ks, that were worse than rainy weather. I
bored myself to death with an old volume of the Lady's Magazine. I
read all the commonplaced names of ambitious travellers scrawled on
the panes of glass; the eternal families of the Smiths, and the
Browns, and the Jacksons, and the Johnsons, and all the other sons;
and I deciphered several scraps of fatiguing inn-window poetry which I
have met with in all parts of the world.

The day continued lowering and gloomy; the slovenly, ragged, spongy
clouds drifted heavily along; there was no variety even in the rain:
it was one dull, continued, monotonous patter--patter--patter,
excepting that now and then I was enlivened by the idea of a brisk
shower, from the rattling of the drops upon a passing umbrella.

It was quite _refreshing_ (if I may be allowed a hackneyed phrase of
the day) when, in the course of the morning, a horn blew, and a
stage-coach whirled through the street, with outside passengers stuck
all over it, cowering under cotton umbrellas, and seethed together,
and reeking with the steams of wet box-coats and upper Benjamins.

The sound brought out from their lurking-places a crew of vagabond
boys, and vagabond dogs, and the carroty-headed hostler, and that
nondescript animal ycleped Boots, and all the other vagabond race that
infest the purlieus of an inn; but the bustle was transient; the coach
again whirled on its way; and boy and dog, and hostler and Boots, all
slunk back again to their holes; the street again became silent, and
the rain continued to rain on. In fact, there was no hope of its
clearing up; the barometer pointed to rainy weather; mine hostess'
tortoise-shell cat sat by the fire washing her face, and rubbing her
paws over her ears; and, on referring to the almanac, I found a
direful prediction stretching from the top of the page to the bottom
through the whole month, "expect--much--rain--about--this--time."

I was dreadfully hipped. The hours seemed as if they would never creep
by. The very ticking of the clock became irksome. At length the
stillness of the house was interrupted by the ringing of a bell.
Shortly after, I heard the voice of a waiter at the bar: "The stout
gentleman in No. 13 wants his breakfast. Tea and bread and butter with
ham and eggs; the eggs not to be too much done."

In such a situation as mine, every incident is of importance.

Here was a subject of speculation presented to my mind, and ample
exercise for my imagination. I a