Concluding to set myself in the warm summer air next--seeing that what is good for old claret is equally good for old age--I took up my beehive chair to go out into the back court, when I was stopped by hearing a sound like the soft beating of a drum, on the terrace in front of my lady's residence.
Going round to the terrace, I found three mahogany-coloured Indians, in white linen frocks and trousers, looking up at the house.
The Indians, as I saw on looking closer, had small hand-drums slung in front of them.

Behind them stood a little delicate-looking light-haired English boy carrying a bag.

I judged the fellows to be strolling conjurors, and the boy with the bag to be carrying the tools of their trade.

One of the three, who spoke English and who exhibited, I must own, the most elegant manners, presently informed me that my judgment was right.

He requested permission to show his tricks in the presence of the lady of the house.
Now I am not a sour old man.