Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling.-Ibid. DE VERE found that the inn which he thought was to give him shelter was filled with the "rude swilled insolence of these late wassailers ;" and the landlord, after many expressions of concern, assured him of the impossibility of giving him accommodation. De Vere, however, was not only young enough not yet to take much thought of personal inconvenience, but his mind was full; and one effect of being under the influence of an absorbing interest is to make most others sink in the comparison. He had rode fifty miles that day, and the topics of reflection which had employed him had made his mind stand in need of rest still more than his body; yet he heard the sentence of banishment passed upon him without a murmur, though a pampered minion of the world, arriving in his travelling carriage, and thus disappointed, would have complained, and execrated his hard fortune, though he might only have had to proceed a stage farther to a comfortable inn. As it was, De Vere was not only careless of his situation, but seemed disposed to gaze on the rustic, and certainly not very refined scene that was going forward. From all the rooms of the Fox was heard the sound "of riot and ill-mannered merriment." And at another time, perhaps, he could not have borne to look at the loose hinds who made it, thanking the gods amiss." 66 Many a hoarse cadence saluted his ear; many a practical joke his eye. Yet, with a heart full of feelings appertaining even to sadness, and thinking of her who was the very queen of elegance, he stopped a few moments to contemplate, we will not say to be amused with, this coarse undress of nature. We cannot account for this, except that he was glad of any occurrence that could divert him from himself. Upon the same principle that he who best understood the heart's most paradoxical seeming makes Hamlet, with his mind full of high purpose, stop to find pastime in arguing with a grave-digger. In sooth, it is not more extraordinary than true, that even while the soul is absorbed with some great predominant subject, we are not always indisposed to throw away a moment upon objects which we might otherwise despise. But a very few minutes gave De Vere quite enough of these boors; and though he was not in the best humour with the grandees of the world, and thought even humble moderation preferable to the passions he had witnessed among those who were considered as the lords of life, he found that it was not among the dregs of it he was to seek consolation. He turned, therefore, from the inn; and after hearing that Ralph and his horses could be taken care of, moved off on foot, literally to seek his fortune for the night. He had not proceeded far before a brisk step sounded behind him, and as brisk a voice sang out a verse of the old song of "And why should we quarrel for riches. A light heart, and a thin pair of breeches, The sort of jolly sincerity of the singer, in giving this philosophical verse, would have struck De Vere at any time; but the stillness of the night, and the reflective humour he had been in during the day, made him peculiarly alive to it, and he turned to observe the traveller, who had now saluted him, and seemed not unwilling to become his companion. He was what you call a hale, wellbuilt man, of an open physiognomy, and appeared, by the moon's pale light, between forty and fifty years of age. His whole air, as well as step, denoted ease with himself and good-humour with all the world. De Vere, from the same sort of disposition we have just noticed, to allow minor things to divert an occupied mind, replied to his address with civility, not unmixed with curiosity. For the manner and language of the pedestrian seemed rather above his dress, which was that of a servant, though not in livery; and, from the gold binding round his hat, and his leather gaiters (though in those times this did not prove much), it might be a question whether he was a gentleman or a gentleman's gamekeeper. De Vere thought him the latter, and his notion was confirmed by observing a large spaniel, superb of his species, that followed close at his heels, from which he did not stir an inch, altering his pace from quick to slow, and slow to quick, and crossing the road exactly as his master changed his course. De Vere observed upon the seeming attachment and fidelity of the animal. "Nay, it is more than seeming," said his new companion: "I wish we could all of us boast as much honesty as this brute; I wish we could say, with the shepherd in the fable, "I love his true and faithful way, De Vere felt his curiosity more and more awakened by this little moral ebullition of his new acquaintance, who kept walking on at a brisk pace; when, after a few minutes' pause, the stranger bethought him of that question which in England is generally the first with which one traveller accosts another, and without further preface asked De Vere where he was going? 