of infinitely greater consequence than their own, full opportunity to
remark on his dress and appearance; in which as faithful chroniclers we
have not gathered that there was anything remarkable--save and except
the enormous carpet-bag aforesaid, about which its owner seemed as
solicitous as the traveller in Rob Roy. A stranger was, at the period
we are describing, a _rara avis in terris_ indeed at Lanport; and it
may be conceived that the news of this arrival was discussed round every
hearth in the place within half an hour at the utmost. Mrs. Teague is
recorded to have advanced to the door with unwonted rapidity (bearing
in mind that she had halted a little since she was on the wrong side of
forty, from a rheumatic affection,) to meet such an "iligant-looking
guest;" and certain it is that he had not been two hours in the house,
before it was evident that both parties were on an excellent footing
together. The old lady was seen to come from the best--the parlour we
mean to say--of the Mermaid, with very unusual symptoms of good humour
on her countenance, considering (as Betsy the "maid of all work"
whispered to "Jack Ostler,") that her visage had generally a "vinegar
cruet" association; though we would not take upon ourselves to assert
that brandy had not a greater share in its composition.

The strange gentleman continued in close occupation of the parlour
during the entire evening. The mysterious carpet bag was secured in an
upper room, and its owner chased away the damps and cold of the season
by unusually liberal potations; in short, Mrs. Judith declared to the
numerous party of customers who had assembled from chance or curiosity
on her hearth, that he was the most liberal gentleman that had ever
crossed her threshold in the way of business, since Julius O'Brien
(commonly called the tippling exciseman,) had unexpectedly departed this
life by mistaking the steep staircase of the Mermaid for a single step,
one night when his brain was more than usually beclouded. The arrival of