The male traveller’s dingy black frock had once seen better days, and his buff vest and nankeen unmentionables would have been all the better for a visit to the laundress. His hat was of that order denominated “shocking bad,” while it seemed doubtful that his boots would bear him to the end of his journey, and if they did, it would be by an expiring effort with which their history must close. His complexion was sallow, his features large, his whiskers black and bushy, he looked a dirty Jew; and certainly, “take him for all in all,” he was not the sort of person whom a gentleman would borrow money to entertain. In every particular the girl was unlike her companion. She was pretty, tall, fair, and well formed. Her costume--a collection of faded finery--was tolerably clean; and, poverty apart, her air and address were those of one who had once moved in a different sphere, and, to judge by appearances, of one also, upon whom fortune had frowned severely. On both sides some civilities were interchanged; and to an inquiry from the fosterer as to where entertainment and lodgings could be found, the man pointed out a solitary house at the distance of a mile, intimating that it was a carman’s stage held by travellers in high estimation. It was moreover kept by a buxom widow, and denominated. [Illustration: 0090] The ice once broken, the dark gentleman became very communicative. “If you want good fare, prime whisky, and a sound snooze, the Cock’s your place, sir. The landlady’s a trump, parlour snug, and not a flea if you searched the beds for a fortnight. Come, my love,” and he addressed his fair companion, who frowned an angry answer to this term of endearment,--“you and I are for the same crib, and we’ll give this gentleman our company.” The stroller spoke with the volubility of an auctioneer, and thus continued:-- “This lady, sir, is my sister,--Miss Julia Montague. We are both professional,--known extensively in the dramatic world,--I, in the comic line--and Julia, in the musical. Bad spec at Granard--manager an ass,--played tragedy to please his swivel-eyed wife,--she Desdemona!--she be forked,--house didn’t draw money to pay candles,--manager, calls himself Mortimer, right name Malowney, bolted with any blunt there was--left the company without a _tanner_, and obliged July and myself to travel here _tandem_,--one leg before the other. Better luck again,--we’ll both be on the boards of Crow-street before Christmas--eh, July?” When the Jew had named the connexion between himself and the wandering melodist, Mark Antony’s incredulous stare was returned by a look of contempt directed by the lady at her companion, which disclaimed relationship altogether; and a trifling incident ended the attempt at imposition.