"They takes in the 'Moderate Man's Journal' at the 'Lamb:' and they say
in the tap there that he's one of the cleverest chaps in the House o'
Commons," continued the Boots, in a confidential whisper. "But we takes
in the 'People's Thunderbolt' at the 'Lion,' and we knows better this
Muster Trevanion: he is but a trimmer,--milk and water,--no horator,--
not the right sort; you understand?" Perfectly satisfied that I
understood nothing about it, I smiled, and said, "Oh, yes!" and slipping
on my knapsack, commenced my adventures, the Boots bawling after me,
"Mind, sir, you tells haunt I sent you!"

The town was only languidly putting forth symptoms of returning life as
I strode through the streets; a pale, sickly, unwholesome look on the
face of the slothful Phoebus had succeeded the feverish hectic of the
past night; the artisans whom I met glided by me haggard and dejected; a
few early shops were alone open; one or two drunken men, emerging from
the lanes, sallied homeward with broken pipes in their mouths; bills,
with large capitals, calling attention to "Best family teas at 4s. a
pound;" "The arrival of Mr. Sloinan's caravan of wild beasts;" and Dr.
Do'em's "Paracelsian Pills of Immortality," stared out dull and
uncheering from the walls of tenantless, dilapidated houses in that
chill sunrise which favors no illusion. I was glad when I had left the
town behind me, and saw the reapers in the corn-fields, and heard the
chirp of the birds. I arrived at the lodge of which the Boots had
spoken,--a pretty rustic building half-concealed by a belt of
plantations, with two large iron gates for the owner's friends, and a
small turn-stile for the public, who, by some strange neglect on his
part, or sad want of interest with the neighboring magistrates, had
still preserved a right to cross the rich man's domains and look on his
grandeur, limited to compliance with a reasonable request, mildly stated
on the notice-board, "to keep to the paths." As it was not yet eight