Tales of a Traveller

landaulet, with a servant mounted on the dickey. The compact, highly finished, yet proudly simple construction of the carriage; the quantity of neat, well-arranged trunks and conveniences; the loads of box coats and upper benjamins on the dickey—and the fresh, burly, gruff-looking face at the window, proclaimed at once that it was the equipage of an Englishman.
    “Fresh horses to Fondi,” said the Englishman, as the landlord came bowing to the carriage door.
    “Would not his Excellenza alight and take some refreshment?”
    “No—he did not mean to eat until he got to Fondi!”
    “But the horses will be some time in getting ready—”
    “Ah.—that’s always the case—nothing but delay in this cursed country.”
    “If his Excellenza would only walk into the house—”
    “No, no, no!—I tell you no!—I want nothing but horses, and as quick as possible. John! see that the horses are got ready, and don’t let us be kept here an hour or two. Tell him if we’re delayed over the time, I’ll lodge a complaint with the postmaster.”
    John touched his hat, and set off to obey his master’s orders, with the taciturn obedience of an English servant. He was a ruddy, round-faced fellow, with hair cropped close; a short coat, drab breeches, and long gaiters; and appeared to have almost as much contempt as his master for everything around him.
    In the mean time the Englishman got out of the carriage and walked up and down before the inn, with his hands in his pockets: taking no notice of the crowd of idlers who were gazing at him and his equipage. He was tall, stout, and well made; dressed with neatness and precision, wore a travelling-cap of the color of gingerbread, and had rather an unhappy expression about the corners of his mouth; partly from not having yet made his dinner, and partly from not having been able to get on at a greater rate than seven miles an hour. Not that he had any other cause for haste than an Englishman’s usual hurry to get to the end of a journey; or, to use the regular phrase, “to get on.”
    After some time the servant returned from the stable with as sour a look as his master.
    “Are the horses ready, John?”
    “No, sir—I never saw such a place. There’s no getting anything done. I think your honor had better step into the house and get something to eat; it will be a long while before we get to Fundy.”
    “D—n the house—it’s a mere trick—I’ll not eat anything, just to spite them,” said the Englishman, still more crusty at the prospect of being so long without his dinner.
    “They say your honor’s very wrong,” said John, “to set off at this late hour. The road’s full of highwaymen.”
    “Mere tales to get custom.”
    “The estafette which passed us was stopped by a whole gang,” said John, increasing his emphasis with each additional piece of information.
    “I don’t believe a word of it.”
    “They robbed him of his breeches,” said John, giving at the same time a hitch to his own waistband.
    “All humbug!”
    Here the dark, handsome young man stepped forward and addressing the Englishman very politely in broken English, invited him to partake of a repast he was about to make. “Thank’ee,” said the Englishman, thrusting his hands deeper into his pockets, and casting a slight side glance of suspicion at the young man, as if he thought from his civility he must have a design upon his purse.
    “We shall be most happy if you will do us that favor,” said the lady, in her soft Venetian dialect. There was a sweetness in her accents that was most persuasive. The Englishman cast a look upon her countenance; her beauty was still more eloquent. His features instantly relaxed. He made an attempt at a civil bow. “With great pleasure, signora,” said he.
    In short, the eagerness to “get on” was suddenly slackened; the determination to famish himself as far as Fondi by way of punishing the landlord was abandoned; John chose the best apartment in the inn for his master’s reception, and preparations were made to remain there until morning.
    The carriage was unpacked of such of its contents as were indispensable for the night. There was the usual parade of trunks and writing-desks, and portfolios, and dressing-boxes, and those other oppressive conveniences which burden a comfortable man. The observant loiterers about the inn door, wrapped up in great dirt-colored cloaks, with only a hawk’s eye uncovered, made many remarks to each other on