Invigorated By This Sweet, Though Short, Slumber, I Walked On And
Entered The Town.
Its appearance, however, indicated that it was
too fine a place for me, and so I determined to stop at an inn on
the road-side, such a one as the Vicar of Wakefield well calls, "the
resort of indigence and frugality."
The worst of it was, no one, even in these places of refuge, would
take me in. Yet, on this road, I met two farmers, the first of whom
I asked whether he thought I could get a night's lodging at a house
which I saw at a distance, by the road side. "Yes, sir, I daresay
you may," he replied. But he was mistaken: when I came there, I
was accosted with that same harsh salutation, which though, alas, no
longer quite new to me, was still unpleasing to my ears; "We have
got no beds; you can't stay here to-night." It was the same at the
other inn on the road; I was therefore obliged to determine to walk
on as far as Nettlebed, which was five miles farther, where I
arrived rather late in the evening, when it was indeed quite dark.
Everything seemed to be all alive in this little village; there was
a party of militia soldiers who were dancing, singing, and making
merry. Immediately on my entrance into the village, the first house
that I saw, lying on my left, was an inn, from which, as usual in
England, a large beam extended across the street to the opposite
house, from which hung dangling an astonishing large sign, with the
name of the proprietor.
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