“Tell you what. Seen the world, Master Dealtry, and know a thing or two. Your shy dog is always a deep one. Give me a man who looks me in the face as he would a cannon!” “Or a lass,” said Peter knowingly. The grim Corporal smiled. “Talking of lasses,” said the soldier, re-filling his pipe, “what creature Miss Lester is! Such eyes!--such nose! Fit for a colonel, by God! ay, or a major-general!” “For my part, I think Miss Ellinor almost as handsome; not so grand-like, but more lovesome!” “Nice little thing!” said the Corporal, condescendingly. “But, zooks! whom have we here?” This last question was applied to a man who was slowly turning from the road towards the inn. The stranger, for such he was, was stout, thick-set, and of middle height. His dress was not without pretension to a rank higher than the lowest; but it was threadbare and worn, and soiled with dust and travel. His appearance was by no means prepossessing; small sunken eyes of a light hazel and a restless and rather fierce expression, a thick flat nose, high cheekbones, a large bony jaw, from which the flesh receded, and a bull throat indicative of great strength, constituted his claims to personal attraction. The stately Corporal, without moving, kept a vigilant and suspicious eye upon the new comer, muttering to Peter,--“Customer for you; rum customer too--by Gad!” The stranger now reached the little table, and halting short, took up the brown jug, without ceremony or preface, and emptied it at a draught. The Corporal stared--the Corporal frowned; but before--for he was somewhat slow of speech--he had time to vent his displeasure, the stranger, wiping his mouth across his sleeve, said, in rather a civil and apologetic tone, “I beg pardon, gentlemen. I have had a long march of it, and very tired I am.” “Humph! march,” said the Corporal a little appeased, “Not in his Majesty’s service--eh?” “Not now,” answered the Traveller; then, turning round to Dealtry, he said: “Are you landlord here?” “At your service,” said Peter, with the indifference of a man well to do, and not ambitious of halfpence. “Come, then, quick--budge,” said the Traveller, tapping him on the back: “bring more glasses--another jug of the October; and any thing or every thing your larder is able to produce--d’ye hear?” Peter, by no means pleased with the briskness of this address, eyed the dusty and way-worn pedestrian from head to foot; then, looking over his shoulder towards the door, he said, as he ensconced himself yet more firmly on his seat-- “There’s my wife by the door, friend; go, tell her what you want.” “Do you know,” said the Traveller, in a slow and measured accent--“Do you know, master Shrivel-face, that I have more than half a mind to break your head for impertinence. You a landlord!--you keep an inn, indeed! Come, Sir, make off, or--”