laugh, as I surveyed the comical figure of the querist in all its amplitude of breadth.
“May I make bold to ask,” continued the droll-looking creature, “whether you have met with a young gentleman on your road, who is posting down here from the capital, and is every moment expected by us?”
“No, sir,” I replied, with a somewhat stiffer bow, clearly perceiving that the young gentleman so anxiously expected was no other than my honourable self. My querist, probably, had made his calculation that I would interrogate him a little in return respecting the name and appearance of the young gentleman of whom he spoke; but this I did not do for prudential and very obvious reasons.
My friend, however, was not to be put off with two little monosyllables however direct to the point. He now proceeded to inform me, that this was the third evening he and his family had taken a ride out to Herzfelde, in the hope of meeting with the grandson and heir of the late Mrs Milbirn,—a gentleman in whom they all felt a very deep interest,—looking upon him almost as one of their own family so to speak, on account of the great intimacy on which they had always lived with his worthy grandmother. “Perhaps,” added the hateful little man, enlarging his great mouth still farther by a hideous attempt at a smile, in which operation his little eyes almost sunk out of sight,—“perhaps you are acquainted with our dear young friend, councillor Blum, and can inform me when I shall really enjoy the felicity of meeting with one whom we have all so tenderly loved, though yet known by name and report only to us?”
I now felt myself fairly caught,—it was impossible for me to deny acquaintance with the person whose proxy I was about to declare myself,—I therefore frankly informed my querist, that I had the happiness to be well-acquainted with councillor Blum,—nay, the happiness to be his very intimate friend, and that it was in my power to say, that unless some very unforeseen accident occurred, the councillor
