A smart young Irishman was in the bar, and handed me the book in which passenger's names were registered. After I had recorded mine, he directed my trunk to be carried to the room designated as the one I was to occupy. I followed the porter, who conducted me to the chamber which had been mine at previous visits. Here, too, were evidences of change; but not for the better. Then the room was as sweet and clean as it could be; the sheets and pillow-cases as white as snow, and the furniture shining with polish. Now all was dusty and dingy, the air foul, and the bed-linen scarcely whiter than tow. No curtain made softer the light as it came through the window; nor would the shutters entirely keep out the glare, for several of the slats were broken. A feeling of disgust came over me, at the close smell and foul appearance of everything; so, after washing my hands and face, and brushing the dust from my clothes, I went down stairs. The sitting-room was scarcely more attractive than my chamber; so I went out upon the porch and took a chair. Several loungers were here; hearty, strong-looking, but lazy fellows, who, if they had anything to do, liked idling better than working. One of them leaned his chair back against the wall of the house, and was swinging his legs with a half circular motion, and humming "Old Folks at Home." Another sat astride of a chair, with his face turned toward, and his chin resting upon, the back. He was in too lazy a condition of body and mind for motion or singing. A third had slidden down in his chair, until he sat on his back, while his feet were elevated above his head, and rested against one of the pillars that supported the porch; while a fourth lay stretched out on a bench, sleeping, his hat over his face to protect him from buzzing and biting flies. Though all but the sleeping man eyed me inquisitively, as I took my place among them, not one changed his position. The rolling of eye-balls cost but little exertion; and with that effort they were contented. "Hallo! who's that?" one of these loungers suddenly exclaimed, as a man went swiftly by in a light sulky; and he started up, and gazed down the road, seeking to penetrate the cloud of dust which the fleet rider had swept up with hoofs and wheels. "I didn't see." The sleeping man aroused himself, rubbed his eyes, and gazed along the road. "Who was it, Matthew?" The Irish bar-keeper now stood in the door. "Willy Hammond," was answered by Matthew. "Indeed! Is that his new three hundred dollar horse?" "Yes." "My! but he's a screamer!" "Isn't he! Most as fast as his young master." "Hardly," said one of the men, laughing. "I don't think anything in creation can beat Hammond. He goes it with a perfect rush." "Doesn't he! Well; you may say what you please of him, he's as good-hearted a fellow as ever walked; and generous to a fault." "His old dad will agree with you in the last remark," said Matthew.