This once
well-accustomed hostelry was kept by one Mr. Viney, a former butler in the
Scattercash family, and who still retained the usual 'old and faithful
servant' _entree_ of Nonsuch House, having his beefsteak and bottle of wine
in the steward's room whenever he chose to call. Viney had done good at the
Old Duke of Cumberland; and no one, seeing him 'full fig,' would recognize,
in the solemn grandeur of his stately person, the dirty knife-boy who had
filled the place now occupied by the still dirtier Slarkey. But the days of
road travelling departed, and Viney, who, beneath the Grecian-columned
portico of his country-house-looking hotel, modulated the ovations of his
cauliflower head to every description of traveller--from the lordly
occupant of the barouche-and-four, down to the humble sitter in a gig--was
cut off by one fell swoop from all further traffic. He was extinguished
like a gaslight, and the pipe was laid on a fresh line.
Fortunately Mr. Viney was pretty warm; he had done pretty well; and having
enjoyed the intimacy of the great 'Jeames' of railway times, had got a hint
not to engage the hotel beyond the opening of the line.
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