initial commit of ebook 452HEAD main

author: Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> 2025-10-15 05:15:01 -0700
committer: Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> 2025-10-15 05:15:01 -0700
commit: fd63059c32a801400018cd0d37aee0dc6e63e64f (patch)
tree: 5b2fa7525e5a27378046173da660391aba2d9ebf /452-h
91 files changed, 21151 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/452-h/452-h.htm b/452-h/452-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4922934
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/452-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,21151 @@
+<!DOCTYPE html
+     PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+     "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
+<html>
+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" />
+<title>Lavengro</title>
+    <style type="text/css">
+/*<![CDATA[  XML blockout */
+<!--
+    P {  margin-top: .75em;
+         margin-bottom: .75em;
+         }
+    H1, H2 {
+         text-align: center;
+		margin-top: 2em;
+		margin-bottom: 2em;
+         }
+    H3, H4 {
+	text-align: left;
+	margin-top: 1em;
+	margin-bottom: 1em;
+	}
+    BODY{margin-left: 10%;
+         margin-right: 10%;
+        }
+    .blkquot  {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */
+
+    .smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
+
+    .pagenum {position: absolute;
+               left: 92%;
+               font-size: smaller;
+               text-align: right;
+               color: gray;}
+
+    .picture {text-align: center; }
+
+    // -->
+    /* XML end  ]]>*/
+    </style>
+</head>
+<body>
+<h2>
+<a href="#startoftext">Lavengro, by George Borrow</a>
+</h2>
+<pre>
+The Project Gutenberg eBook, Lavengro, by George Borrow, Illustrated by E.
+J. Sullivan
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: Lavengro
+       The Scholar, The Gypsy, The Priest
+
+
+Author: George Borrow
+
+
+
+Release Date: May 15, 2006  [eBook #452]
+[Last updated: September 15, 2020]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAVENGRO***
+</pre>
+<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p>
+<p>Transcribed from the 1900 Macmillian and Co. Edition by David Price,
+email ccx074@pglaf.org</p>
+<h1>LAVENGRO<br />
+THE SCHOLAR, THE GYPSY, THE PRIEST</h1>
+<p style="text-align: center">BY<br />
+GEORGE BORROW</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">ILLUSTRATED BY E. J. SULLIVAN</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY AUGUSTINE<br />
+BIRRELL, Q.C., M.P.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">London<br />
+MACMILLAN AND CO., <span class="smcap">Limited</span><br />
+<span class="smcap">new york</span>: <span class="smcap">the macmillan
+company</span><br />
+1900</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><i>All rights reserved</i></p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><i>First published in</i> &ldquo;<i>Macmillan&rsquo;s
+Illustrated Standard Novel</i>,&rdquo; 1896<br />
+<i>Reprinted</i> 1900</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page0b.jpg">
+<img alt="George Borrow" src="images/page0s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2>
+<p>The author of <i>Lavengro</i>, <i>the Scholar</i>, <i>the Gypsy</i>,
+<i>and the Priest</i> has after his fitful hour come into his own, and
+there abides securely.&nbsp; Borrow&rsquo;s books,&mdash;carelessly
+written, impatient, petulant, in parts repellant,&mdash;have been found
+so full of the elixir of life, of the charm of existence, of the glory
+of motion, so instinct with character, and mood, and wayward fancy,
+that their very names are sounds of enchantment, whilst the fleeting
+scenes they depict and the deeds they describe have become the properties
+and the pastimes for all the years that are still to be of a considerable
+fraction of the English-speaking race.</p>
+<p>And yet I suppose it would be considered ridiculous in these fine
+days to call Borrow a great artist.&nbsp; His fascination, his hold
+upon his reader, is not the fascination or the hold of the lords of
+human smiles and tears.&nbsp; They enthrall us; Borrow only bewitches.&nbsp;
+Isopel Berners, hastily limned though she be, need fear comparison with
+no damsel that ever lent sweetness to the stage, relish to rhyme, or
+life to novel.&nbsp; She can hold up her head and take her own part
+amidst all the Rosalinds, Beatrices, and Lucys that genius has created
+and memory can muster.&nbsp; But how she came into existence puzzles
+us not a little.&nbsp; Was she summoned out of nothingness by the creative
+fancy of Lavengro, or did he really first set eyes upon her in the dingle
+whither she came with the Flaming Tinman, whose look Lavengro did not
+like at all?&nbsp; Reality and romance, though Borrow made them wear
+double harness, are not meant to be driven together.&nbsp; It is hard
+to weep aright over Isopel Berners.&nbsp; The reader is tortured by
+a sense of duty towards her.&nbsp; This distraction prevents our giving
+ourselves away to Borrow.&nbsp; Perhaps after all he did meet the tall
+girl in the dingle, in which case he was a fool for all his pains, losing
+a gift the gods could not restore.</p>
+<p>Quite apart from this particular doubt, the reader of Borrow feels
+that good luck, happy chance, plays a larger part in the charm of the
+composition than is quite befitting were Borrow to be reckoned an artist.&nbsp;
+But nobody surely will quarrel with this ingredient.&nbsp; It can turn
+no stomach.&nbsp; Happy are the lucky writers!&nbsp; Write as they will,
+they are almost certain to please.&nbsp; There is such a thing as &lsquo;sweet
+unreasonableness.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>But no sooner is this said than the necessity for instant and substantial
+qualification becomes urgent, for though Borrow&rsquo;s personal vanity
+would have been wounded had he been ranked with the literary gentlemen
+who do business in words, his anger would have been justly aroused had
+he been told he did not know how to write.&nbsp; He did know how to
+write, and he acquired the art in the usual way, by taking pains.&nbsp;
+He might with advantage have taken more pains, and then he would have
+done better; but take pains he did.&nbsp; In all his books he aims at
+producing a certain impression on the minds of his readers, and in order
+to produce that impression he was content to make sacrifices; hence
+his whimsicality, his out-of-the-wayness, at once his charm and his
+snare, never grows into wantonness and seldom into gross improbability.&nbsp;
+He studied effects, as his frequent and impressive liturgical repetitions
+pleasingly demonstrate.&nbsp; He had theories about most things, and
+may, for all I know, have had a theory of cadences.&nbsp; For words
+he had no great feeling except as a philologist, and is capable of strange
+abominations.&nbsp; &lsquo;Individual&rsquo; pursues one through all
+his pages, where too are &lsquo;equine species,&rsquo; &lsquo;finny
+tribe&rsquo;; but finding them where we do even these vile phrases,
+and others nearly as bad, have a certain humour.</p>
+<p>This chance remark brings me to the real point.&nbsp; Borrow&rsquo;s
+charm is that he has behind his books a character of his own, which
+belongs to his books as much as to himself; something which bears you
+up and along as does the mystery of the salt sea the swimmer.&nbsp;
+And this something lives and stirs in almost every page of Borrow, whose
+restless, puzzling, teasing personality pervades and animates the whole.</p>
+<p>He is the true adventurer who leads his life, not on the Stock Exchange
+amidst the bulls and bears, or in the House of Commons waiting to clutch
+the golden keys, or in South Africa with the pioneers and promoters,
+but with himself and his own vagrant moods and fancies.&nbsp; There
+was no need for Borrow to travel far afield in search of adventures.&nbsp;
+Mumpers&rsquo; Dell was for him as good an environment as Mexico; a
+village in Spain or Portugal served his turn as well as both the Indies;
+he was as likely to meet adventures in Pall Mall as in the far Soudan.&nbsp;
+Strange things happen to him wherever he goes; odd figures step from
+out the hedgerow and engage him in wild converse; beggar-women read
+<i>Moll Flanders</i> on London Bridge; Armenian merchants cuff deaf
+and dumb clerks in London counting-houses; prize-fighters, dog-fanciers,
+Methodist preachers, Romany ryes and their rawnees move on and off.&nbsp;
+Why should not strange things happen to Lavengro?&nbsp; Why should not
+strange folk suddenly make their appearance before him and as suddenly
+take their departure?&nbsp; Is he not strange himself?&nbsp; Did he
+not puzzle Mr. Petulengro, excite the admiration of Mrs. Petulengro,
+the murderous hate of Mrs. Herne, and drive Isopel Berners half distracted?</p>
+<p>Nobody has, so far, attempted to write the life of George Borrow.&nbsp;
+Nor can we wonder.&nbsp; How could any one dare to follow in the phosphorescent
+track of <i>Lavengro</i> and <i>The Romany Rye</i>, or add a line or
+a hue to the portraits there contained of Borrow&rsquo;s father and
+mother&mdash;the gallant soldier who had no chance, and whose most famous
+engagement took place, not in Flanders, or in Egypt, or on the banks
+of the Indus or Oxus, but in Hyde Park, his foe being Big Ben Brain;
+and the dame of the oval face, olive complexion, and Grecian forehead,
+sitting in the dusky parlour in the solitary house at the end of the
+retired court shaded by lofty poplars?&nbsp; I pity &lsquo;the individual&rsquo;
+whose task it should be to travel along the enchanted wake either of
+Lavengro in England or Don Jorge in Spain.&nbsp; Poor would be his part;
+no better than that of Arthur in &lsquo;The Bothie&rsquo;:&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>And it was told, the Piper narrating and Arthur correcting,<br />
+Colouring he, dilating, magniloquent, glorying in picture,<br />
+He to a matter-of-fact still softening, paring, abating,<br />
+He to the great might-have-been upsoaring, sublime and ideal,<br />
+He to the merest it-was restricting, diminishing, dwarfing,<br />
+River to streamlet reducing, and fall to slope subduing:<br />
+So it was told, the Piper narrating, corrected of Arthur.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>George Borrow, like many another great man, was born in Norfolk,
+at East Dereham, in 1803, and at an early age began those rambles he
+has made famous, being carried about by his father, Captain Borrow,
+who was chiefly employed as a recruiting officer.&nbsp; The reader of
+<i>Lavengro</i> may safely be left to make out his own itinerary.&nbsp;
+Whilst in Edinburgh Borrow attended the High School, and acquired the
+Scottish accent.&nbsp; It is not too much to say that he has managed
+to make even Edinburgh more romantic simply by abiding there for a season.&nbsp;
+From Scotland he went to Ireland, and learnt to ride, as well as to
+talk the Irish tongue, and to seek etymologies wherever they were or
+were not to be found.&nbsp; But for a famous Irish cob, whose hoofs
+still sound in our ears, Borrow, so he says, might have become a mere
+philologist.&nbsp; From Ireland he returned with his parents to Norwich,
+and resumed studies, which must have been, from a schoolmaster&rsquo;s
+point of view, grievously interrupted, under the Rev. Edward Valpy at
+King Edward&rsquo;s School.&nbsp; Here he seems to have been for two
+or three years.&nbsp; Dr. Jessopp has told us the story of Borrow&rsquo;s
+dyeing his face with walnut juice, and Valpy gravely inquiring of him,
+&lsquo;Borrow, are you suffering from jaundice, or is it only dirt?&rsquo;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+The Rajah of Sarawak, Sir Archdale Wilson, and the Rev. James Martineau
+were at school with &lsquo;Lavengro.&rsquo;&nbsp; Dr. Jessopp, who in
+1859 became headmaster of King Edward&rsquo;s School, and who has been
+a Borrovian from the beginning, found the school tradition to be that
+Borrow, who never reached the sixth form, was indolent and even stupid.&nbsp;
+In 1819,&mdash;the reader will be glad of a date,&mdash;Borrow left
+school, and was articled to a solicitor in Norwich, and sat for some
+eight hours every day behind a lofty deal desk copying deeds and, it
+may be presumed, making abstracts of title,&mdash;a harmless pursuit
+which a year or two later entirely failed to engage the attention of
+young Mr. Benjamin Disraeli in Montague Place.&nbsp; Neither of these
+distinguished men can honestly be said ever to have acquired what is
+called the legal mind, a mental equipment which the younger of them
+had once the effrontery to define as a talent for explaining the self-evident,
+illustrating the obvious and expatiating on the commonplace.&nbsp; &lsquo;By
+adopting the law,&rsquo; says Borrow, &lsquo;I had not ceased to be
+Lavengro.&rsquo;&nbsp; He learnt Welsh when he should have been reading
+Blackstone.&nbsp; He studied German under the direction of the once
+famous William Taylor of Norwich, who in 1821 wrote to Southey: &lsquo;A
+Norwich young man is construing with me Schiller&rsquo;s <i>William
+Tell</i>, with a view of translating it for the press.&nbsp; His name
+is George Henry Borrow, and he has learnt German with extraordinary
+rapidity.&nbsp; Indeed, he has the gift of tongues, and though not yet
+eighteen, understands twelve languages&mdash;English, Welsh, Erse, Latin,
+Greek, Hebrew, German, Danish, French, Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese.&nbsp;
+He would like to get into the office for Foreign Affairs, but does not
+know how.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>It only takes five years to make an attorney, and Borrow ought therefore,
+had he served out his time, to have become a gentleman by Act of Parliament
+in 1824 or 1825.&nbsp; He did not do so, though he appears to have remained
+in Norwich until after 1826.&nbsp; In that year appeared his <i>Romantic
+Ballads from the Danish</i>, printed by Simon Wilkins of Norwich by
+subscription.&nbsp; Dr. Jessopp opines that the <i>Romantic Ballads</i>
+must have brought their translator &lsquo;a very respectable sum after
+paying all the expenses of publication.&rsquo;&nbsp; I hope it was so,
+but, as Dr. Johnson once said about the immortality of the soul, I should
+like more evidence of it.&nbsp; When Borrow left Norwich for London,
+it is hard to say.&nbsp; It was after the death of his father, and was
+not likely to have been later than 1828.&nbsp; His only introduction
+appears to have been one from William Taylor to Sir Richard Phillips,
+&lsquo;the publisher&rsquo; known to all readers of <i>Lavengro</i>.&nbsp;
+Sir Richard was one of the sheriffs of London and Middlesex, and in
+addition to sundry treatises on the duties of juries, was the author
+of two lucubrations, respectively entitled <i>The Ph&aelig;nomena called
+by the name of Gravitation proved to be Proximate Effects of the Orbicular
+and Rotary Motions of the Earth and On the New Theory of the System
+of the Universe</i>.&nbsp; In Watt&rsquo;s <i>Bibliotheca Britannica</i>,
+1824, Sir Richard is thus contemptuously referred to: &lsquo;This personage
+is the editor of <i>The Monthly Magazine</i>, in which many of his effusions
+may be found with the signature of &ldquo;Common Sense.&rdquo;&rsquo;&nbsp;
+It is not too much to say that but for Borrow this nefarious man would
+be utterly forgotten; as it is, he lives for ever in the pages of <i>Lavengro</i>,
+a hissing and a reproach.&nbsp; Authors have an ugly trick of getting
+the better of their publishers in the long run.&nbsp; After leaving
+London Borrow began the wanderings described in <i>Lavengro</i> and
+<i>The Romany Rye</i>.&nbsp; Those concluded, probably in 1829 or 1830,
+he crossed the British Channel, and like another Goldsmith, wandered
