then, too, he lived too well for a discontented politician.  He seemed to expatiate on a variety of dishes, and to sit over his wine like a jolly friend of good living.  Indeed, my doubts on this head were soon at an end; for he could not have finished his first bottle before I could faintly hear him humming a tune; and on listening, I found it to be “God save the King.”  ’Twas plain, then, he was no radical, but a faithful subject; one that grew loyal over his bottle, and was ready to stand by king and constitution, when he could stand by nothing else.  But who could he be?  My conjectures began to run wild.  Was he not some personage of distinction, traveling incog.?  “God knows!” said I, at my wit’s end; “it may be one of the royal family for aught I know, for they are all stout gentlemen!”

The weather continued rainy.  The mysterious unknown kept his room, and, as far as I could judge, his chair, for I did not hear him move.  In the meantime, as the day advanced, the travellers’-room began to be frequented.  Some, who had just arrived, came in buttoned up in box-coats; others came home, who had been dispersed about the town.  Some took their dinners, and some their tea.  Had I been in a different mood, I should have found entertainment in studying this peculiar class of men.  There were two especially, who were regular wags of the road, and up to all the standing jokes of travellers.  They had a thousand sly things to say to the waiting-maid, whom they called Louisa, and Ethelinda, and a dozen other fine names, changing the name every time, and chuckling amazingly at their own waggery.  My mind, however, had become completely engrossed by the stout gentleman.  He had kept my fancy in chase during a long day, and it was not now to be diverted from the scent.

The evening gradually wore away.  The travellers read the papers two or three times over.  Some drew round the fire, and told long stories about their horses, about their adventures, their overturns, and breakings down.  They discussed the credits of different merchants and different inns; and the two wags told several choice anecdotes of pretty chamber-maids, and kind landladies.  All this passed as they were quietly taking what they called their night-caps, that is to say, strong glasses of brandy and water and sugar, or some other mixture of the kind; after which they one after another rang for “Boots” and the chamber-maid, and walked off to bed in old shoes cut down into marvellously uncomfortable slippers.

There was only one man left; a short-legged, long-bodied, plethoric fellow, with a very large, sandy head.  He sat by himself, with a glass of port wine negus, and a spoon; sipping and stirring, and meditating and sipping, until nothing was left but the spoon.  He gradually fell asleep bolt upright in his chair, with the empty glass standing before him; and the candle seemed to fall asleep too, for the wick grew long, and black, and cabbaged at the end, and dimmed