66 "I wish I could tell you," replied he; "but the truth is, except that I am in search of a bed in any hospitable farmhouse I can find, I do not know where I am going." "A stranger, perhaps, in these parts?" said the other, inquiringly. "Not absolutely," returned De Vere, "but still so much so as not exactly to know how to shape my course to my object." "Leave that to me," cried his companion, with heartiness. "You are young and stout, and if you can walk a couple of miles farther, you will find an old hall that will not shut its door upon you, I'll answer it." De Vere expressed his thanks, and it being an absolute matter of necessity, and, moreover, being much pleased with his fellow-traveller, he accepted the offer. "You live there, of course," said De Vere. "I do," answered the stranger; "and you shall sup like a prince." The moon was silver bright; there was a soft buxom feel in the air; and the two new acquaintances proceeded cheerfully together towards their destination. By degrees the guide deviated from the high road, and traversing a meadow spread over with tedded grass, and exhaling scents which he seemed to suck in at his mouth as well as his nostrils, he asked De Vere if he had ever been in London. "I am not three days from it," answered De Vere. "I fancy there is not much in it like this," said his fellow-traveller, and he took up a handful of hay, which emitted perfumes that were delicious. "Not much," returned De Vere, uncertain in what manner to shape the conversation. "Nor these woods," added the keeper (if we may call him so), 66 nor that brook, that sings so sweet of a summer's night." "We have the Thames," said De Vere, affecting an air of superiority. 66 "O! ay!" replied the stranger; "but it is fuller of ships than of wild ducks, and I can't abide ships, and trade, and all that." "You have been in London, then ?" returned De Vere, somewhat amused. 66 The stranger immediately changed his tone. "Why, yes," said he, once, and more was my bad luck, and somebody else's, too." At these words a deep sigh, half-amounting to a groan, escaped him, and he strode on before, in a silence of some minutes, till they passed through a wood, and then a succession of fields. They then began to ascend a hill, from which the gleaming of lights showed inhabitancy, and De Vere began to think they were in the domain of some rural thane, whose house could not be far off. This was soon put out of doubt by the appearance of an old garden-wall, a gate in which was opened by the stranger, and they found themselves in a bowling-green, bounded on three sides by a .yew-tree hedge, cut very close and thick. On the fourth was the gable end of an antiquated house, seemingly covered to the very chimneys with ivy. There was a new wing, however, consisting of two or three rooms, with modern sashed windows, but all the rest were casements at least as old as the Tudors. De Vere now began to be uneasy, from the fear that he had made a mistake in following his leader to a place not his own; but his hope was that his good-natured companion, being left in charge of an empty mansion, had allotted a spare chamber in it to him for the night, in the absence of the owner. What then was his surprise when, apologizing for leaving him for a minute, the stranger said he must go and inform his master of his arrival, who, he would answer for it, would be glad to give him a bed, and a supper too. De Vere felt distressed; but before he could utter a word, the man had disappeared through a side-door into a courtyard, where the noise of half a dozen dogs greeting his return showed signs of a family establishment, which our traveller was any thing but pleased to think of. He was disposed even to retire, when his new friend returned with a lad wearing a livery he had somewhere seen, and bearing a lantern to conduct him through the offices; and his guide then delivered him a message in form from his master, who had desired him to say he should be welcome to any thing that Okeover Hall could afford for his accommodation. This was said with the smile of one who had succeeded in a negotiation, not to mention a bow of protection and ceremony mixed, as if the speaker had now a right to assume some authority. With an air, therefore, of command, he cried to the lad with the lantern, "Lead the way in, Jack!"—and De Vere felt he could not help following, however unwilling to intrude. As they crossed the hall, the keeper, or major-domo, as we will now call him, pointing to two immense doors of black oak, well barred for the night, apologized in the name of his master for not receiving him at the great gate; but all was so unexpected. Further inquiry was stopped by the appearance of the master himself, who issued from what seemed to be a library, and with a natural frankness, mixed, however, with a little shyness of countenance, said he was welcome to Okeover. 66 66 My servant Gorblestone," added the gentleman, says you are benighted.” 66 De Vere returned a suitable compliment, but added excuses for an unintended intrusion, in which he was most sincere. "I thought your servant," said he, a keeper in some forest lodge, of which I have seen a few sometimes in this country; and did not imagine I was breaking in upon any gentleman's privacy." The gentleman assured him he had done so most |