other circumstances, perhaps,
would have given rise. We had our small round of standard jokes,
peculiar to our situation, which few else could have understood, and
fewer still have appreciated, though they did understand them. We had,
too, a small round of harmless tricks, which we regularly played off
every day on some one or other of the corps. But, notwithstanding all
this--the larder, the cellar, the fire, the jokes, and the tricks--time
did occasionally hang rather heavily upon our hands, especially in the
evenings. To lessen this weight, we latterly fell upon the contrivance
of telling stories, one or two of us each night, by turns. The idea is a
borrowed one, as the reader will at once perceive, but we humbly think
not a pin the worse on that account. There was no limitation, of course,
as to the subject. Each was allowed to tell what story he liked; but it
was the general understanding that these stories should be personal,
if possible--that is, that each should relate the most remarkable
circumstances in his own life. Those who had nothing of the kind to
communicate, were, of course, allowed to get off with an