ROAD HORSES. 129 



proach your destination, looking forward to supper 

 and a bed, and leaving behind a day long to be remem- 

 bered. Even the mishaps that befall the adventurous 

 traveller, such as losing the road on a dark night 

 when a thunder-storm is raging, and finding himself 

 on a disused path through the woods instead of the 

 highway, — even experiences of this kind are delight- 

 ful in the retrospect. 



The evening may be less enjoyable. New England 

 taverns have a bad name, and they deserve it. Still, 

 there is occasionally a good one, and there are others 

 that possess some collateral attraction. The best, 

 perhaps, are usually found in county towns where tra- 

 dition lingers. I remember one such, well situated 

 on a New Hampshire hill. The village was very 

 small, containing three or four shops, a court-house, a 

 miniature jail, and the tavern, a rambling structure 

 with low ceilings. The rooms were but tolerable, the 

 cooking was scarcely that, and yet the place had an 

 air, a flavor, an attraction, which at first I was unable 

 to resolve. At last I discovered that it consisted 

 chiefly in this : the proprietor, a full-bearded, high- 

 colored man of the old school, invariably and con- 

 stantly wore a tall silk hat ; the only one, in all proba- 

 bility, for ten miles around. Unthinking persons may 

 perceive no significance in this ; but, rightly consid- 

 ered, the high hat indicated a certain sense of self- 

 respect, as well as a certain feeling for form and 

 ceremony. If the hat had been assumed only when 

 the wearer went outside, then it would have been 

 simply a protection from the elements, or at best a 

 matter of display for the villagers ; but being worn 

 constantly indoors, without regard to times or sea- 



