gant inn, in one of the neatest villages I had ever beheld, at about half-an-hour’s drive from Klarenburg. “I am dying of thirst and must get a drink here; get for yourself whatever you please—beer or wine.” There were a number of nicely painted chairs and tables placed before the door of the inn, among which stood or sat various groups of comfortable-looking personages, which led me to suppose that the village formed a favourite lounging-place for the citizens of Klarenburg. Perhaps I should have avoided another rencontre at present with a Klarenburger; but I could not remain a moment longer in the carriage, or enter the town in my present frame of mind.
The postillion nothing loth to avail himself of my injunction, bestowed great praises upon me while speaking to the ostler who brought hay for the horses. I overheard the fellow praising my liberality to my former postillion, and extolling me to the very skies for the humane considerations which had doubtless prevailed with me while never once urging him to increase the speed of his cattle in so sultry a day. He concluded his oration by drinking-off a large tumbler of wine to my health.
A little in front of the green before the inn was a railing, against which I now observed a thick, odd-looking figure leaning, smoking his pipe, and listening to the harangue of the postillion. I saw him turn towards me with a smile on his countenance, and I was quite sure that the party, who were seated round a table near him, and which I supposed were his family, were making me the subject of their conversation, for ever and anon they raised their looks towards the quarter where I stood, and then they turned round and broke out into a general titter. I was now in a most painful dilemma; I was sure that my incognito had been already seen through, and so all my fine laid-plans were thus blown in the air before ever I had set foot on the intended scene of action. And yet how could this be possible I asked myself. I had never been here before,—I had not been above a few
