CHAPTER XXX.
TRIUMPHAL DEPARTURE--NO SEASON LIKE YOUTH--EXTREME OLD AGE--BEAUTIFUL ENGLAND--THE RATCATCHER--A MISADVENTURE.
I departed from the inn much in the same fashion as I had come to it, mounted on a splendid horse indifferently well caparisoned, with the small valise attached to my crupper, in which, besides the few things I had brought with me, was a small book of roads with a map, which had been presented to me by the landlord.

I must not forget to state that I did not ride out of the yard, but that my horse was brought to me at the front door by old Bill, who insisted upon doing so, and who refused a five-shilling piece which I offered him; and it will be as well to let the reader know that the landlord shook me by the hand as I mounted, and that the people attached to the inn, male and female--my friend the postillion at the head--assembled before the house to see me off, and gave me three cheers as I rode away.

Perhaps no person ever departed from an inn with more _eclat_ or better wishes; nobody looked at me askance, except two stage-coachmen who were loitering about, one of whom said to his companion, "I say, Jim! twig his portmanteau! a regular Newmarket turn-out, by.

.

.!" It was in the cool of the evening of a bright day--all the days of that summer were bright--that I departed.