ill and down hill I pricked my gallant gray; and when the forest was
past, and his hoofs glinted on the stones of a street leading through
a small village, I felt an animation that I cannot well describe. A
creaking signboard, swinging in the wind on rusty irons, directed me
to the only inn of the village. It was a two-story brick building,
standing a little back from the road. I drew rein at the door, and
dismounted my weary nag. My loud vociferations summoned to my side a
bull dog, cursed with a most unhappy disposition, and a hostler whose
temper was hardly more amiable. He took my horse with an air of surly
indifference, and gruffly directed me to the bar room.

This apartment was tenanted by half a dozen rough farmers, rendered
savage and morose by incessantly imbibing alcohol; and by the
proprietor of the tavern, a bluff man, with a portly paunch, a hard
gray eye, and a stern Caledonian lip. He welcomed me without much
frankness or cordiality, and I sank into a wooden settle, eyed by the
surly guests of mine host, and the subject of sundry muttered remarks.
The group, as it was lighted up by the strong red glare of the fire,
had certainly a bandit appearance, which, however delightful to a
Salvator Rosa, was by no means inviting to a traveller who had sought
the bosom of the hills for pleasure. After making a few remarks, which
elicited only monosyllables in answer, I relapsed into silence; from
which, however, I was soon aroused by the entrance of the surly
hostler, who in no very gracious manner informed me that my horse was
lame, and likely to be sick. This intelligence produced a visit to the
stable, and the conviction that I could not possibly resume my journey
on the ensuing day; which was somewhat disagreeable to a man who had
taken up a decided prejudice against the inn and all its inmates.

Having succeeded in procuring a private room and a fire, I ignited an
execrable cigar, (ah, how unlike thy _principes_, dear S.,) and
endeavored to lose myself in the agreeable occupation of castle
building while supper was preparing. Alas! my fancy came not at my
call. I had lost my power of abstraction--the realities around me were
too engrossing. Ere the dying shriek of a majestic rooster had ceased
to sound in my ear, his remains were served upon my table, together
with a cup or two of very villanous gunpowder tea, and a pitcher of
cider, with coarse bread and butter _ad libitum_. Supper was soon
despatched, and i