tiff, as soon as he had
reached _terra firma_, the Parson consigned the pad to the ostler, and
walked into the sanded parlor of the inn, to repose himself on a very
hard Windsor chair.

He had been alone rather more than half-an-hour, reading a county
newspaper which smelt much of tobacco, and trying to keep off the flies
that gathered round him in swarms, as if they had never before seen a
Parson, and were anxious to ascertain how the flesh of him tasted,--when
a stage-coach stopped at the inn. A traveller got out with his
carpet-bag in his hand, and was shown into the sanded parlor.

The Parson rose politely, and made a bow.

The traveller touched his hat, without taking it off--looked at Mr. Dale
from top to toe--then walked to the window, and whistled a lively
impatient tune, then strode towards the fire-place and rang the bell;
then stared again at the Parson; and that gentleman having courteously
laid down the newspaper, the traveller seized it, threw himself on a
chair, flung one of his legs over the table, tossed the other up on the
mantel-piece, and began reading the paper, while he tilted the chair on
its hind legs with so daring a disregard to the ordinary position of
chairs and their occupants, that the shuddering Parson expected every
moment to see him come down on the back of his skull.

Moved, therefore, to compassion, Mr. Dale said mildly--

"Those chairs are very treacherous, sir. I'm afraid you'll be down."

"Eh," said the traveller, looking up much astonished. "Eh, down?--oh,
you're satirical, sir."

"Satirical, sir? upon my word, no!" exclaimed the Parson earnestly.

"I think every free-born man has a right to sit as he pleases in his own
house," resumed the traveller with warmth; "and an inn is his own house,
I guess, so long as he pays his score. Betty, my dear."

For the chambermaid had now replied to the bell.

"I han't Betty, sir; do you want she?"

"No, Sally--cold brandy and water--and a biscuit."

"I han't Sally either," muttered the chambermaid; but the traveller
turning round, showed so smart a neckcloth and so comely a face, that
she smiled, colored, and went her way.

The traveller now rose, and flung down the paper. He took out a
pen-knife, and began paring his nails. Suddenly desisting from this
elegant occupation, his eye caught sight of the Parson's shovel-hat,
which lay on a chair in the corner.

"You're a clergyman, I reckon, sir," said the traveller, with a slight