THE BLIND PASSENGER.
“You know, my friends,” began Count Felsen—Felsen was not his real name, but it is a very good name notwithstanding, and at all events it is better than Count A, or B, or any other mysterious initial, equally ungracious to the eye and ear;—“you know, my friends, that at times I take a fancy to odd adventures. A whim of this kind seized me,—it is now about five years ago—upon leaving my bed, in the town of , to enjoy the freshness of the morning. My walk led me by the post-house, where a new diligence was just about to take its first flight in the world, and I was suddenly smitten with the idea of riding in it—Why not?—My eye quickly ran over the passengers,
VOL. III.
B
