第89章 THE SKETCH BOOK(3)

Off they set at last; one on the pony, with the dog bounding andbarking before him, and the others holding John's hands; bothtalking at once, and overpowering him with questions about home, andwith school anecdotes. I looked after them with a feeling in which Ido not know whether pleasure or melancholy predominated; for I wasreminded of those days when, like them, I had neither known care norsorrow, and a holiday was the summit of earthly felicity. We stopped afew moments afterwards to water the horses, and on resuming our route,a turn of the road brought us in sight of a neat country seat. I couldjust distinguish the forms of a lady and two young girls in theportico, and I saw my little comrades, with Bantam, Carlo, and oldJohn, trooping along the carriage road. I leaned out of the coachwindow, in hopes of witnessing the happy meeting, but a grove of treesshut it from my sight.

In the evening we reached a village where I had determined to passthe night. As we drove into the great gateway of the inn, I saw on oneside the light of a rousing kitchen fire beaming through a window. Ientered, and admired, for the hundredth time, that picture ofconvenience, neatness, and broad honest enjoyment, the kitchen of anEnglish inn. It was of spacious dimensions, hung round with copper andtin vessels highly polished, and decorated here and there with aChristmas green. Hams, tongues, and flitches of bacon, weresuspended from the ceiling; a smoke-jack made its ceaseless clankingbeside the fireplace, and a clock ticked in one corner. A well-scoureddeal table extended along one side of the kitchen, with a cold roundof beef, and other hearty viands upon it, over which two foamingtankards of ale seemed mounting guard. Travellers of inferior orderwere preparing to attack this stout repast, while others sat smokingand gossiping over their ale on two high-backed oaken settles besidethe fire. Trim housemaids were hurrying backwards and forwards underthe directions of a fresh, bustling landlady; but still seizing anoccasional moment to exchange a flippant word, and have a rallyinglaugh, with the group round the fire. The scene completely realizedPoor Robin's humble idea of the comforts of mid-winter:

Now trees their leafy hats do bare

To reverence Winter's silver hair;

A handsome hostesss, merry host,

A pot of ale now and a toast,

Tobacco and a good coal fire,

Are things this season doth require.*

* Poor Robin's Almanac, 1684.

I had not been long at the inn when a post-chaise drove up to thedoor. A young gentleman stept out, and by the light of the lamps Icaught a glimpse of a countenance which I thought I knew. I movedforward to get a nearer view, when his eye caught mine. I was notmistaken; it was Frank Bracebridge, a sprightly good-humored youngfellow, with whom I had once travelled on the continent. Our meetingwas extremely cordial, for the countenance of an oldfellow-traveller always brings up the recollection of a thousandpleasant scenes, odd adventures, and excellent jokes. To discuss allthese in a transient interview at an inn was impossible; and findingthat I was not pressed for time, and was merely making a tour ofobservation, he insisted that I should give him a day or two at hisfather's country seat, to which he was going to pass the holidays, andwhich lay at a few miles distance. "It is better than eating asolitary Christmas dinner at an inn," said he, "and I can assure youof a hearty welcome in something of the old-fashioned style." Hisreasoning was cogent, and I must confess the preparation I had seenfor universal festivity and social enjoyment had made me feel a littleimpatient of my loneliness. I closed, therefore, at once, with hisinvitation; the chaise drove up to the door, and in a few moments Iwas on my way to the family mansion of the Bracebridges.

THE END

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1819-20