+on foot over the Continent of Europe, visiting France, Italy, Austria,
+and Russia.&nbsp; Of his adventures in these countries there is unhappily
+no record.&nbsp; In St. Petersburg he must have made a long stay, for
+there he superintended the translation of the Bible into Mandschu-Tartar,
+and published in 1835 his <i>Targum</i>; <i>or Metrical Translations
+from Thirty Languages and Dialects</i>.&nbsp; In 1835 Borrow returned
+to London, and being already known to the Bible Society for his biblical
+labours in Russia, was offered, and accepted, the task of circulating
+the Scriptures in the Spanish Peninsula.&nbsp; As for his labours in
+this field, which occupied him so agreeably for four or five years,
+are they not narrated in <i>The Bible in Spain</i>, a book first published
+by &lsquo;Glorious John Murray&rsquo; in three volumes in 1843?&nbsp;
+This is the book which made Borrow famous, though his earlier work,
+<i>The Zincali</i>; <i>or an Account of the Gypsies of Spain</i> (two
+vols. 1841), had attracted a good deal of notice.&nbsp; But <i>The Bible
+in Spain</i> took readers by storm, and no wonder!&nbsp; Sir Robert
+Peel named it in the House of Commons; its perusal imparted a new sensation,
+the sensation of literature, to many a pious subscriber to the Bible
+Society.&nbsp; The book, wherever it went,&mdash;and it went where such
+like books do not often go,&mdash;carried joy and rapture with it.&nbsp;
+Young people hailed it tumultuously and cherished it tenderly.&nbsp;
+There were four editions in three volumes in the year of publication.&nbsp;
+What was thought of the book by the Bible Society I do not know.&nbsp;
+Perhaps &lsquo;he of the countenance of a lion,&rsquo; of whom we read
+in the forty-fifth chapter of <i>Lavengro</i>, scarcely knew what to
+say about it; but the precise-looking man with the ill-natured countenance,
+no doubt, forbade his family to read <i>The Bible in Spain</i>.</p>
+<p>In 1840 Borrow married the widow of a naval officer and settled in
+Norfolk, where his aged mother was still living.&nbsp; His house was
+in Oulton Broad; and here he became a notable, the hero of many stories,
+and the friend of man, provided he was neither literary nor genteel.&nbsp;
+Here also he finished <i>Lavengro</i> (1851), and wrote <i>The Romany
+Rye</i> (1857), <i>Wild Wales</i> (1862), and <i>Romano Lavo-Lil</i>:
+<i>the Word-Book of the Romany</i> (1874).&nbsp; For a time Borrow had
+a house in London in Hereford Square, where his wife died in 1869.&nbsp;
+He died himself at Oulton in August 1881, leaving behind him, so it
+is frequently asserted, many manuscript volumes, including treatises
+on Celtic poetry, on Welsh and Cornish and Manx literature, as well
+as translations from the Norse and Russ and the jest-books of Turkey.&nbsp;
+Some, at all events, of these works were advertised as &lsquo;ready
+for the press&rsquo; in 1858.</p>
+<p><i>The Bible in Spain</i> was a popular book, and in 1843, the year
+of its publication, its author, a man of striking appearance, was much
+f&ecirc;ted and regarded by the lion-hunters of the period.&nbsp; Borrow
+did not take kindly to the den.&nbsp; He was full of inbred suspicions
+and, perhaps, of unreasonable demands.&nbsp; He resented the confinement
+of the dinner-table, the impalement of the ball-room, the imprisonment
+of the pew.&nbsp; Like the lion in Browning&rsquo;s poem, &lsquo;The
+Glove&rsquo;&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>You saw by the flash on his forehead,<br />
+By the hope in those eyes wide and steady,<br />
+He was leagues in the desert already,<br />
+Driving the flocks up the mountain.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>He began to write <i>Lavengro</i> in London in 1843.&nbsp; His thoughts
+went back to his old friend Petulengro, who pronounced life to be sweet:
+&lsquo;There&rsquo;s night and day, brother, both sweet things; sun,
+moon, and stars, brother, all sweet things.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s likewise
+a wind on the heath.&nbsp; Life is very sweet, brother; who would wish
+to die?&rsquo;&nbsp; Yes, or to live cribbed, cabined, and confined
+in a London square!&nbsp; No wonder &lsquo;Lavengro&rsquo; felt cross
+and uncomfortable.&nbsp; Nor did he take much pleasure in the society
+of the other lions of the hour, least of all of such a lion as Sir John
+Bowring, M.P.&nbsp; Was not Bowring &lsquo;Lavengro&rsquo; as much as
+Borrow himself?&nbsp; Had he not&mdash;for there was no end to his impudence&mdash;travelled
+in Spain, and actually published a pamphlet in the vernacular?&nbsp;
+Was he not meditating translations from a score of languages he said
+he knew?&nbsp; Was he not, furthermore, an old Radical and Republican
+turned genteel?&nbsp; Were not his wife and daughters more than half
+suspected of being Jacobites, followers of the Reverend Mr. Platitude,
+and addicted to &lsquo;Charley o&rsquo;er the Waterism&rsquo;?&nbsp;
+Borrow did not get on with Bowring.</p>
+<p>When Borrow shook the dust of London off his feet, and returned into
+Norfolk with <i>Lavengro</i> barely begun on his hands, he carried away
+with him into his retreat the antipathies and prejudices, the whimsical
+dislikes and the half-real, half-sham disappointments and chagrins which
+London, that fertile mother of megrims, had bred in him, and dropped
+them all into the ink with which he wrote his famous book.&nbsp; Gentility
+he forswore.&nbsp; Whatever else Lavengro might turn out, genteel he
+was not to be; and sure enough, when Lavengro made his appearance in
+1851 genteel he most certainly was not.</p>
+<p>There was not the same public to welcome the Gypsy as had hailed
+the Colporteur.&nbsp; The pious phrases which had garnished so plentifully
+the earlier book had now almost wholly disappeared.&nbsp; There is no
+evidence that Lavengro ever offered Petulengro a Bible.&nbsp; Even the
+denunciations of Popery have a dubious sound.&nbsp; What is sometimes
+called &lsquo;the religious world&rsquo; were no longer buyers of Borrow.&nbsp;
+Nor was &lsquo;the polite world&rsquo; much better pleased.&nbsp; The
+polite reader was both puzzled and annoyed.&nbsp; First of all: Was
+the book true&mdash;autobiography or romance?&nbsp; A polite reader
+objects to be made a fool of.&nbsp; One De Foe in a couple of centuries
+is enough for a polite reader.&nbsp; Then the glorification of ale and
+of gypsies and prize-fighters&mdash;would it not be better at once to
+dub the book vulgar, and so have done with it for ever?&nbsp; An ill-regulated
+book, a strange book, a mad book, a book which condemns the world&rsquo;s
+way.&nbsp; If I may judge from the reviews, this is how <i>Lavengro</i>
+struck many, but by no means all.&nbsp; The book had its passionate
+admirers, its lovers from the first.&nbsp; Men, women, and boys took
+it to their hearts.&nbsp; Happy day when <i>Lavengro</i> first fell
+into boyish hands.&nbsp; It brought adventure and the spirit of adventure
+to your doorstep.&nbsp; No need painfully to walk to Hull, and there
+take shipping with Robinson Crusoe; no need to sail round the world
+with Captain Cook, or even to shoot lions in Bechuanaland with that
+prince of missionaries, Mr. Robert Moffat; for were there not gypsies
+on the common half a mile from one&rsquo;s homestead, and a dingle at
+the end of the lane?&nbsp; But the general verdict was, &lsquo;&ldquo;Lavengro&rdquo;
+has gone too far.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Borrow was not the man to whistle and let the world go by.&nbsp;
+His advice to his country men and women was: &lsquo;To be courteous
+to everybody as Lavengro was, but always independent like him, and if
+people meddle with them, to give them as good as they bring, even as
+he and Isopel Berners were in the habit of doing; and it will be as
+well for him to observe that he by no means advises women to be too
+womanly, but, bearing the conduct of Isopel Berners in mind, to take
+their own parts, and if anybody strikes them to strike again.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>This is not the spirit which is patient under reproof.&nbsp; Borrow
+was not going to be sentenced by the gentility party.&nbsp; He would
+fulfil his dukkeripen.&nbsp; <i>Lavengro</i> having ended abruptly enough,
+Borrow took up the tale where he had left it off; and though he kept
+his admirers on the tenter-hooks for six years, did at last in 1857
+give to the world <i>The Romany Rye</i>, to which he added an Appendix.&nbsp;
+Ah! that Appendix!&nbsp; It is Borrow&rsquo;s Apologia, and therefore
+must be read.&nbsp; It is interesting and amusing, and is therefore
+easily read.&nbsp; But it is a cruel and outrageous bit of writing all
+the same, proving, were proof needed, that it is every whit as easy
+to be spiteful and envious in dells as in drawing-rooms, and as vain
+and egotistical on a Norfolk Broad as in Grosvenor Square.&nbsp; In
+this Appendix Borrow defends &lsquo;Lavengro,&rsquo; both the book and
+the man, at some length, and with enormous spirit.&nbsp; At gentility
+in all its manifestations he runs amuck.&nbsp; The Stuarts have a chapter
+to themselves.&nbsp; Jacobites, old and new; Papists, old and new; and,
+alas! Sir Walter Scott as the father of &lsquo;Charley o&rsquo;er the
+Waterism,&rsquo; all fall by turn under the lash of Lavengro.&nbsp;
+The attack on the memory of Sir Walter is brutal.&nbsp; Not so, we may
+be sure, did Pearce, and Cribb, and Spring, and Big Ben Brain, and Broughton,
+heroes of renown, win name and fame in the brave days of old.&nbsp;
+They never struck a man when he was down, or gloated over a rival&rsquo;s
+fall.&nbsp; However, it will not do to get angry with George Borrow.&nbsp;
+One could never keep it up.&nbsp; Still, the Appendix is a pity.</p>
+<p>Next to Borrow&rsquo;s vagabondage, which, though I tremble to say
+it, has a decidedly literary flavour, and his delightful <i>camaraderie</i>
+or willingness to hob-a-nob with everybody, I rank his eloquence.&nbsp;
+Great is plot, though Borrow has but little, and that little mechanical;
+delightful is incident, and Borrow is full of incident&mdash;e.g. the
+poisoning scene in Chapter LXXI., where will you match it, unless it
+be the very differently-treated scene of the robbers&rsquo; cave in
+<i>The Heart of Midlothian</i>? and glorious, too, is motion, and Borrow
+never stagnates, never gathers moss or mould.&nbsp; But great also is
+eloquence.&nbsp; &lsquo;If a book be eloquent,&rsquo; says Mr. Stevenson,
+that most distinguished writer, &lsquo;its words run thenceforward in
+our ears like the noise of breakers.&rsquo;&nbsp; Eloquence is a little
+unfashionable just now.&nbsp; We are not allowed very much of it in
+our romances and travels.&nbsp; What are called &lsquo;situations&rsquo;
+grow stronger every day, and language is strong too, but outbursts,
+apostrophes, rhapsodies no longer abound.&nbsp; Perhaps they are forbidden
+by Art.&nbsp; Nobody is ever eloquent in real life.&nbsp; A man&rsquo;s
+friends would not put up with it.&nbsp; But a really eloquent book is
+a great possession.&nbsp; Plots explode, and incidents, however varied
+and delightful, unless lit up by the occasional lightning-flash of true
+eloquence, must after a while lose their freshness.&nbsp; Borrow was
+not afraid to be eloquent, nor were other writers of his time.&nbsp;
+The first Lord Lytton is now a somewhat disparaged author, nor had Borrow
+any affection for him, considering him to belong to the kid-glove school;
+but Lytton&rsquo;s eloquence, though often playing him shabby tricks,
+now dashing his head against the rocks of bathos, now casting him to
+sprawl unbecomingly amongst the oozy weeds of sentiment, will keep him
+alive for many a long day.&nbsp; As I write, a passage in <i>The Caxtons</i>
+comes to my mind, and as it illustrates my meaning, I will take down
+<i>The Caxtons</i> and transcribe the passage, and let those laugh who
+may.&nbsp; I will likewise christen it &lsquo;By the Fireside&rsquo;:&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>O young reader, whoever thou art, or reader at least
+who has been young, canst thou not remember some time when, with thy
+wild troubles and sorrows as yet borne in secret, thou hast come back
+from that hard, stern world, which opens on thee when thou puttest thy
+foot out of the threshold of home, come back to the four quiet walls,
+wherein thine elders sit in peace, and seen with a sort of sad amaze
+how calm and undisturbed all is there?&nbsp; That generation which has
+gone before thee in the path of passion, the generation of thy parents
+(not so many years, perchance, remote from thine own), how immovably
+far off, in its still repose, it seems from thy turbulent youth.&nbsp;
+It has in it a stillness as of a classic age, antique as the statues
+of the Greeks, that tranquil monotony of routine into which those lives
+that preceded thee have merged, the occupations that they have found
+sufficing for their happiness by the fireside&mdash;in the arm-chair
+and corner appropriated to each&mdash;how strangely they contrast thy
+own feverish excitement!&nbsp; And they make room for thee, and bid
+thee welcome, and then resettle to their hushed pursuits as if nothing
+had happened!&nbsp; Nothing had happened! while in thy heart, perhaps,
+the whole world seems to have shot from its axis, all the elements to
+be at war!&nbsp; And you sit down, crushed by that quiet happiness which
+you can share no more, and smile mechanically, and look into the fire;
+and, ten to one, you say nothing till the time comes for bed, and you
+take up your candle, and creep miserably to your lonely room.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>This is not the eloquence of Borrow, though the thought might have
+been his; it may not be in that grand style of which we hear so much
+and read so little, but&mdash;and this is the substance of the matter&mdash;it
+is interesting, it is moving, and worth pages of choppy dialogue.&nbsp;
+You read it, first of all, it may be in your youth, when your heart
+burnt within you as you wondered what was going to happen, but you can
+return to it in sober age and read it over again with a smile it has
+taken a lifetime to manufacture.&nbsp; And then Miss Bronte&rsquo;s
+books! what rhetoric is there!&nbsp; And <i>Eothen</i>!&nbsp; Why has
+not <i>Eothen</i> gone the way of all other traces of Eastern travel?&nbsp;
+It has humour&mdash;delightful humour, no doubt, but it is its eloquence,
+that picture of the burning, beating sun following the traveller by
+day, which keeps <i>Eothen</i> alive.</p>
+<p>Borrow&rsquo;s eloquence is splendid, manly, and desperately courageous.&nbsp;
+What an apostrophe is that to old Crome at the end of the twenty-first
+chapter!&nbsp; <i>Lavengro</i> is full of riches.&nbsp; As for his courage,
+who else could begin a passage &lsquo;O England,&rsquo; and emerge triumphantly
+a page and a half lower down as Borrow does in <i>The Bible in Spain</i>?</p>
+<blockquote><p>O England! long, long may it be ere the sun of thy glory
+sink beneath the wave of darkness!&nbsp; Though gloomy and portentous
+clouds are now gathering rapidly round thee, still, still may it please
+the Almighty to disperse them, and to grant thee a futurity longer in
+duration and still brighter in renown than thy past!&nbsp; Or if thy
+doom be at hand, may that doom be a noble one, and worthy of her who
+has been styled the Old Queen of the water!&nbsp; May thou sink, if
+thou dost sink, amidst blood and flame, with a mighty noise, causing
+more than one nation to participate in thy downfall!&nbsp; Of all fates,
+may it please the Lord to preserve thee from a disgraceful and a slow
+decay; becoming ere extinct a scorn and a mockery for those self-same
+foes who now, though they envy and abhor thee, still fear thee, nay,
+even against their will, honour and respect thee!</p>
