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"What are you in such a bustle about? inquired her husband." .

reputation of an inn for cheerfulness must, like "merry England's" reputation for gaiety, have been acquired long ago. The traveller—shewn into his solitary apartment, with the Sporting Magazine, some two years old, the sole volume—a small narrow street for his observation—his time upon his hands, "no nothing to do," and the evening before him,—will surely not find the prospect very animated. So much for the occupant of the britscha, who waits, as all the horses are out at a ball or a scrutiny. Neither is the wanderer of lower degree placed in a more enlivening position: true, in the common room he has companions; but to every man is allotted his own table, his own candle, and his own thoughts. Silence and suspicion are the order of the day; and civility is the surest sign of a swindler. But in the good old