whether Purvis comprehended the story or
appreciated the illustration; but he smiled, and smirked, and looked
satisfied, for Peter's wine was admirable, and iced to perfection.
Indeed, the worthy Scroope, like his sister, was already calculating how
to "improve the occasion," and further cultivate the esteem of one whose
hospitable dispositions were so excellent. It was just at this moment
that Martha glided behind Purvis's chair, and whispered a word in his
ear. Whatever the announcement, it required some repetition before it
became quite palpable to his faculties, and it was only after about five
minutes that his mind seemed to take in all the bearings of the case.

"Oh, I ha-have it!" cried he. "That's it, eh?" And he winked with a
degree of cunning that showed the most timely appreciation of the news.

"Would n't the young lady sit down and take something?" said Dalton,
offering a seat "A glass of sweet wine? They 've elegant Tokay here."

"Thanks, thanks," said Scroope, apologizing for the bashful Martha; "but
she's in a bit of a quandary just now. My sister wishes to return home,
and we cannot remember the name of the hotel."

Dalton took a hearty fit of laughing at the absurdity of the dilemma.

"'T is well," said he, "You were n't Irish. By my conscience! they'd
call that a bull;" and he shook his sides with merriment. "How did you
get here?"

"We walked," said Martha.

"And which way did you come?"

"Can you remember, Scroope?"

"Yes, I can re-re-member that we crossed a little Plate, with a
fountain, and came oyer a wooden bridge, and then down an alley of
li-li-linden-trees."

"To be sure ye did," broke in Dalton; "and the devil a walk of five
minutes ye could take in any direction here without seeing a fountain, a
wooden bridge, and a green lane. 'T is the same whichever way you turn,
whether you were going to church or the gambling-house. Would you know
the name, if you hear it? Was it the Schwan?" Purvis shook his head.
"Nor the Black Eagle?--nor the Cour de Londres?--nor the Russie?--nor
the Zaringer? Nor, in fact, any of the cognate hotels of Baden. Was n't
there a great hall when you entered, with orange-trees all round it,
and little couriers, in goold-lace jackets, smoking and drinking beer?"
Scroope thought he had seen something of that sort "Of course ye did,"
said Dalton, with another burst of laughter. "'Tis the same in every
hotel of the town. There 's a clock that never goes, too, an