stage, on the second day, as we were changing horses, I had the good fortune to light on a face which gave promise of all I wanted.  It was so remarkable that I could not take my eyes from it; the forehead might have been called handsome but for a pair of enormous eyebrows, that seemed to project from it like the quarter-galleries of a ship, and beneath these were a couple of small, restless, gray eyes, which, glancing in every direction from under their shaggy brows, sparkled like the intermittent light of fire-flies; in the nose there was nothing remarkable, except that it was crested by a huge wart with a small grove of black hairs; but the mouth made ample amends, being altogether indescribable, for it was so variable in its expression, that I could not tell whether it had most of the sardonic, the benevolent, or the sanguinary, appearing to exhibit them all in succession with equal vividness.  My attention, however, was mainly fixed by the sanguinary; it came across me like an east wind, and I felt a cold sweat damping my linen; and when this was suddenly succeeded by the benevolent, I was sure I had got at the secret of his character,—­no less than that of a murderer haunted by remorse.  Delighted with this discovery, I made up my mind to follow the owner of the face wherever he went, till I should learn his history.  I accordingly made an end of my journey for the present, upon learning that the stranger was to pass some time in the place where we stopped.  For three days I made minute inquiries; but all I could gather was, that he had been a great traveller, though of what country no one could tell me.  On the fourth day, finding him on the move, I took passage in the same coach.  Now, said I, is my time of harvest.  But I was mistaken; for, in spite of all the lures which I threw out to draw him into a communicative humor, I could get nothing from him but monosyllables.  So far from abating my ardor, this reserve only the more whetted my curiosity.  At last we stopped at a pleasant village in New Jersey.  Here he seemed a little better known; the innkeeper inquiring after his health, and the hostler asking if the balls he had supplied him with fitted the barrels of his pistols.  The latter inquiry I thought was accompanied by a significant glance, that indicated a knowledge on the hostler’s part of more than met the ear; I determined therefore to sound him.  After a few general remarks, that had nothing to do with any thing, by way of introduction, I began by hinting some random surmises as to the use to which the stranger might have put the pistols he spoke of; inquired whether he was in the habit of loading them at night; whether he slept with them under his pillow; if he was in the practice of burning a light while he slept; and if he did not sometimes awake the family by groans, or by walking with agitated steps in his chamber.  But it was all in vain, the man protesting that he never knew any thing ill of him.  Perhaps, thought I, the hostler having overheard his midnight