+<p>Arouse thee, whilst yet there is time, and prepare thee for the combat
+of life and death!&nbsp; Cast from thee the foul scurf which now encrusts
+thy robust limbs, which deadens their force, and makes them heavy and
+powerless!&nbsp; Cast from thee thy false philosophers, who would fain
+decry what, next to the love of God, has hitherto been deemed most sacred,
+the love of the mother land!&nbsp; Cast from thee thy false patriots,
+who, under the pretext of redressing the wrongs of the poor and weak,
+seek to promote internal discord, so that thou mayest become only terrible
+to thyself!&nbsp; And remove from thee the false prophets who have seen
+vanity and divined lies; who have daubed thy wall with untempered mortar,
+that it may fall; who have strengthened the hands of the wicked, and
+made the hearts of the righteous sad.&nbsp; O, do this, and fear not
+the result, for either shall thy end be a majestic and an enviable one,
+or God shall perpetuate thy reign upon the waters, thou old Queen!</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>George Borrow,&mdash;and this is the last of his virtues with which
+I shall weary you,&mdash;had a true English heart.&nbsp; He could make
+friends with anybody and be at home anywhere, but though he had a mighty
+thirst he had never, in the words of the elder Pitt, &lsquo;drunk of
+the potion described in poetic fictions which makes men forget their
+country.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I have the permission of the Rev. A. W. Upcher to reprint the following
+letter addressed by him some time ago to the Athen&aelig;um .&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>One summer day during the Crimean War we had a call from
+George Borrow, who had not enjoyed a visit to Anna Gurney so much as
+he had expected.&nbsp; In a walking tour round Norfolk he had given
+her a short notice of his intended call, and she was ready to receive
+him.&nbsp; When, according to his account, he had been but a very short
+time in her presence, she wheeled her chair round and reached her hand
+to one of her bookshelves and took down an Arabic grammar, and put it
+into his hand, asking for explanation of some difficult point, which
+he tried to decipher; but meanwhile she talked to him continuously;
+when, said he, &lsquo;I could not study the Arabic grammar and listen
+to her at the same time, so I threw down the book and ran out of the
+room.&rsquo;&nbsp; He seems not to have stopped running till he reached
+Old Tucker&rsquo;s Inn at Cromer, where he renewed his strength, or
+calmed his temper, with five excellent sausages, and then came on to
+Sheringham.&nbsp; He told us there were three personages in the world
+whom he always had a desire to see; two of these had slipped through
+his fingers, so he was determined to see the third.&nbsp; &lsquo;Pray,
+Mr. Borrow, who were they?&rsquo;&nbsp; He held up three fingers of
+his left hand and pointed them off with the forefinger of the right:
+the first, Daniel O&rsquo;Connell; the second, Lamplighter (the sire
+of Phosphorus, Lord Berners&rsquo;s winner of the Derby); the third,
+Anna Gurney.&nbsp; The first two were dead and he had not seen them;
+now he had come to see Anna Gurney, and this was the end of his visit.&nbsp;
+I took him up to the Hall, he talking of many persons and occasionally
+doubling his fist, and giving a sort of warning like that of his Isopel
+Berners (in <i>Lavengro</i>) to give the Flaming Tinman &lsquo;Long
+Melford&rsquo; with his right hand.&nbsp; As soon as we reached the
+Hall a battle-piece by Wouvermans was the first thing that caught his
+eye and greatly interested him.&nbsp; He told me of a descendant of
+Wouvermans&mdash;an officer in the Austrian army&mdash;whom he knew.&nbsp;
+Then entering the drawing-room and looking out of the bay-window through
+the oak wood on the deep blue sea beyond, he seemed for some time quite
+entranced by the lovely, peaceful view, till at last I felt I must arouse
+him, and said, &lsquo;A charming view, Mr. Borrow!&rsquo;&nbsp; With
+a deep sigh he slowly answered, &lsquo;Yes!&mdash;please God the Russians
+don&rsquo;t come here.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<h2>PREFACE</h2>
+<p>In the following pages I have endeavoured to describe a dream, partly
+of study, partly of adventure, in which will be found copious notices
+of books, and many descriptions of life and manners, some in a very
+unusual form.</p>
+<p>The scenes of action lie in the British Islands;&mdash;pray be not
+displeased, gentle reader, if perchance thou hast imagined that I was
+about to conduct thee to distant lands, and didst promise thyself much
+instruction and entertainment from what I might tell thee of them.&nbsp;
+I do assure thee that thou hast no reason to be displeased, inasmuch
+as there are no countries in the world less known by the British than
+these selfsame British Islands, or where more strange things are every
+day occurring, whether in road or street, house or dingle.</p>
+<p>The time embraces nearly the first quarter of the present century:
+this information again may, perhaps, be anything but agreeable to thee;
+it is a long time to revert to, but fret not thyself, many matters which
+at present much occupy the public mind originated in some degree towards
+the latter end of that period, and some of them will be treated of.</p>
+<p>The principal actors in this dream, or drama, are, as you will have
+gathered from the title-page, a Scholar, a Gypsy, and a Priest.&nbsp;
+Should you imagine that these three form one, permit me to assure you
+that you are very much mistaken.&nbsp; Should there be something of
+the Gypsy manifest in the Scholar, there is certainly nothing of the
+Priest.&nbsp; With respect to the Gypsy&mdash;decidedly the most entertaining
+character of the three&mdash;there is certainly nothing of the Scholar
+or the Priest in him; and as for the Priest, though there may be something
+in him both of scholarship and gypsyism, neither the Scholar nor the
+Gypsy would feel at all flattered by being confounded with him.</p>
+<p>Many characters which may be called subordinate will be found, and
+it is probable that some of these characters will afford much more interest
+to the reader than those styled the principal.&nbsp; The favourites
+with the writer are a brave old soldier and his helpmate, an ancient
+gentlewoman who sold apples, and a strange kind of wandering man and
+his wife.</p>
+<p>Amongst the many things attempted in this book is the encouragement
+of charity, and free and genial manners, and the exposure of humbug,
+of which there are various kinds, but of which the most perfidious,
+the most debasing, and the most cruel, is the humbug of the Priest.</p>
+<p>Yet let no one think that irreligion is advocated in this book.&nbsp;
+With respect to religious tenets I wish to observe that I am a member
+of the Church of England, into whose communion I was baptized, and to
+which my forefathers belonged.&nbsp; Its being the religion in which
+I was baptized, and of my forefathers, would be a strong inducement
+to me to cling to it; for I do not happen to be one of those choice
+spirits &lsquo;who turn from their banner when the battle bears strongly
+against it, and go over to the enemy,&rsquo; and who receive at first
+a hug and a &lsquo;viva,&rsquo; and in the sequel contempt and spittle
+in the face; but my chief reason for belonging to it is, because, of
+all churches calling themselves Christian ones, I believe there is none
+so good, so well founded upon Scripture, or whose ministers are, upon
+the whole, so exemplary in their lives and conversation, so well read
+in the book from which they preach, or so versed in general learning,
+so useful in their immediate neighbourhoods, or so unwilling to persecute
+people of other denominations for matters of doctrine.</p>
+<p>In the communion of this Church, and with the religious consolation
+of its ministers, I wish and hope to live and die, and in its and their
+defence will at all times be ready, if required, to speak, though humbly,
+and to fight, though feebly, against enemies, whether carnal or spiritual.</p>
+<p>And is there no priestcraft in the Church of England?&nbsp; There
+is certainly, or rather there was, a modicum of priestcraft in the Church
+of England, but I have generally found that those who are most vehement
+against the Church of England are chiefly dissatisfied with her because
+there is only a modicum of that article in her&mdash;were she stuffed
+to the very cupola with it, like a certain other Church, they would
+have much less to say against the Church of England.</p>
+<p>By the other Church, I mean Rome.&nbsp; Its system was once prevalent
+in England, and, during the period that it prevailed there, was more
+prolific of debasement and crime than all other causes united.&nbsp;
+The people and the government at last becoming enlightened by means
+of the Scripture spurned it from the island with disgust and horror,
+the land instantly after its disappearance becoming a fair field, in
+which arts, sciences, and all the amiable virtues flourished, instead
+of being a pestilent marsh where swine-like ignorance wallowed, and
+artful hypocrites, like so many Wills-o&rsquo;-the-wisp, played antic
+gambols about, around, and above debased humanity.</p>
+<p>But Popery still wished to play her old part, to regain her lost
+dominion, to reconvert the smiling land into the pestilential morass,
+where she could play again her old antics.&nbsp; From the period of
+the Reformation in England up to the present time, she has kept her
+emissaries here, individuals contemptible in intellect, it is true,
+but cat-like and gliding, who, at her bidding, have endeavoured, as
+much as in their power has lain, to damp and stifle every genial, honest,
+loyal, and independent thought, and to reduce minds to such a state
+of dotage as would enable their old Popish mother to do what she pleased
+with them.</p>
+<p>And in every country, however enlightened, there are always minds
+inclined to grovelling superstition&mdash;minds fond of eating dust
+and swallowing clay&mdash;minds never at rest, save when prostrate before
+some fellow in a surplice; and these Popish emissaries found always
+some weak enough to bow down before them, astounded by their dreadful
+denunciations of eternal woe and damnation to any who should refuse
+to believe their Romania; but they played a poor game&mdash;the law
+protected the servants of Scripture, and the priest with his beads seldom
+ventured to approach any but the remnant of those of the eikonolatry&mdash;representatives
+of worm-eaten houses, their debased dependants, and a few poor crazy
+creatures amongst the middle classes&mdash;he played a poor game, and
+the labour was about to prove almost entirely in vain, when the English
+legislature, in compassion or contempt, or, yet more probably, influenced
+by that spirit of toleration and kindness which is so mixed up with
+Protestantism, removed almost entirely the disabilities under which
+Popery laboured, and enabled it to raise its head and to speak out almost
+without fear.</p>
+<p>And it did raise its head, and, though it spoke with some little
+fear at first, soon discarded every relic of it; went about the land
+uttering its damnation cry, gathering around it&mdash;and for doing
+so many thanks to it&mdash;the favourers of priestcraft who lurked within
+the walls of the Church of England; frightening with the loudness of
+its voice the weak, the timid, and the ailing; perpetrating, whenever
+it had an opportunity, that species of crime to which it has ever been
+most partial&mdash;<i>Deathbed robbery</i>; for as it is cruel, so is
+it dastardly.&nbsp; Yes, it went on enlisting, plundering, and uttering
+its terrible threats till&mdash;till it became, as it always does when
+left to itself, a fool, a very fool.&nbsp; Its plunderings might have
+been overlooked, and so might its insolence, had it been common insolence,
+but it&mdash;, and then the roar of indignation which arose from outraged
+England against the viper, the frozen viper, which it had permitted
+to warm itself upon its bosom.</p>
+<p>But thanks, Popery, you have done all that the friends of enlightenment
+and religious liberty could wish; but if ever there were a set of foolish
+ones to be found under heaven, surely it is the priestly rabble who
+came over from Rome to direct the grand movement&mdash;so long in its
+getting up.</p>
+<p>But now again the damnation cry is withdrawn, there is a subdued
+meekness in your demeanour, you are now once more harmless as a lamb.&nbsp;
+Well, we shall see how the trick&mdash;&lsquo;the old trick&rsquo;&mdash;will
+serve you.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER I</h2>
+<p>Birth&mdash;My father&mdash;Tamerlane&mdash;Ben Brain&mdash;French
+Protestants&mdash;East Anglia&mdash;Sorrow and troubles&mdash;True peace&mdash;A
+beautiful child&mdash;Foreign grave&mdash;Mirrors&mdash;Alpine country&mdash;Emblems&mdash;Slow
+of speech&mdash;The Jew&mdash;Strange gestures.</p>
+<p>On an evening of July, in the year 18--, at East D---, a beautiful
+little town in a certain district of East Anglia, I first saw the light.</p>
+<p>My father was a Cornish man, the youngest, as I have heard him say,
+of seven brothers.&nbsp; He sprang from a family of gentlemen, or, as
+some people would call them, gentill&acirc;tres, for they were not very
+wealthy; they had a coat of arms, however, and lived on their own property
+at a place called Tredinnock, which being interpreted means <i>the house
+on the hill</i>, which house and the neighbouring acres had been from
+time immemorial in their possession.&nbsp; I mention these particulars
+that the reader may see at once that I am not altogether of low and
+plebeian origin; the present age is highly aristocratic, and I am convinced
+that the public will read my pages with more zest from being told that
+I am a gentill&acirc;tre by birth with Cornish blood <a name="citation5"></a><a href="#footnote5">{5}</a>
+in my veins, of a family who lived on their own property at a place
+bearing a Celtic name, signifying the house on the hill, or more strictly
+the house on the <i>hillock</i>.</p>
+<p>My father was what is generally termed a posthumous child&mdash;in
+other words, the gentill&acirc;tre who begot him never had the satisfaction
+of invoking the blessing of the Father of All upon his head; having
+departed this life some months before the birth of his youngest son.&nbsp;
+The boy, therefore, never knew a father&rsquo;s care; he was, however,
+well tended by his mother, whose favourite he was; so much so, indeed,
+that his brethren, the youngest of whom was considerably older than
+himself, were rather jealous of him.&nbsp; I never heard, however, that
+they treated him with any marked unkindness, and it will be as well
+to observe here that I am by no means well acquainted with his early
+history, of which, indeed, as I am not writing his life, it is not necessary
+to say much.&nbsp; Shortly after his mother&rsquo;s death, which occurred
+when he was eighteen, he adopted the profession of arms, which he followed
+during the remainder of his life, and in which, had circumstances permitted,
+he would probably have shone amongst the best.&nbsp; By nature he was
+cool and collected, slow to anger, though perfectly fearless, patient
+of control, of great strength; and, to crown all, a proper man with
+his hands.</p>
+<p>With far inferior qualifications many a man has become a field-marshal
+or general; similar ones made Tamerlane, who was not a gentill&acirc;tre,
+but the son of a blacksmith, emperor of one-third of the world; but
+the race is not always for the swift, nor the battle for the strong,
+indeed I ought rather to say very seldom; certain it is, that my father,
