"Ould fellow," said the fiend, clutching my hand in a monstrous horny fist, "by my sowl, I'm grately plazed to meet ye in these parts: when did ye come to Doncaster? and where do ye hang out? and how long do ye stop?" "Came by the Edinburgh mail yesterday morning; at my old lodgings at the saddler's, nearly opposite the Rooms: leave for town to-morrow," said I. "That's a nate way of doing business, sure enough," was the commentary; "ounly I can't larn the sinse of going to a private lodging, where, if you ordher a kidney for breakfast, you're expected to fork out to the butcher. See how _I_ carry on the war, and never hard the ghost of an inquiry about coin sense I sot fut in the house. A hotel's the place for me! I've thried 'em all, from the Club-house at Kilkinny to the Clarendon, and, by the holy poker, never wish mysilf worse luck than such cantonments! Arrah! what more does a man require than a place where, if he wants a bottle of claret, all he has to do is to ring the bell for it? Dine with me to-night," continued the social economist; "they put you to trough very respectably in this same shop: ask, and have, that's the ticket." I declined, with thanks; urging a previous engagement, and made a demonstration of leave-taking.—"Fill a bumper of sparkling burgundy before you go, any how," said my hospitable host; "you'll find it a gentlemanly morning tipple! if this be war, may we never have pace; here's to our next merry meeting, and may we never know the want of oceans of wine, plantations of tobacco, cart-loads of pipes, lots of purty girls, and a large room to swear in.—Farewell."