“There’s no use at all in my going to bed,
For it’s dhrames and not sleep, that comes into my head.”
Dreams, however, did not picture my slumbers, and I awoke to the unrivalled delight of a weary and hungry traveller—an excellent hot dinner. While the waiter cleared the table, and put on the desert, I took a glance from the windows at the market-place and town-hall; against the latter were pasted sundry bills, some of which bore, I thought, a strong resemblance to the dramatic announcements.
“What bills are those?” said I to the waiter, as he placed my pint of port before me.
“Play bills, sir.”
“What, have you a theatre here?” said I, opening my eyes with astonishment.
The man stared, appeared confused and stammered, and, supposing me shocked at the immoral announcement, proceeded to assure me, that although the players were tolerated, they had very little patronage, “Indeed, sir,” continued he, “such vagabonds do a great deal of harm to business; we feel it, sir. Now to-night there is a bespeak, which will do us a serious injury, for we have no less than six visitors who are going!”
“A bespeak, eh! and who bespoke the play?”
“Oh, sir, ’tis Mr. —.”
“Mr. —!” I exclaimed, with a sort of inquiring glance, which occasioned the waiter to look more ridiculous than ever.
“Do you mean Mr. —, of Belmont?”