+with all his high military qualifications, never became emperor, field-marshal,
+or even general: indeed, he had never an opportunity of distinguishing
+himself save in one battle, and that took place neither in Flanders,
+Egypt, nor on the banks of the Indus or Oxus, but in Hyde Park.</p>
+<p>Smile not, gentle reader, many a battle has been fought in Hyde Park,
+in which as much skill, science, and bravery have been displayed as
+ever achieved a victory in Flanders or by the Indus.&nbsp; In such a
+combat as that to which I allude, I opine that even Wellington or Napoleon
+would have been heartily glad to cry for quarter ere the lapse of five
+minutes, and even the Blacksmith Tartar would, perhaps, have shrunk
+from the opponent with whom, after having had a dispute with him, my
+father engaged in single combat for one hour, at the end of which time
+the champions shook hands and retired, each having experienced quite
+enough of the other&rsquo;s prowess.&nbsp; The name of my father&rsquo;s
+antagonist was Brain.</p>
+<p>What! still a smile? did you never hear that name before?&nbsp; I
+cannot help it!&nbsp; Honour to Brain, who four months after the event
+which I have now narrated was champion of England, having conquered
+the heroic Johnson.&nbsp; Honour to Brain, who, at the end of other
+four months, worn out by the dreadful blows which he had received in
+his manly combats, expired in the arms of my father, who read the Bible
+to him in his latter moments&mdash;Big Ben Brain.</p>
+<p>You no longer smile, even <i>you</i> have heard of Big Ben.</p>
+<p>I have already hinted that my father never rose to any very exalted
+rank in his profession, notwithstanding his prowess and other qualifications.&nbsp;
+After serving for many years in the line, he at last entered as captain
+in the militia regiment of the Earl of ---, at that period just raised,
+and to which he was sent by the Duke of York to instruct the young levies
+in military manoeuvres and discipline; and in this mission I believe
+he perfectly succeeded, competent judges having assured me that the
+regiment in question soon came by his means to be considered as one
+of the most brilliant in the service, and inferior to no regiment of
+the line in appearance or discipline.</p>
+<p>As the headquarters of this corps were at D--- the duties of my father
+not unfrequently carried him to that place, and it was on one of these
+occasions that he became acquainted with a young person of the neighbourhood,
+for whom he formed an attachment, which was returned; and this young
+person was my mother.</p>
+<p>She was descended from a family of French Protestants, natives of
+Caen, who were obliged to leave their native country when old Louis,
+at the instigation of the Pope, thought fit to revoke the Edict of Nantes:
+their name was Petrement, and I have reason for believing that they
+were people of some consideration; that they were noble hearts, and
+good Christians, they gave sufficient proof in scorning to bow the knee
+to the tyranny of Rome.&nbsp; So they left beautiful Normandy for their
+faith&rsquo;s sake, and with a few louis d&rsquo;ors in their purse,
+a Bible in the vulgar tongue, and a couple of old swords, which, if
+report be true, had done service in the Huguenot wars, they crossed
+the sea to the isle of civil peace and religious liberty, and established
+themselves in East Anglia.</p>
+<p>And many other Huguenot families bent their steps thither, and devoted
+themselves to agriculture or the mechanical arts; and in the venerable
+old city, the capital of the province, in the northern shadow of the
+Castle of De Burgh, the exiles built for themselves a church where they
+praised God in the French tongue, and to which, at particular seasons
+of the year, they were in the habit of flocking from country and from
+town to sing&mdash;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thou hast provided for us a goodly earth; thou waterest her
+furrows, thou sendest rain into the little valleys thereof, thou makest
+it soft with the drops of rain, and blessest the increase of it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I have been told that in her younger days my mother was strikingly
+handsome; this I can easily believe: I never knew her in her youth,
+for though she was very young when she married my father (who was her
+senior by many years), she had attained the middle age before I was
+born, no children having been vouchsafed to my parents in the early
+stages of their union.&nbsp; Yet even at the present day, now that years
+threescore and ten have passed over her head, attended with sorrow and
+troubles manifold, poorly chequered with scanty joys, can I look on
+that countenance and doubt that at one time beauty decked it as with
+a glorious garment?&nbsp; Hail to thee, my parent! as thou sittest there,
+in thy widow&rsquo;s weeds, in the dusky parlour in the house overgrown
+with the lustrous ivy of the sister isle, the solitary house at the
+end of the retired court shaded by lofty poplars.&nbsp; Hail to thee,
+dame of the oval face, olive complexion, and Grecian forehead; by thy
+table seated with the mighty volume of the good Bishop Hopkins spread
+out before thee; there is peace in thy countenance, my mother; it is
+not worldly peace, however, not the deceitful peace which lulls to bewitching
+slumbers, and from which, let us pray, humbly pray, that every sinner
+may be roused in time to implore mercy not in vain!&nbsp; Thine is the
+peace of the righteous, my mother, of those to whom no sin can be imputed,
+the score of whose misdeeds has been long since washed away by the blood
+of atonement, which imputeth righteousness to those who trust in it.&nbsp;
+It was not always thus, my mother; a time was, when the cares, pomps,
+and vanities of this world agitated thee too much; but that time is
+gone by, another and a better has succeeded; there is peace now on thy
+countenance, the true peace; peace around thee, too, in thy solitary
+dwelling, sounds of peace, the cheerful hum of the kettle and the purring
+of the immense angola, which stares up at thee from its settle with
+its almost human eyes.</p>
+<p>No more earthly cares and affections now, my mother!&nbsp; Yes, one.&nbsp;
+Why dost thou suddenly raise thy dark and still brilliant eye from the
+volume with a somewhat startled glance?&nbsp; What noise is that in
+the distant street?&nbsp; Merely the noise of a hoof; a sound common
+enough: it draws nearer, nearer, and now it stops before thy gate.&nbsp;
+Singular!&nbsp; And now there is a pause, a long pause.&nbsp; Ha! thou
+hearest something&mdash;a footstep; a swift but heavy footstep! thou
+risest, thou tremblest, there is a hand on the pin of the outer door,
+there is some one in the vestibule, and now the door of thy apartment
+opens, there is a reflection on the mirror behind thee, a travelling
+hat, a gray head and sunburnt face.&nbsp; My dearest Son!&mdash;My darling
+Mother!</p>
+<p>Yes, mother, thou didst recognise in the distant street the hoof-tramp
+of the wanderer&rsquo;s horse.</p>
+<p>I was not the only child of my parents; I had a brother some three
+years older than myself.&nbsp; He was a beautiful child; one of those
+occasionally seen in England, and in England alone; a rosy, angelic
+face, blue eyes, and light chestnut hair; it was not exactly an Anglo-Saxon
+countenance, in which, by the bye, there is generally a cast of loutishness
+and stupidity; it partook, to a certain extent, of the Celtic character,
+particularly in the fire and vivacity which illumined it; his face was
+the mirror of his mind; perhaps no disposition more amiable was ever
+found amongst the children of Adam, united, however, with no inconsiderable
+portion of high and dauntless spirit.&nbsp; So great was his beauty
+in infancy, that people, especially those of the poorer classes, would
+follow the nurse who carried him about in order to look at and bless
+his lovely face.&nbsp; At the age of three months an attempt was made
+to snatch him from his mother&rsquo;s arms in the streets of London,
+at the moment she was about to enter a coach; indeed, his appearance
+seemed to operate so powerfully upon every person who beheld him, that
+my parents were under continual apprehension of losing him; his beauty,
+however, was perhaps surpassed by the quickness of his parts.&nbsp;
+He mastered his letters in a few hours, and in a day or two could decipher
+the names of people on the doors of houses and over the shop-windows.</p>
+<p>As he grew up, his personal appearance became less prepossessing,
+his quickness and cleverness, however, rather increased; and I may say
+of him, that with respect to everything which he took in hand he did
+it better and more speedily than any other person.&nbsp; Perhaps it
+will be asked here, what became of him?&nbsp; Alas! alas! his was an
+early and a foreign grave.&nbsp; As I have said before, the race is
+not always for the swift, nor the battle for the strong.</p>
+<p>And now, doubtless, after the above portrait of my brother, painted
+in the very best style of Rubens, the reader will conceive himself justified
+in expecting a full-length one of myself, as a child, for as to my present
+appearance, I suppose he will be tolerably content with that flitting
+glimpse in the mirror.&nbsp; But he must excuse me; I have no intention
+of drawing a portrait of myself in childhood; indeed it would be difficult,
+for at that time I never looked into mirrors.&nbsp; No attempts, however,
+were ever made to steal me in my infancy, and I never heard that my
+parents entertained the slightest apprehension of losing me by the hands
+of kidnappers, though I remember perfectly well that people were in
+the habit of standing still to look at me, ay, more than at my brother;
+from which premisses the reader may form any conclusion with respect
+to my appearance which seemeth good unto him and reasonable.&nbsp; Should
+he, being a good-natured person, and always inclined to adopt the charitable
+side in any doubtful point, be willing to suppose that I, too, was eminently
+endowed by nature with personal graces, I tell him frankly that I have
+no objection whatever to his entertaining that idea; moreover, that
+I heartily thank him, and shall at all times be disposed, under similar
+circumstances, to exercise the same species of charity towards himself.</p>
+<p>With respect to my mind and its qualities I shall be more explicit;
+for, were I to maintain much reserve on this point, many things which
+appear in these memoirs would be highly mysterious to the reader, indeed
+incomprehensible.&nbsp; Perhaps no two individuals were ever more unlike
+in mind and disposition than my brother and myself: as light is opposed
+to darkness, so was that happy, brilliant, cheerful child to the sad
+and melancholy being who sprang from the same stock as himself, and
+was nurtured by the same milk.</p>
+<p>Once, when travelling in an Alpine country, I arrived at a considerable
+elevation; I saw in the distance, far below, a beautiful stream hastening
+to the ocean, its rapid waters here sparkling in the sunshine, and there
+tumbling merrily in cascades.&nbsp; On its banks were vineyards and
+cheerful villages; close to where I stood, in a granite basin with steep
+and precipitous sides, slumbered a deep, dark lagoon, shaded by black
+pines, cypresses, and yews.&nbsp; It was a wild, savage spot, strange
+and singular; ravens hovered above the pines, filling the air with their
+uncouth notes, pies chattered, and I heard the cry of an eagle from
+a neighbouring peak; there lay the lake, the dark, solitary, and almost
+inaccessible lake; gloomy shadows were upon it, which, strangely modified,
+as gusts of wind agitated the surface, occasionally assumed the shape
+of monsters.&nbsp; So I stood on the Alpine elevation, and looked now
+on the gay distant river, and now at the dark granite-encircled lake
+close beside me in the lone solitude, and I thought of my brother and
+myself.&nbsp; I am no moraliser; but the gay and rapid river, and the
+dark and silent lake, were, of a verity, no bad emblems of us two.</p>
+<p>So far from being quick and clever like my brother, and able to rival
+the literary feat which I have recorded of him, many years elapsed before
+I was able to understand the nature of letters, or to connect them.&nbsp;
+A lover of nooks and retired corners, I was as a child in the habit
+of fleeing from society, and of sitting for hours together with my head
+on my breast.&nbsp; What I was thinking about, it would be difficult
+to say at this distance of time; I remember perfectly well, however,
+being ever conscious of a peculiar heaviness within me, and at times
+of a strange sensation of fear, which occasionally amounted to horror,
+and for which I could assign no real cause whatever.</p>
+<p>By nature slow of speech, I took no pleasure in conversation, nor
+in hearing the voices of my fellow-creatures.&nbsp; When people addressed
+me, I not unfrequently, especially if they were strangers, turned away
+my head from them, and if they persisted in their notice burst into
+tears, which singularity of behaviour by no means tended to dispose
+people in my favour.&nbsp; I was as much disliked as my brother was
+deservedly beloved and admired.&nbsp; My parents, it is true, were always
+kind to me; and my brother, who was good nature itself, was continually
+lavishing upon me every mark of affection.</p>
+<p>There was, however, one individual who, in the days of my childhood,
+was disposed to form a favourable opinion of me.&nbsp; One day, a Jew&mdash;I
+have quite forgotten the circumstance, but I was long subsequently informed
+of it&mdash;one day a travelling Jew knocked at the door of a farmhouse
+in which we had taken apartments; I was near at hand sitting in the
+bright sunshine, drawing strange lines on the dust with my fingers,
+an ape and dog were my companions; the Jew looked at me and asked me
+some questions, to which, though I was quite able to speak, I returned
+no answer.&nbsp; On the door being opened, the Jew, after a few words,
+probably relating to pedlery, demanded who the child was, sitting in
+the sun; the maid replied that I was her mistress&rsquo;s youngest son,
+a child weak <i>here</i>, pointing to her forehead.&nbsp; The Jew looked
+at me again, and then said: &lsquo;&rsquo;Pon my conscience, my dear,
+I believe that you must be troubled there yourself to tell me any such
+thing.&nbsp; It is not my habit to speak to children, inasmuch as I
+hate them, because they often follow me and fling stones after me; but
+I no sooner looked at that child than I was forced to speak to it&mdash;his
+not answering me shows his sense, for it has never been the custom of
+the wise to fling away their words in indifferent talk and conversation;
+the child is a sweet child, and has all the look of one of our people&rsquo;s
+children.&nbsp; Fool, indeed! did I not see his eyes sparkle just now
+when the monkey seized the dog by the ear?&mdash;they shone like my
+own diamonds&mdash;does your good lady want any&mdash;real and fine?&nbsp;
+Were it not for what you tell me, I should say it was a prophet&rsquo;s
+child.&nbsp; Fool, indeed! he can write already, or I&rsquo;ll forfeit
+the box which I carry on my back, and for which I should be loth to
+take two hundred pounds!&rsquo;&nbsp; He then leaned forward to inspect
+the lines which I had traced.&nbsp; All of a sudden he started back,
+and grew white as a sheet; then, taking off his hat, he made some strange
+gestures to me, cringing, chattering, and showing his teeth, and shortly
+departed, muttering something about &lsquo;holy letters,&rsquo; and
+talking to himself in a strange tongue.&nbsp; The words of the Jew were
+in due course of time reported to my mother, who treasured them in her
+heart, and from that moment began to entertain brighter hopes of her
