was in the daily practice of munching his corn out of a
small trough that stood in the yard of the inn where he
usually stopped, while his rider conversed with whoever
chanced to be near him--the head of his cudgel resting
on his ample thigh, and a glass of his favorite whiskey
in his other and unoccupied hand.

Now it chanced, that on this particular day, Sampson had
neglected to pay his customary visit to the inn, an
omission which was owing rather to the hurry and excitement
occasioned by the stirring events of the morning, than
to any wilful neglect of his steed. Nor was it until some
hours after dark that, seized with a sudden fit of
caressing Silvertail, whose glossy neck he patted, until
the tears of warm affection started to his eyes, he
bethought him of the omission of which he had been guilty.
Scarcely was the thought conceived, before Silvertail
was again at full career, and on his way to the inn. The
gate stood open, and, as Sampson entered, he saw two
individuals retire, as if to escape observation, within
a shed adjoining the stable. Drunk as he was, a vague
consciousness of the truth, connected as it was with his
earlier observation, flashed across the old man's mind,
and when, in answer to his loud hallooing, a factotum,
on whom devolved all the numerous offices of the inn,
from waiter down to ostler, made his appearance, Sampson
added to his loudly expressed demand for Silvertail's
corn, a whispered injunction to return with a light.
During the absence of the man he commenced trolling a
verse of "Old King Cole," a favorite ballad with him,