“So much for tavern-keeping!”

As marked a change was visible everywhere in and around the “Sickle and Sheaf.”  It, too, had grown larger by additions of wings and rooms; but it had also grown coarser in growing larger.  When built, all the doors were painted white, and the shutters green, giving to the house a neat, even tasteful appearance.  But the white and green had given place to a dark, dirty brown, that to my eyes was particularly unattractive.  The bar-room had been extended, and now a polished brass rod, or railing, embellished the counter, and sundry ornamental attractions had been given to the shelving behind the bar—­such as mirrors, gilding, etc.  Pictures, too, were hung upon the walls, or more accurately speaking; coarse colored lithographs, the subjects of which, if not really obscene, were flashing, or vulgar.  In the sitting-room, next to the bar, I noticed little change of objects, but much in their condition.  The carpet, chairs, and tables were the same in fact, but far from being the same in appearance.  The room had a close, greasy odor, and looked as if it had not been thoroughly swept and dusted for a week.

A smart young Irishman was in the bar, and handed me the book in which passenger’s names were registered.  After I had recorded mine, he directed my trunk to be carried to the room designated as the one I was to occupy.  I followed the porter, who conducted me to the chamber which had been mine at previous visits.  Here, too, were evidences of change; but not for the better.  Then the room was as sweet and clean as it could be; the sheets and pillow-cases as white as snow, and the furniture shining with polish.  Now all was dusty and dingy, the air foul, and the bed-linen scarcely whiter than tow.  No curtain made softer the light as it came through the window; nor would the shutters entirely keep out the glare, for several of the slats were broken.  A feeling of disgust came over me, at the close smell and foul appearance of everything; so, after washing my hands and face, and brushing the dust from my clothes, I went down stairs.  The sitting-room was scarcely more attractive than my chamber; so I went out upon the porch and took a chair.  Several loungers were here; hearty, strong-looking, but lazy fellows, who, if they had anything to do, liked idling better than working.  One of them leaned his chair back against the wall of the house, and was swinging his legs with a half circular motion, and humming “Old Folks at Home.”  Another sat astride of a chair, with his face turned toward, and his chin resting upon, the back.  He was in too lazy a condition of body and mind for motion or singing.  A third had slidden down in his chair, until he sat on his back, while his feet were elevated above his head, and rested against one of the pillars that supported the porch; while a fourth lay stretched out on a bench, sleeping, his hat over his face to protect him from buzzing and biting flies.