+youngest born than she had ever before ventured to foster.</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page13b.jpg">
+<img alt="All of a sudden he started back, and grew white as a sheet" src="images/page13s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER II</h2>
+<p>Barracks and lodgings&mdash;A camp&mdash;The viper&mdash;A delicate
+child&mdash;Blackberry time&mdash;<i>Meun</i> and <i>tuum</i>&mdash;Hythe&mdash;The
+Golgotha&mdash;Daneman&rsquo;s skull&mdash;Superhuman stature&mdash;Stirring
+times&mdash;The sea-bord.</p>
+<p>I have been a wanderer the greater part of my life; indeed I remember
+only two periods, and these by no means lengthy, when I was, strictly
+speaking, stationary.&nbsp; I was a soldier&rsquo;s son, and as the
+means of my father were by no means sufficient to support two establishments,
+his family invariably attended him wherever he went, so that from my
+infancy I was accustomed to travelling and wandering, and looked upon
+a monthly change of scene and residence as a matter of course.&nbsp;
+Sometimes we lived in barracks, sometimes in lodgings, but generally
+in the former, always eschewing the latter from motives of economy,
+save when the barracks were inconvenient and uncomfortable; and they
+must have been highly so indeed, to have discouraged us from entering
+them; for though we were gentry (pray bear that in mind, gentle reader),
+gentry by birth, and incontestably so by my father&rsquo;s bearing the
+commission of good old George the Third, we were not <i>fine gentry</i>,
+but people who could put up with as much as any genteel Scotch family
+who find it convenient to live on a third floor in London, or on a sixth
+at Edinburgh or Glasgow.&nbsp; It was not a little that could discourage
+us: we once lived within the canvas walls of a camp, at a place called
+Pett, in Sussex; and I believe it was at this place that occurred the
+first circumstance, or adventure, call it which you will, that I can
+remember in connection with myself: it was a strange one, and I will
+relate it.</p>
+<p>It happened that my brother and myself were playing one evening in
+a sandy lane, in the neighbourhood of this Pett camp; our mother was
+at a slight distance.&nbsp; All of a sudden, a bright yellow, and, to
+my infantine eye, beautiful and glorious, object made its appearance
+at the top of the bank from between the thick quickset, and, gliding
+down, began to move across the lane to the other side, like a line of
+golden light.&nbsp; Uttering a cry of pleasure, I sprang forward, and
+seized it nearly by the middle.&nbsp; A strange sensation of numbing
+coldness seemed to pervade my whole arm, which surprised me the more,
+as the object to the eye appeared so warm and sunlike.&nbsp; I did not
+drop it, however, but, holding it up, looked at it intently, as its
+head dangled about a foot from my hand.&nbsp; It made no resistance;
+I felt not even the slightest struggle; but now my brother began to
+scream and shriek like one possessed.&nbsp; &lsquo;O mother, mother!&rsquo;
+said he, &lsquo;the viper!&mdash;my brother has a viper in his hand!&rsquo;&nbsp;
+He then, like one frantic, made an effort to snatch the creature away
+from me.&nbsp; The viper now hissed amain, and raised its head, in which
+were eyes like hot coals, menacing, not myself, but my brother.&nbsp;
+I dropped my captive, for I saw my mother running towards me; and the
+reptile, after standing for a moment nearly erect, and still hissing
+furiously, made off, and disappeared.&nbsp; The whole scene is now before
+me, as vividly as if it occurred yesterday&mdash;the gorgeous viper,
+my poor dear frantic brother, my agitated parent, and a frightened hen
+clucking under the bushes&mdash;and yet I was not three years old.</p>
+<p>It is my firm belief that certain individuals possess an inherent
+power, or fascination, over certain creatures, otherwise I should be
+unable to account for many feats which I have witnessed, and, indeed,
+borne a share in, connected with the taming of brutes and reptiles.&nbsp;
+I have known a savage and vicious mare, whose stall it was dangerous
+to approach, even when bearing provender, welcome, nevertheless, with
+every appearance of pleasure, an uncouth, wiry-headed man, with a frightfully
+seamed face, and an iron hook supplying the place of his right hand,
+one whom the animal had never seen before, playfully bite his hair,
+and cover his face with gentle and endearing kisses; and I have already
+stated how a viper would permit, without resentment, one child to take
+it up in his hand, whilst it showed its dislike to the approach of another
+by the fiercest hissings.&nbsp; Philosophy can explain many strange
+things, but there are some which are a far pitch above her, and this
+is one.</p>
+<p>I should scarcely relate another circumstance which occurred about
+this time but for a singular effect which it produced upon my constitution.&nbsp;
+Up to this period I had been rather a delicate child; whereas, almost
+immediately after the occurrence to which I allude, I became both hale
+and vigorous, to the great astonishment of my parents, who naturally
+enough expected that it would produce quite a contrary effect.</p>
+<p>It happened that my brother and myself were disporting ourselves
+in certain fields near the good town of Canterbury.&nbsp; A female servant
+had attended us, in order to take care that we came to no mischief:
+she, however, it seems, had matters of her own to attend to, and, allowing
+us to go where we listed, remained in one corner of a field, in earnest
+conversation with a red-coated dragoon.&nbsp; Now it chanced to be blackberry
+time, and the two children wandered under the hedges, peering anxiously
+among them in quest of that trash so grateful to urchins of their degree.&nbsp;
+We did not find much of it, however, and were soon separated in the
+pursuit.&nbsp; All at once I stood still, and could scarcely believe
+my eyes.&nbsp; I had come to a spot where, almost covering the hedge,
+hung clusters of what seemed fruit&mdash;deliciously-tempting fruit&mdash;something
+resembling grapes of various colours, green, red, and purple.&nbsp;
+Dear me, thought I, how fortunate! yet have I a right to gather it?
+is it mine? for the observance of the law of <i>meum</i> and <i>tuum</i>
+had early been impressed upon my mind, and I entertained, even at that
+tender age, the utmost horror for theft; so I stood staring at the variegated
+clusters, in doubt as to what I should do.&nbsp; I know not how I argued
+the matter in my mind; the temptation, however, was at last too strong
+for me, so I stretched forth my hand and ate.&nbsp; I remember, perfectly
+well, that the taste of this strange fruit was by no means so pleasant
+as the appearance; but the idea of eating fruit was sufficient for a
+child, and, after all, the flavour was much superior to that of sour
+apples, so I ate voraciously.&nbsp; How long I continued eating I scarcely
+know.&nbsp; One thing is certain, that I never left the field as I entered
+it, being carried home in the arms of the dragoon in strong convulsions,
+in which I continued for several hours.&nbsp; About midnight I awoke,
+as if from a troubled sleep, and beheld my parents bending over my couch,
+whilst the regimental surgeon, with a candle in his hand, stood nigh,
+the light feebly reflected on the whitewashed walls of the barrack-room.</p>
+<p>Another circumstance connected with my infancy, and I have done.&nbsp;
+I need offer no apology for relating it, as it subsequently exercised
+considerable influence over my pursuits.&nbsp; We were, if I remember
+right, in the vicinity of a place called Hythe, in Kent.&nbsp; One sweet
+evening, in the latter part of summer, our mother took her two little
+boys by the hand, for a wander about the fields.&nbsp; In the course
+of our stroll we came to the village church; an old, gray-headed sexton
+stood in the porch, who, perceiving that we were strangers, invited
+us to enter.&nbsp; We were presently in the interior, wandering about
+the aisles, looking on the walls, and inspecting the monuments of the
+notable dead.&nbsp; I can scarcely state what we saw; how should I?&nbsp;
+I was a child not yet four years old, and yet I think I remember the
+evening sun streaming in through a stained window upon the dingy mahogany
+pulpit, and flinging a rich lustre upon the faded tints of an ancient
+banner.&nbsp; And now once more we were outside the building, where,
+against the wall, stood a low-eaved pent-house, into which we looked.&nbsp;
+It was half filled with substances of some kind, which at first looked
+like large gray stones.&nbsp; The greater part were lying in layers;
+some, however, were seen in confused and mouldering heaps, and two or
+three, which had perhaps rolled down from the rest, lay separately on
+the floor.&nbsp; &lsquo;Skulls, madam,&rsquo; said the sexton; &lsquo;skulls
+of the old Danes!&nbsp; Long ago they came pirating into these parts;
+and then there chanced a mighty shipwreck, for God was angry with them,
+and He sunk them; and their skulls, as they came ashore, were placed
+here as a memorial.&nbsp; There were many more when I was young, but
+now they are fast disappearing.&nbsp; Some of them must have belonged
+to strange fellows, madam.&nbsp; Only see that one; why, the two young
+gentry can scarcely lift it!&rsquo;&nbsp; And, indeed, my brother and
+myself had entered the Golgotha, and commenced handling these grim relics
+of mortality.&nbsp; One enormous skull, lying in a corner, had fixed
+our attention, and we had drawn it forth.&nbsp; Spirit of eld, what
+a skull was yon!</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page18b.jpg">
+<img alt="&lsquo;Skulls, madam,&rsquo; said the sexton; &lsquo;skulls of the old Danes.&rsquo;" src="images/page18s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>I still seem to see it, the huge grim thing; many of the others were
+large, strikingly so, and appeared fully to justify the old man&rsquo;s
+conclusion that their owners must have been strange fellows; but, compared
+with this mighty mass of bone, they looked small and diminutive like
+those of pigmies; it must have belonged to a giant, one of those red-haired
+warriors of whose strength and stature such wondrous tales are told
+in the ancient chronicles of the north, and whose grave-hills, when
+ransacked, occasionally reveal secrets which fill the minds of puny
+moderns with astonishment and awe.&nbsp; Reader, have you ever pored
+days and nights over the pages of Snorro?&mdash;probably not, for he
+wrote in a language which few of the present day understand, and few
+would be tempted to read him tamed down by Latin dragomans.&nbsp; A
+brave old book is that of Snorro, containing the histories and adventures
+of old northern kings and champions, who seemed to have been quite different
+men, if we may judge from the feats which they performed, from those
+of these days; one of the best of his histories is that which describes
+the life of Harald Haardraade, who, after manifold adventures by land
+and sea, now a pirate, now a mercenary of the Greek emperor, became
+king of Norway, and eventually perished at the battle of Stamford Bridge,
+whilst engaged in a gallant onslaught upon England.&nbsp; Now, I have
+often thought that the old Kemp, whose mouldering skull in the Golgotha
+of Hythe my brother and myself could scarcely lift, must have resembled
+in one respect at least this Harald, whom Snorro describes as a great
+and wise ruler and a determined leader, dangerous in battle, of fair
+presence and measuring in height just <i>five ells</i>, <a name="citation19"></a><a href="#footnote19">{19}</a>
+neither more nor less.</p>
+<p>I never forgot the Daneman&rsquo;s skull; like the apparition of
+the viper in the sandy lane, it dwelt in the mind of the boy, affording
+copious food for the exercise of imagination.&nbsp; From that moment
+with the name of Dane were associated strange ideas of strength, daring,
+and superhuman stature; and an undefinable curiosity for all that is
+connected with the Danish race began to pervade me; and if, long after,
+when I became a student I devoted myself with peculiar zest to Danish
+lore and the acquirement of the old Norse tongue and its dialects, I
+can only explain the matter by the early impression received at Hythe
+from the tale of the old sexton, beneath the pent-house, and the sight
+of the Danish skull.</p>
+<p>And thus we went on straying from place to place, at Hythe to-day,
+and perhaps within a week looking out from our hostel-window upon the
+streets of old Winchester, our motions ever in accordance with the &lsquo;route&rsquo;
+of the regiment, so habituated to change of scene that it had become
+almost necessary to our existence.&nbsp; Pleasant were these days of
+my early boyhood; and a melancholy pleasure steals over me as I recall
+them.&nbsp; Those were stirring times of which I am speaking, and there
+was much passing around me calculated to captivate the imagination.&nbsp;
+The dreadful struggle which so long convulsed Europe, and in which England
+bore so prominent a part, was then at its hottest; we were at war, and
+determination and enthusiasm shone in every face; man, woman, and child
+were eager to fight the Frank, the hereditary, but, thank God, never
+dreaded enemy of the Anglo-Saxon race.&nbsp; &lsquo;Love your country
+and beat the French, and then never mind what happens,&rsquo; was the
+cry of entire England.&nbsp; Oh, those were days of power, gallant days,
+bustling days, worth the bravest days of chivalry at least; tall battalions
+of native warriors were marching through the land; there was the glitter
+of the bayonet and the gleam of the sabre; the shrill squeak of the
+fife and loud rattling of the drum were heard in the streets of country
+towns, and the loyal shouts of the inhabitants greeted the soldiery
+on their arrival, or cheered them at their departure.&nbsp; And now
+let us leave the upland, and descend to the sea-bord; there is a sight
+for you upon the billows!&nbsp; A dozen men-of-war are gliding majestically
+out of port, their long buntings streaming from the top-gallant masts,
+calling on the skulking Frenchman to come forth from his bights and
+bays; and what looms upon us yonder from the fog-bank in the east? a
+gallant frigate towing behind her the long low hull of a crippled privateer,
+which but three short days ago had left Dieppe to skim the sea, and
+whose crew of ferocious hearts are now cursing their imprudence in an
+English hold.&nbsp; Stirring times those, which I love to recall, for
+they were days of gallantry and enthusiasm, and were moreover the days
+of my boyhood.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER III</h2>
+<p>Pretty D---&mdash;The venerable church&mdash;The stricken heart&mdash;Dormant
+energies&mdash;The small packet&mdash;Nerves&mdash;The books&mdash;A
+picture&mdash;Mountain-like billows&mdash;The footprint&mdash;Spirit
+of De Foe&mdash;Reasoning powers&mdash;Terrors of God&mdash;Heads of
+the dragons&mdash;High-Church clerk&mdash;A journey&mdash;The drowned
+country.</p>
+<p>And when I was between six and seven years of age we were once more
+at D---, the place of my birth, whither my father had been despatched
+on the recruiting service.&nbsp; I have already said that it was a beautiful
+little town&mdash;at least it was at the time of which I am speaking&mdash;what
+it is at present I know not, for thirty years and more have elapsed
+since I last trod its streets.&nbsp; It will scarcely have improved,
+for how could it be better than it then was?&nbsp; I love to think on
+thee, pretty quiet D---, thou pattern of an English country town, with
+thy clean but narrow streets branching out from thy modest market-place,
+with thine old-fashioned houses, with here and there a roof of venerable
+thatch, with thy one half-aristocratic mansion, where resided thy Lady
