The traveller now rose, and flung down the paper. He took out a penknife, 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 sneer. Again Mr Dale bowed--bowed in part deprecatingly--in part with dignity. It was a bow that said, "No offence, sir, but I _am_ a clergyman, and I'm not ashamed of it." "Going far?" asked the traveller. PARSON.--"Not very." TRAVELLER.--"In a chaise or fly? If so, and we are going the same way--halves." PARSON.--"Halves?" TRAVELLER.--"Yes, I'll pay half the damage--pikes inclusive." PARSON.--"You are very good, sir. But," (_spoken with pride_) "I am, on horseback." TRAVELLER.--"On horseback! Well, I should not have guessed that! You don't look like it. Where did you say you were going?" "I did _not_ say where I was going, sir," said the Parson drily, for he was much offended at that vague and ungrammatical remark applicable to his horsemanship, that "he did not look like it." "Close!" said the traveller laughing; "an old traveller, I reckon." The Parson made no reply, but he took up his shovel-hat, and, with a bow more majestic than the previous one, walked out to see if his pad had finished her corn. The animal had indeed finished all the corn afforded to her, which was not much, and in a few minutes more Mr Dale resumed his journey. He had performed about three miles, when the sound of wheels behind made him turn his head, and he perceived a chaise driven very fast, while out of the windows thereof dangled strangely a pair of human legs. The pad began to curvet as the post horses rattled behind, and the Parson had only an indistinct vision of a human face supplanting these human legs. The traveller peered out at him as he whirled by--saw Mr Dale tossed up and down on the saddle, and cried out, "How's the leather?" "Leather!" soliloquised the Parson, as the pad recomposed herself. "What does he mean by that? Leather! a very vulgar man. But I got rid of him cleverly." Mr Dale arrived without farther adventure at Lansmere. He put up at the principal inn--refreshed himself by a general ablution-and sate down with good appetite to his beef-steak and pint of port. The Parson was a better judge of the physiognomy of man than that of the horse; and after a satisfactory glance at the civil smirking landlord, who removed the cover and set on the wine, he ventured on an attempt at conversation. "Is my lord at the park?" Landlord, still more civilly than before: "No, sir, his lordship and my lady have gone to town to meet Lord L'Estrange." "Lord L'Estrange! He is in England, then?"