means of the railroad, or other public conveyance;
but there were other occasions, and these last
I liked the best, when it was necessary I should
go to out-of-the-way places, and by such crossroads
as rendered it more convenient for me
to travel with a carriage and horse of my own.
My carriage was a kind of phaeton without a
coach-box, with a leather hood that would put
up and down; and there was plenty of room at
the back, for such specimens or samples of
goods as it was necessary that I should carry
with me. For my horse it was absolutely
indispensable that it should be an animal of some
value, as no horse but a very good one would
be capable of performing the long courses day
after day which my mode of travelling rendered
necessary. He cost me two thousand francs,
and was anything but dear at the price.

Many were the journeys we performed together
over the broad acres of beautiful France.
Many were the hotels, many the auberges, many
the bad dinners, many the damp beds, and many
the fleas which I encountered en route. Many
were the dull old fortified towns over whose
drawbridges I rolled; many the still more dull
old towns without fortifications and without
drawbridges, at which my avocations made it
necessary for me to halt.

I don't know how it was that on the morning
when I was to start from the town of Doulaise,
with the intention of sleeping at Francy-le-
Grand, I was an hour later in commencing my
journey than I ought to have been. I have said
I don't know how it was, but this is scarcely true.
I do know how it was. It was because on that
morning, to use a popular expression, everything
went wrong. So, it was an hour later than it
ought to have been, gentlemen, when I drew up
the sheepskin lining of my carriage apron over
my legs, and establishing my little dog
comfortably on the seat beside me, set off on my
journey. In all my expeditions I was accompanied
by a favourite terrier of mine, which I
had brought with me from England. I never
travelled without her, and found her a companion.

It was a miserable day in the month of
October. A perfectly grey sky, with white gleams
about the horizon, gave unmistakable
evidence that the small drizzle which was falling
would continue for four-and-twenty hours at
least. It was cold and cheerless weather, and
on the deserted road I was pursuing, there was
scarcely a human being (unless it was an
occasional cantonnier, or road-mender) to break
the solitude. A deserted way indeed, with poplars
on each side of it, which had turned yellow
in the autumn, and had shed their leaves in
abundance all across the road, so that my mare's
footsteps had quite a muffled sound as she
trampled them under her hoofs. Widely-
extending flats spread out on either side till the
view was lost in an inconceivably melancholy
scene, and the road itself was so perfectly
straight, that you could see something like ten
miles of it diminishing to a point in front of
you, while a similar view was visible through
the little window at the back of the carriage.

In the hurry of the morning's departure I had
omitted to inquire, as I generally did in travelling
an unknown road, at what village it would be
best for me to stop, about noon, to bait, and what
was the name of the most respectable house of
public entertainment in my way; so that when
I arrived between twelve and one o'clock at a
certain place where four roads met; and when at
one of the corners formed by their union I saw
a great bare-looking inn, with the sign of the
Tête Noire swinging in front; I had nothing
for it but to put up there, without knowing
anything of the character of the house.

The look of the place did not please me.
It was a great bare uninhabited-looking house,
which seemed much larger than was necessary,
and presented a black and dirty appearance,
which, considering the distance from any
town, it was difficult to account for. All the
doors and all the windows were shut; there
was no sign of any living creature about the
place; and niched into the wall above the
principal entrance was a grim and ghastly-looking
life-size figure of a Saint. For a moment I
hesitated whether I should turn into the open
gates of the stable-yard, or go further in search
of some more attractive halting-place. But my
mare was tired, I was more than half way on my
road, and this would be the best division of the
journey. Besides, Gentlemen; why not put
up here? If I was only going to stop at
such places of entertainment as completely
satisfied me, externally as well as internally,
I had better give up travelling altogether.

There were no more signs of life in the
interior of the yard, than were presented by the
external aspect of the house, as it fronted the
road. Everything seemed shut up. All the
stables and outhouses were characterised by
closed doors, without so much as a straw
clinging to their thresholds to indicate that
these buildings were sometimes put to a
practical use. I saw no manure strewed about the
place, and no living creature: no pigs, no
ducks, no fowls. It was perfectly still and
quiet, and, as it was one of those days when a
fine small rain descends quite straight, without
a breath of air to drive it one way or
other, the silence was complete and distressing.
I gave a loud shout, and began undoing the
harness while my summons was taking effect.

The first person whom the sound of my voice
appeared to have reached, was a small but
precocious boy: who opened a door in the back of the
house, and, descending the flight of steps which
led to it, approached to aid me in my task. I
was just undoing the final buckle on my side
of the harness, when, happening to turn round,
I discovered, standing close behind me, a
personage who had approached so quietly that it
would have been a confusing thing to find him
so near even if there had been nothing in his
appearance which was calculated to startle one.
He was the most ill-looking man, Gentlemen,
that it was ever my fortune to behold. Nearer
fifty than any other age I could give him,
his dry spare nature had kept him as light and