+Bountiful&mdash;she, the generous and kind, who loved to visit the sick,
+leaning on her gold-headed cane, whilst the sleek old footman walked
+at a respectful distance behind.&nbsp; Pretty quiet D---, with thy venerable
+church, in which moulder the mortal remains of England&rsquo;s sweetest
+and most pious bard.</p>
+<p>Yes, pretty D---, I could always love thee, were it but for the sake
+of him who sleeps beneath the marble slab in yonder quiet chancel.&nbsp;
+It was within thee that the long-oppressed bosom heaved its last sigh,
+and the crushed and gentle spirit escaped from a world in which it had
+known nought but sorrow.&nbsp; Sorrow! do I say?&nbsp; How faint a word
+to express the misery of that bruised reed; misery so dark that a blind
+worm like myself is occasionally tempted to exclaim, Better had the
+world never been created than that one so kind, so harmless, and so
+mild, should have undergone such intolerable woe!&nbsp; But it is over
+now, for, as there is an end of joy, so has affliction its termination.&nbsp;
+Doubtless the All-wise did not afflict him without a cause: who knows
+but within that unhappy frame lurked vicious seeds which the sunbeams
+of joy and prosperity might have called into life and vigour?&nbsp;
+Perhaps the withering blasts of misery nipped that which otherwise might
+have terminated in fruit noxious and lamentable.&nbsp; But peace to
+the unhappy one, he is gone to his rest; the death-like face is no longer
+occasionally seen timidly and mournfully looking for a moment through
+the window-pane upon thy market-place, quiet and pretty D-; the hind
+in thy neighbourhood no longer at evening-fall views, and starts as
+he views, the dark lathy figure moving beneath the hazels and alders
+of shadowy lanes, or by the side of murmuring trout streams, and no
+longer at early dawn does the sexton of the old church reverently doff
+his hat, as, supported by some kind friend, the death-stricken creature
+totters along the church-path to that mouldering edifice with the low
+roof, inclosing a spring of sanatory waters, built and devoted to some
+saint, if the legend over the door be true, by the daughter of an East
+Anglian king.</p>
+<p>But to return to my own history.&nbsp; I had now attained the age
+of six: shall I state what intellectual progress I had been making up
+to this period?&nbsp; Alas! upon this point I have little to say calculated
+to afford either pleasure or edification; I had increased rapidly in
+size and in strength: the growth of the mind, however, had by no means
+corresponded with that of the body.&nbsp; It is true, I had acquired
+my letters, and was by this time able to read imperfectly; but this
+was all: and even this poor triumph over absolute ignorance would never
+have been effected but for the unremitting attention of my parents,
+who, sometimes by threats, sometimes by entreaties, endeavoured to rouse
+the dormant energies of my nature, and to bend my wishes to the acquisition
+of the rudiments of knowledge; but in influencing the wish lay the difficulty.&nbsp;
+Let but the will of a human being be turned to any particular object,
+and it is ten to one that sooner or later he achieves it.&nbsp; At this
+time I may safely say that I harboured neither wishes nor hopes; I had
+as yet seen no object calculated to call them forth, and yet I took
+pleasure in many things which perhaps unfortunately were all within
+my sphere of enjoyment.&nbsp; I loved to look upon the heavens, and
+to bask in the rays of the sun, or to sit beneath hedgerows and listen
+to the chirping of the birds, indulging the while in musing and meditation
+as far as my very limited circle of ideas would permit; but, unlike
+my brother, who was at this time at school, and whose rapid progress
+in every branch of instruction astonished and delighted his preceptors,
+I took no pleasure in books, whose use, indeed, I could scarcely comprehend,
+and bade fair to be as arrant a dunce as ever brought the blush of shame
+into the cheeks of anxious and affectionate parents.</p>
+<p>But the time was now at hand when the ice which had hitherto bound
+the mind of the child with its benumbing power was to be thawed, and
+a world of sensations and ideas awakened to which it had hitherto been
+an entire stranger.&nbsp; One day a young lady, an intimate acquaintance
+of our family, and godmother to my brother, drove up to the house in
+which we dwelt; she stayed some time conversing with my mother, and
+on rising to depart, she put down on the table a small packet, exclaiming,
+&lsquo;I have brought a little present for each of the boys: the one
+is a History of England, which I intend for my godson when he returns
+from school, the other is . . .&rsquo;&mdash;and here she said something
+which escaped my ear, as I sat at some distance, moping in a corner,&mdash;&lsquo;I
+intend it for the youngster yonder,&rsquo; pointing to myself; she then
+departed, and, my mother going out shortly after, I was left alone.</p>
+<p>I remember for some time sitting motionless in my corner, with my
+eyes bent upon the ground; at last I lifted my head and looked upon
+the packet as it lay on the table.&nbsp; All at once a strange sensation
+came over me, such as I had never experienced before&mdash;a singular
+blending of curiosity, awe, and pleasure, the remembrance of which,
+even at this distance of time, produces a remarkable effect upon my
+nervous system.&nbsp; What strange things are the nerves&mdash;I mean
+those more secret and mysterious ones in which I have some notion that
+the mind or soul, call it which you will, has its habitation; how they
+occasionally tingle and vibrate before any coming event closely connected
+with the future weal or woe of the human being.&nbsp; Such a feeling
+was now within me, certainly independent of what the eye had seen or
+the ear had heard.&nbsp; A book of some description had been brought
+for me, a present by no means calculated to interest me; what cared
+I for books?&nbsp; I had already many into which I never looked but
+from compulsion; friends, moreover, had presented me with similar things
+before, which I had entirely disregarded, and what was there in this
+particular book, whose very title I did not know, calculated to attract
+me more than the rest? yet something within told me that my fate was
+connected with the book which had been last brought; so, after looking
+on the packet from my corner for a considerable time, I got up and went
+to the table.</p>
+<p>The packet was lying where it had been left&mdash;I took it up; had
+the envelope, which consisted of whitish brown paper, been secured by
+a string or a seal, I should not have opened it, as I should have considered
+such an act almost in the light of a crime; the books, however, had
+been merely folded up, and I therefore considered that there could be
+no possible harm in inspecting them, more especially as I had received
+no injunction to the contrary.&nbsp; Perhaps there was something unsound
+in this reasoning, something sophistical; but a child is sometimes as
+ready as a grown-up person in finding excuses for doing that which he
+is inclined to.&nbsp; But whether the action was right or wrong, and
+I am afraid it was not altogether right, I undid the packet: it contained
+three books; two from their similarity seemed to be separate parts of
+one and the same work; they were handsomely bound, and to them I first
+turned my attention.&nbsp; I opened them successively, and endeavoured
+to make out their meaning; their contents, however, as far as I was
+able to understand them, were by no means interesting: whoever pleases
+may read these books for me, and keep them, too, into the bargain, said
+I to myself.</p>
+<p>I now took up the third book: it did not resemble the others, being
+longer and considerably thicker; the binding was of dingy calf-skin.&nbsp;
+I opened it, and as I did so another strange thrill of pleasure shot
+through my frame.&nbsp; The first object on which my eyes rested was
+a picture; it was exceedingly well executed, at least the scene which
+it represented made a vivid impression upon me, which would hardly have
+been the case had the artist not been faithful to nature.&nbsp; A wild
+scene it was&mdash;a heavy sea and rocky shore, with mountains in the
+background, above which the moon was peering.&nbsp; Not far from the
+shore, upon the water, was a boat with two figures in it, one of which
+stood at the bow, pointing with what I knew to be a gun at a dreadful
+shape in the water; fire was flashing from the muzzle of the gun, and
+the monster appeared to be transfixed.&nbsp; I almost thought I heard
+its cry.&nbsp; I remained motionless, gazing upon the picture, scarcely
+daring to draw my breath, lest the new and wondrous world should vanish
+of which I had now obtained a glimpse.&nbsp; &lsquo;Who are those people,
+and what could have brought them into that strange situation?&rsquo;
+I asked of myself; and now the seed of curiosity, which had so long
+lain dormant, began to expand, and I vowed to myself to become speedily
+acquainted with the whole history of the people in the boat.&nbsp; After
+looking on the picture till every mark and line in it were familiar
+to me, I turned over various leaves till I came to another engraving;
+a new source of wonder&mdash;a low sandy beach on which the furious
+sea was breaking in mountain-like billows; cloud and rack deformed the
+firmament, which wore a dull and leaden-like hue; gulls and other aquatic
+fowls were toppling upon the blast, or skimming over the tops of the
+maddening waves&mdash;&lsquo;Mercy upon him! he must be drowned!&rsquo;&nbsp;
+I exclaimed, as my eyes fell upon a poor wretch who appeared to be striving
+to reach the shore; he was upon his legs, but was evidently half smothered
+with the brine; high above his head curled a horrible billow, as if
+to engulf him for ever.&nbsp; &lsquo;He must be drowned! he must be
+drowned!&rsquo;&nbsp; I almost shrieked, and dropped the book.&nbsp;
+I soon snatched it up again, and now my eye lighted on a third picture:
+again a shore, but what a sweet and lovely one, and how I wished to
+be treading it; there were beautiful shells lying on the smooth white
+sand, some were empty like those I had occasionally seen on marble mantelpieces,
+but out of others peered the heads and bodies of wondrous crayfish,
+a wood of thick green trees skirted the beach and partly shaded it from
+the rays of the sun, which shone hot above, while blue waves slightly
+crested with foam were gently curling against it; there was a human
+figure upon the beach, wild and uncouth, clad in the skins of animals,
+with a huge cap on his head, a hatchet at his girdle, and in his hand
+a gun; his feet and legs were bare; he stood in an attitude of horror
+and surprise; his body was bent far back, and his eyes, which seemed
+starting out of his head, were fixed upon a mark on the sand&mdash;a
+large distinct mark&mdash;a human footprint. . . .</p>
+<p>Reader, is it necessary to name the book which now stood open in
+my hand, and whose very prints, feeble expounders of its wondrous lines,
+had produced within me emotions strange and novel?&nbsp; Scarcely&mdash;for
+it was a book which has exerted over the minds of Englishmen an influence
+certainly greater than any other of modern times&mdash;which has been
+in most people&rsquo;s hands, and with the contents of which even those
+who cannot read are to a certain extent acquainted&mdash;a book from
+which the most luxuriant and fertile of our modern prose writers have
+drunk inspiration&mdash;a book, moreover, to which, from the hardy deeds
+which it narrates, and the spirit of strange and romantic enterprise
+which it tends to awaken, England owes many of her astonishing discoveries
+both by sea and land, and no inconsiderable part of her naval glory.</p>
+<p>Hail to thee, spirit of De Foe!&nbsp; What does not my own poor self
+owe to thee?&nbsp; England has better bards than either Greece or Rome,
+yet I could spare them easier far than De Foe, &lsquo;unabashed De Foe,&rsquo;
+as the hunchbacked rhymer styled him.</p>
+<p>The true chord had now been touched; a raging curiosity with respect
+to the contents of the volume, whose engravings had fascinated my eye,
+burned within me, and I never rested until I had fully satisfied it;
+weeks succeeded weeks, months followed months, and the wondrous volume
+was my only study and principal source of amusement.&nbsp; For hours
+together I would sit poring over a page till I had become acquainted
+with the import of every line.&nbsp; My progress, slow enough at first,
+became by degrees more rapid, till at last, under &lsquo;a shoulder
+of mutton sail,&rsquo; I found myself cantering before a steady breeze
+over an ocean of enchantment, so well pleased with my voyage that I
+cared not how long it might be ere it reached its termination.</p>
+<p>And it was in this manner that I first took to the paths of knowledge.</p>
+<p>About this time I began to be somewhat impressed with religious feelings.&nbsp;
+My parents were, to a certain extent, religious people; but, though
+they had done their best to afford me instruction on religious points,
+I had either paid no attention to what they endeavoured to communicate,
+or had listened with an ear far too obtuse to derive any benefit.&nbsp;
+But my mind had now become awakened from the drowsy torpor in which
+it had lain so long, and the reasoning powers which I possessed were
+no longer inactive.&nbsp; Hitherto I had entertained no conception whatever
+of the nature and properties of God, and with the most perfect indifference
+had heard the divine name proceeding from the mouths of people&mdash;frequently,
+alas! on occasions when it ought not to be employed; but I now never
+heard it without a tremor, for I now knew that God was an awful and
+inscrutable Being, the Maker of all things; that we were His children,
+and that we, by our sins, had justly offended Him; that we were in very
+great peril from His anger, not so much in this life as in another and
+far stranger state of being yet to come; that we had a Saviour withal
+to whom it was necessary to look for help: upon this point, however,
+I was yet very much in the dark, as, indeed, were most of those with
+whom I was connected.&nbsp; The power and terrors of God were uppermost
+in my thoughts; they fascinated though they astounded me.&nbsp; Twice
+every Sunday I was regularly taken to the church, where, from a corner
+of the large spacious pew, lined with black leather, I would fix my
+eyes on the dignified High-Church rector, and the dignified High-Church
+clerk, and watch the movement of their lips, from which, as they read
+their respective portions of the venerable liturgy, would roll many
+a portentous word descriptive of the wondrous works of the Most High.</p>
+<p><i>Rector</i>.&nbsp; Thou didst divide the sea, through thy power:
+thou brakest the heads of the dragons in the waters.</p>
+<p><i>Philoh</i>.&nbsp; Thou smotest the heads of Leviathan in pieces:
+and gavest him to be meat for the people in the wilderness.</p>
+<p><i>Rector</i>.&nbsp; Thou broughtest out fountains, and waters out
+of the hard rocks: thou driedst up mighty waters.</p>
+<p><i>Philoh</i>.&nbsp; The day is thine, and the night is thine: thou
+hast prepared the light and the sun.</p>
+<p>Peace to your memories, dignified rector, and yet more dignified
+clerk!&mdash;by this time ye are probably gone to your long homes, and
+your voices are no longer heard sounding down the aisles of the venerable
+church&mdash;nay, doubtless, this has already long since been the fate
+of him of the sonorous &lsquo;Amen!&rsquo;&mdash;the one of the two
+who, with all due respect to the rector, principally engrossed my boyish
+admiration&mdash;he, at least, is scarcely now among the living! Living!
