ave
the reins to his horse, which he restrained with difficulty, and
disappeared in a moment. A few days afterwards I met the man a little
this side of Claremont, winding around the hills in Unity, at the
rate, I believe, of twenty miles an hour."

"Is Peter Rugg his real name, or has he accidentally gained that
name?" "I know not, but presume he will not deny his name; you can ask
him, for see, he has turned his horse and is passing this way." In a
moment a dark-coloured, high-spirited horse approached, and would have
passed without stopping, but I had resolved to speak to Peter Rugg, or
whoever the man might be. Accordingly. I stepped into the street, and
as the horse approached I made a feint of stopping him. The man
immediately reined in his horse. "Sir," said I, "may I be so bold as
to inquire if you are not Mr. Rugg? for I think I have seen you
before." "My name is Peter Rugg," said he; "I have unfortunately lost
my way; I am wet and weary, and will take it kindly of you to direct
me to Boston." "You live in Boston, do you, and in what street?" "In
Middle Street." "When did you leave Boston?" "I cannot tell precisely;
it seems a considerable time." "But how did you and your child become
so wet? it has not rained here to-day." "It has just rained a heavy
shower up the river. But I shall not reach Boston to-night if I tarry.
Would you advise me to take the old road, or the turnpike?" "Why, the
old road is one hundred and seventeen miles, and the turnpike is
ninety-seven." "How can you say so? you impose on me; it is wrong to
trifle with a traveller; you know it is but forty miles from
Newburyport to Boston." "But this is not Newburyport; this is
Hartford." "Do not deceive me, sir. Is not this town Newburyport, and
the river that I have been following the Merrimac?" "No, sir; this is
Hartford, and the river the Connecticut." He wrung his hands and
looked incredulous. "Have the rivers, too, changed their courses as
the cities have changed places? But see, the clouds are gathering in
the south, and we shall have a rainy night. Ah, that fatal oath!" He
would tarry no longer. His impatient horse leaped off, his hind flanks
rising like wings--he seemed to devour all before him and to scorn all
behind.

I had now, as I thought, discovered a clue to the history of Peter
Rugg, and I determined, the next time my business called me to Boston,
to make a further inquiry. Soon after I was enabled to collect the
following parti