+why, I have heard say that he blew a fife&mdash;for he was a musical
+as well as a Christian professor&mdash;a bold fife, to cheer the Guards
+and the brave Marines, as they marched with measured step, obeying an
+insane command, up Bunker&rsquo;s height, whilst the rifles of the sturdy
+Yankees were sending the leaden hail sharp and thick amidst the red-coated
+ranks; for Philoh had not always been a man of peace, nor an exhorter
+to turn the other cheek to the smiter, but had even arrived at the dignity
+of a halberd in his country&rsquo;s service before his six-foot form
+required rest, and the gray-haired veteran retired, after a long peregrination,
+to his native town, to enjoy ease and respectability on a pension of
+&lsquo;eighteenpence a day&rsquo;; and well did his fellow-townsmen
+act, when, to increase that ease and respectability, and with a thoughtful
+regard for the dignity of the good church service, they made him clerk
+and precentor&mdash;the man of the tall form and of the audible voice,
+which sounded loud and clear as his own Bunker fife.&nbsp; Well, peace
+to thee, thou fine old chap, despiser of dissenters, and hater of papists,
+as became a dignified and High-Church clerk; if thou art in thy grave,
+the better for thee; thou wert fitted to adorn a bygone time, when loyalty
+was in vogue, and smiling content lay like a sunbeam upon the land,
+but thou wouldst be sadly out of place in these days of cold philosophic
+latitudinarian doctrine, universal tolerism, and half-concealed rebellion&mdash;rare
+times, no doubt, for papists and dissenters, but which would assuredly
+have broken the heart of the loyal soldier of George the Third, and
+the dignified High-Church clerk of pretty D---.</p>
+<p>We passed many months at this place: nothing, however, occurred requiring
+any particular notice, relating to myself, beyond what I have already
+stated, and I am not writing the history of others.&nbsp; At length
+my father was recalled to his regiment, which at that time was stationed
+at a place called Norman Cross, in Lincolnshire, or rather Huntingdonshire,
+at some distance from the old town of Peterborough.&nbsp; For this place
+he departed, leaving my mother and myself to follow in a few days.&nbsp;
+Our journey was a singular one.&nbsp; On the second day we reached a
+marshy and fenny country, which, owing to immense quantities of rain
+which had lately fallen, was completely submerged.&nbsp; At a large
+town we got on board a kind of passage-boat, crowded with people; it
+had neither sails nor oars, and those were not the days of steam-vessels;
+it was a treck-schuyt, and was drawn by horses.&nbsp; Young as I was,
+there was much connected with this journey which highly surprised me,
+and which brought to my remembrance particular scenes described in the
+book which I now generally carried in my bosom.&nbsp; The country was,
+as I have already said, submerged&mdash;entirely drowned&mdash;no land
+was visible; the trees were growing bolt upright in the flood, whilst
+farmhouses and cottages were standing insulated; the horses which drew
+us were up to the knees in water, and, on coming to blind pools and
+&lsquo;greedy depths,&rsquo; were not unfrequently swimming, in which
+case, the boys or urchins who mounted them sometimes stood, sometimes
+knelt, upon the saddle and pillions.&nbsp; No accident, however, occurred
+either to the quadrupeds or bipeds, who appeared respectively to be
+quite <i>au fait</i> in their business, and extricated themselves with
+the greatest ease from places in which Pharaoh and all his host would
+have gone to the bottom.&nbsp; Nightfall brought us to Peterborough,
+and from thence we were not slow in reaching the place of our destination.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2>
+<p>Norman Cross&mdash;Wide expanse&mdash;<i>Vive l&rsquo;Empereur</i>&mdash;Unpruned
+woods&mdash;Man with the bag&mdash;Froth and conceit&mdash;I beg your
+pardon&mdash;Growing timid&mdash;About three o&rsquo;clock&mdash;Taking
+one&rsquo;s ease&mdash;Cheek on the ground&mdash;King of the vipers&mdash;French
+king&mdash;Frenchmen and water.</p>
+<p>And a strange place it was, this Norman Cross, and, at the time of
+which I am speaking, a sad cross to many a Norman, being what was then
+styled a French prison, that is, a receptacle for captives made in the
+French war.&nbsp; It consisted, if I remember right, of some five or
+six casernes, very long, and immensely high; each standing isolated
+from the rest, upon a spot of ground which might average ten acres,
+and which was fenced round with lofty palisades, the whole being compassed
+about by a towering wall, beneath which, at intervals, on both sides,
+sentinels were stationed, whilst outside, upon the field, stood commodious
+wooden barracks, capable of containing two regiments of infantry, intended
+to serve as guards upon the captives.&nbsp; Such was the station or
+prison at Norman Cross, where some six thousand French and other foreigners,
+followers of the grand Corsican, were now immured.</p>
+<p>What a strange appearance had those mighty casernes, with their blank
+blind walls, without windows or grating, and their slanting roofs, out
+of which, through orifices where the tiles had been removed, would be
+protruded dozens of grim heads, feasting their prison-sick eyes on the
+wide expanse of country unfolded from that airy height.&nbsp; Ah! there
+was much misery in those casernes; and from those roofs, doubtless,
+many a wistful look was turned in the direction of lovely France.&nbsp;
+Much had the poor inmates to endure, and much to complain of, to the
+disgrace of England be it said&mdash;of England, in general so kind
+and bountiful.&nbsp; Rations of carrion meat, and bread from which I
+have seen the very hounds occasionally turn away, were unworthy entertainment
+even for the most ruffian enemy, when helpless and a captive; and such,
+alas! was the fare in those casernes.&nbsp; And then, those visits,
+or rather ruthless inroads, called in the slang of the place &lsquo;strawplait-hunts,&rsquo;
+when in pursuit of a contraband article, which the prisoners, in order
+to procure themselves a few of the necessaries and comforts of existence,
+were in the habit of making, red-coated battalions were marched into
+the prisons, who, with the bayonet&rsquo;s point, carried havoc and
+ruin into every poor convenience which ingenious wretchedness had been
+endeavouring to raise around it; and then the triumphant exit with the
+miserable booty; and, worst of all, the accursed bonfire, on the barrack
+parade, of the plait contraband, beneath the view of the glaring eyeballs
+from those lofty roofs, amidst the hurrahs of the troops, frequently
+drowned in the curses poured down from above like a tempest-shower or
+in the terrific warw-hoop of &lsquo;<i>Vive l&rsquo;Empereur</i>!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>It was midsummer when we arrived at this place, and the weather,
+which had for a long time been wet and gloomy, now became bright and
+glorious; I was subjected to but little control, and passed my time
+pleasantly enough, principally in wandering about the neighbouring country.&nbsp;
+It was flat and somewhat fenny, a district more of pasture than agriculture,
+and not very thickly inhabited.&nbsp; I soon became well acquainted
+with it.&nbsp; At the distance of two miles from the station was a large
+lake, styled in the dialect of the country &lsquo;a mere,&rsquo; about
+whose borders tall reeds were growing in abundance, this was a frequent
+haunt of mine; but my favourite place of resort was a wild sequestered
+spot at a somewhat greater distance.&nbsp; Here, surrounded with woods
+and thick groves, was the seat of some ancient family, deserted by the
+proprietor, and only inhabited by a rustic servant or two.&nbsp; A place
+more solitary and wild could scarcely be imagined; the garden and walks
+were overgrown with weeds and briers, and the unpruned woods were so
+tangled as to be almost impervious.&nbsp; About this domain I would
+wander till overtaken by fatigue, and then I would sit down with my
+back against some beech, elm, or stately alder tree, and, taking out
+my book, would pass hours in a state of unmixed enjoyment, my eyes now
+fixed on the wondrous pages, now glancing at the sylvan scene around;
+and sometimes I would drop the book and listen to the voice of the rooks
+and wild pigeons, and not unfrequently to the croaking of multitudes
+of frogs from the neighbouring swamps and fens.</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page31b.jpg">
+<img alt="I frequently passed a tall elderly individual, dressed in rather a quaint fashion" src="images/page31s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>In going to and from this place I frequently passed a tall elderly
+individual, dressed in rather a quaint fashion, with a skin cap on his
+head and stout gaiters on his legs; on his shoulders hung a moderate
+sized leathern sack; he seemed fond of loitering near sunny banks, and
+of groping amidst furze and low scrubby bramble bushes, of which there
+were plenty in the neighbourhood of Norman Cross.&nbsp; Once I saw him
+standing in the middle of a dusty road, looking intently at a large
+mark which seemed to have been drawn across it, as if by a walking stick.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;He must have been a large one,&rsquo; the old man muttered half
+to himself, &lsquo;or he would not have left such a trail, I wonder
+if he is near; he seems to have moved this way.&rsquo;&nbsp; He then
+went behind some bushes which grew on the right side of the road, and
+appeared to be in quest of something, moving behind the bushes with
+his head downwards, and occasionally striking their roots with his foot:
+at length he exclaimed, &lsquo;Here he is!&rsquo; and forthwith I saw
+him dart amongst the bushes.&nbsp; There was a kind of scuffling noise,
+the rustling of branches, and the crackling of dry sticks.&nbsp; &lsquo;I
+have him!&rsquo; said the man at last; &lsquo;I have got him!&rsquo;
+and presently he made his appearance about twenty yards down the road,
+holding a large viper in his hand.&nbsp; &lsquo;What do you think of
+that, my boy?&rsquo; said he, as I went up to him&mdash;&lsquo;what
+do you think of catching such a thing as that with the naked hand?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;What do I think?&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;Why, that I could
+do as much myself.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;You do,&rsquo; said the man,
+&lsquo;do you?&nbsp; Lord! how the young people in these days are given
+to conceit; it did not use to be so in my time: when I was a child,
+childer knew how to behave themselves; but the childer of these days
+are full of conceit, full of froth, like the mouth of this viper&rsquo;;
+and with his forefinger and thumb he squeezed a considerable quantity
+of foam from the jaws of the viper down upon the road.&nbsp; &lsquo;The
+childer of these days are a generation of&mdash;God forgive me, what
+was I about to say?&rsquo; said the old man; and opening his bag he
+thrust the reptile into it, which appeared far from empty.&nbsp; I passed
+on.&nbsp; As I was returning, towards the evening, I overtook the old
+man, who was wending in the same direction.&nbsp; &lsquo;Good evening
+to you, sir,&rsquo; said I, taking off a cap which I wore on my head.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Good evening,&rsquo; said the old man; and then, looking at me,
+&lsquo;How&rsquo;s this?&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;you aren&rsquo;t, sure,
+the child I met in the morning?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said
+I, &lsquo;I am; what makes you doubt it?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Why, you
+were then all froth and conceit,&rsquo; said the old man, &lsquo;and
+now you take off your cap to me.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I beg your pardon,&rsquo;
+said I, &lsquo;if I was frothy and conceited; it ill becomes a child
+like me to be so.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;That&rsquo;s true, dear,&rsquo;
+said the old man; &lsquo;well, as you have begged my pardon, I truly
+forgive you.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Thank you,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;have
+you caught any more of those things?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Only four or
+five,&rsquo; said the old man; &lsquo;they are getting scarce, though
+this used to be a great neighbourhood for them.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;And
+what do you do with them?&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;do you carry them home
+and play with them?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I sometimes play with one or
+two that I tame,&rsquo; said the old man; &lsquo;but I hunt them mostly
+for the fat which they contain, out of which I make unguents which are
+good for various sore troubles, especially for the rheumatism.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;And do you get your living by hunting these creatures?&rsquo;
+I demanded.&nbsp; &lsquo;Not altogether,&rsquo; said the old man; &lsquo;besides
+being a viper-hunter, I am what they call a herbalist, one who knows
+the virtue of particular herbs; I gather them at the proper season,
+to make medicines with for the sick.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;And do you
+live in the neighbourhood?&rsquo; I demanded.&nbsp; &lsquo;You seem
+very fond of asking questions, child.&nbsp; No, I do not live in this
+neighbourhood in particular, I travel about; I have not been in this
+neighbourhood till lately for some years.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>From this time the old man and myself formed an acquaintance; I often
+accompanied him in his wanderings about the neighbourhood, and, on two
+or three occasions, assisted him in catching the reptiles which he hunted.&nbsp;
+He generally carried a viper with him which he had made quite tame,
+and from which he had extracted the poisonous fangs; it would dance
+and perform various kinds of tricks.&nbsp; He was fond of telling me
+anecdotes connected with his adventures with the reptile species.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;But,&rsquo; said he one day, sighing, &lsquo;I must shortly give
+up this business, I am no longer the man I was, I am become timid, and
+when a person is timid in viper-hunting, he had better leave off, as
+it is quite clear his virtue is leaving him.&nbsp; I got a fright some
+years ago, which I am quite sure I shall never get the better of; my
+hand has been shaky more or less ever since.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;What
+frightened you?&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;I had better not tell you,&rsquo;
+said the old man, &lsquo;or you may be frightened too, lose your virtue,
+and be no longer good for the business.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t
+care,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t intend to follow the business:
+I daresay I shall be an officer, like my father.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Well,&rsquo;
+said the old man, &lsquo;I once saw the king of the vipers, and since
+then&mdash;&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;The king of the vipers!&rsquo; said
+I, interrupting him; &lsquo;have the vipers a king?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;As
+sure as we have,&rsquo; said the old man&mdash;&lsquo;as sure as we
+have King George to rule over us, have these reptiles a king to rule
+over them.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;And where did you see him?&rsquo; said
+I.&nbsp; &lsquo;I will tell you,&rsquo; said the old man, &lsquo;though
+I don&rsquo;t like talking about the matter.&nbsp; It may be about seven
+years ago that I happened to be far down yonder to the west, on the
+other side of England, nearly two hundred miles from here, following
+my business.&nbsp; It was a very sultry day, I remember, and I had been
+out several hours catching creatures.&nbsp; It might be about three
+o&rsquo;clock in the afternoon, when I found myself on some heathy land
+near the sea, on the ridge of a hill, the side of which, nearly as far
+down as the sea, was heath; but on the top there was arable ground,
+which had been planted, and from which the harvest had been gathered&mdash;oats
+or barley, I know not which&mdash;but I remember that the ground was
+covered with stubble.&nbsp; Well, about three o&rsquo;clock, as I told
+you before, what with the heat of the day and from having walked about
+for hours in a lazy way, I felt very tired; so I determined to have
+a sleep, and I laid myself down, my head just on the ridge of the hill,
+towards the field, and my body over the side down amongst the heath;
+my bag, which was nearly filled with creatures, lay at a little distance
+from my face; the creatures were struggling in it, I remember, and I
+thought to myself, how much more comfortably off I was than they; I
+was taking my ease on the nice open hill, cooled with the breezes, whilst
+they were in the nasty close bag, coiling about one another, and breaking
+their very hearts, all to no purpose: and I felt quite comfortable and
+happy in the thought, and little by little closed my eyes, and fell
+into the sweetest snooze that ever I was in in all my life; and there
+I lay over the hill&rsquo;s side, with my head half in the field, I
+don&rsquo;t know how long, all dead asleep.&nbsp; At last it seemed
+to me that I heard a noise in my sleep, something like a thing moving,
+very faint, however, far away; then it died, and then it came again
+upon my ear as I slept, and now it appeared almost as if I heard crackle,
+crackle; then it died again, or I became yet more dead asleep than before,
+I know not which, but I certainly lay some time without hearing it.&nbsp;
+All of a sudden I became awake, and there was I, on the ridge of the
+hill, with my cheek on the ground towards the stubble, with a noise
+in my ear like that of something moving towards me amongst the stubble
+of the field; well, I lay a moment or two listening to the noise, and
+then I became frightened, for I did not like the noise at all, it sounded
+so odd; so I rolled myself on my belly, and looked towards the stubble.&nbsp;
+Mercy upon us! there was a huge snake, or rather a dreadful viper, for
+it was all yellow and gold, moving towards me, bearing its head about
+a foot and a half above the ground, the dry stubble crackling beneath
+its outrageous belly.&nbsp; It might be about five yards off when I
+first saw it, making straight towards me, child, as if it would devour
+me.&nbsp; I lay quite still, for I was stupefied with horror, whilst
+the creature came still nearer; and now it was nearly upon me, when
+it suddenly drew back a little, and then&mdash;what do you think?&mdash;it
+lifted its head and chest high in the air, and high over my face as
+I looked up, flickering at me with its tongue as if it would fly at
+my face.&nbsp; Child, what I felt at that moment I can scarcely say,
+but it was a sufficient punishment for all the sins I ever committed;
+and there we two were, I looking up at the viper, and the viper looking
+down upon me, flickering at me with its tongue.&nbsp; It was only the
+kindness of God that saved me: all at once there was a loud noise, the
+report of a gun, for a fowler was shooting at a covey of birds, a little
+way off in the stubble.&nbsp; Whereupon the viper sunk its head, and
+immediately made off over the ridge of the hill, down in the direction
+of the sea.&nbsp; As it passed by me, however&mdash;and it passed close
+by me&mdash;it hesitated a moment, as if it was doubtful whether it
+should not seize me; it did not, however, but made off down the hill.&nbsp;
+It has often struck me that he was angry with me, and came upon me unawares
+for presuming to meddle with his people, as I have always been in the
+habit of doing.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;how do you know that it was the
+king of the vipers?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How do I know!&rsquo; said the old man, &lsquo;who else should
+it be?&nbsp; There was as much difference between it and other reptiles
+as between King George and other people.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is King George, then, different from other people?&rsquo;
+I demanded.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of course,&rsquo; said the old man; &lsquo;I have never seen
+him myself, but I have heard people say that he is a ten times greater
+man than other folks; indeed, it stands to reason that he must be different
+from the rest, else people would not be so eager to see him.&nbsp; Do
+you think, child, that people would be fools enough to run a matter
+of twenty or thirty miles to see the king, provided King George&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Haven&rsquo;t the French a king?&rsquo; I demanded.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the old man, &lsquo;or something much the
+same, and a queer one he is; not quite so big as King George, they say,
+but quite as terrible a fellow.&nbsp; What of him?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Suppose he should come to Norman Cross!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What should he do at Norman Cross, child?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, you were talking about the vipers in your bag breaking
+their hearts, and so on, and their king coming to help them.&nbsp; Now,
+suppose the French king should hear of his people being in trouble at
+Norman Cross, and&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He can&rsquo;t come, child,&rsquo; said the old man, rubbing
+his hands, &lsquo;the water lies between.&nbsp; The French don&rsquo;t
+like the water; neither vipers nor Frenchmen take kindly to the water,
+child.&rsquo;</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page36b.jpg">
+<img alt="&lsquo;There we two were, I looking up at the viper, and the viper looking down upon me, flickering at me with its tongue.&rsquo;" src="images/page36s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>When the old man left the country, which he did a few days after
+the conversation which I have just related, he left me the reptile which
+he had tamed and rendered quite harmless by removing the fangs.&nbsp;
+I was in the habit of feeding it with milk, and frequently carried it
+abroad with me in my walks.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER V</h2>
+<p>The tent&mdash;Man and woman&mdash;Dark and swarthy&mdash;Manner
+of speaking&mdash;Bad money&mdash;Transfixed&mdash;Faltering tone&mdash;Little
+basket&mdash;High opinion&mdash;Plenty of good&mdash;Keeping guard&mdash;Tilted
+cart&mdash;Rubricals&mdash;Jasper&mdash;The right sort&mdash;The horseman
+of the lane&mdash;John Newton&mdash;The alarm&mdash;Gentle brothers.</p>
+<p>One day it happened that, being on my rambles, I entered a green
+lane which I had never seen before; at first it was rather narrow, but
+as I advanced it became considerably wider; in the middle was a driftway
+with deep ruts, but right and left was a space carpeted with a sward
+of trefoil and clover; there was no lack of trees, chiefly ancient oaks,
+which, flinging out their arms from either side, nearly formed a canopy,
+and afforded a pleasing shelter from the rays of the sun, which was
+burning fiercely above.&nbsp; Suddenly a group of objects attracted
+my attention.&nbsp; Beneath one of the largest of the trees, upon the
+grass, was a kind of low tent or booth, from the top of which a thin
+smoke was curling; beside it stood a couple of light carts, whilst two
+or three lean horses or ponies were cropping the herbage which was growing
+nigh.&nbsp; Wondering to whom this odd tent could belong, I advanced
+till I was close before it, when I found that it consisted of two tilts,
+like those of waggons, placed upon the ground and fronting each other,
+connected behind by a sail or large piece of canvas which was but partially
+drawn across the top; upon the ground, in the intervening space, was
+a fire, over which, supported by a kind of iron crowbar, hung a caldron;
+my advance had been so noiseless as not to alarm the inmates, who consisted
+of a man and woman, who sat apart, one on each side of the fire; they
+were both busily employed&mdash;the man was carding plaited straw, whilst
+the woman seemed to be rubbing something with a white powder, some of
+which lay on a plate beside her; suddenly the man looked up, and, perceiving
+me, uttered a strange kind of cry, and the next moment both the woman
+and himself were on their feet and rushing out upon me.</p>
+<p>I retreated a few steps, yet without turning to flee.&nbsp; I was
+not, however, without apprehension, which, indeed, the appearance of
+these two people was well calculated to inspire: the woman was a stout
+figure, seemingly between thirty and forty; she wore no cap, and her
+long hair fell on either side of her head like horse-tails half-way
+down her waist; her skin was dark and swarthy, like that of a toad,
+and the expression of her countenance was particularly evil; her arms
+were bare, and her bosom was but half concealed by a slight bodice,
+below which she wore a coarse petticoat, her only other article of dress.&nbsp;
+The man was somewhat younger, but of a figure equally wild; his frame
+was long and lathy, but his arms were remarkably short, his neck was
+rather bent, he squinted slightly, and his mouth was much awry; his
+complexion was dark, but, unlike that of the woman, was more ruddy than
+livid; there was a deep scar on his cheek, something like the impression
+of a halfpenny.&nbsp; The dress was quite in keeping with the figure:
+in his hat, which was slightly peaked, was stuck a peacock&rsquo;s feather;
+over a waistcoat of hide, untanned and with the hair upon it, he wore
+a rough jerkin of russet hue; smallclothes of leather, which had probably
+once belonged to a soldier, but with which pipeclay did not seem to
+have come in contact for many a year, protected his lower man as far
+as the knee; his legs were cased in long stockings of blue worsted,
+and on his shoes he wore immense old-fashioned buckles.</p>
+<p>Such were the two beings who now came rushing upon me; the man was
+rather in advance, brandishing a ladle in his hand.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So I have caught you at last,&rsquo; said he; &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll
+teach ye, you young highwayman, to come skulking about my properties!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Young as I was, I remarked that his manner of speaking was different
+from that of any people with whom I had been in the habit of associating.&nbsp;
+It was quite as strange as his appearance, and yet it nothing resembled
+the foreign English which I had been in the habit of hearing through
+the palisades of the prison; he could scarcely be a foreigner.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Your properties!&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;I am in the King&rsquo;s
+Lane.&nbsp; Why did you put them there, if you did not wish them to
+be seen?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;On the spy,&rsquo; said the woman, &lsquo;hey?&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll
+drown him in the sludge in the toad-pond over the hedge.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So we will,&rsquo; said the man, &lsquo;drown him anon in
+the mud!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Drown me, will you?&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;I should like to
+see you!&nbsp; What&rsquo;s all this about?&nbsp; Was it because I saw
+you with your hands full of straw plait, and my mother there&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the woman; &lsquo;what was I about?&rsquo;</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; How should I know?&nbsp; Making bad money, perhaps!</p>
+<p>And it will be as well here to observe, that at this time there was
+much bad money in circulation in the neighbourhood, generally supposed
+to be fabricated by the prisoners, so that this false coin and straw
+plait formed the standard subjects of conversation at Norman Cross.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I&rsquo;ll strangle thee,&rsquo; said the beldame, dashing
+at me.&nbsp; &lsquo;Bad money, is it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Leave him to me, wifelkin,&rsquo; said the man, interposing;
+&lsquo;you shall now see how I&rsquo;ll baste him down the lane.&rsquo;</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; I tell you what, my chap, you had better put
+down that thing of yours; my father lies concealed within my tepid breast,
+and if to me you offer any harm or wrong, I&rsquo;ll call him forth
+to help me with his forked tongue.</p>
+<p><i>Man</i>.&nbsp; What do you mean, ye Bengui&rsquo;s bantling?&nbsp;
+I never heard such discourse in all my life: playman&rsquo;s speech
+or Frenchman&rsquo;s talk&mdash;which, I wonder?&nbsp; Your father!&nbsp;
+Tell the mumping villain that if he comes near my fire I&rsquo;ll serve
+him out as I will you.&nbsp; Take that&mdash; Tiny Jesus! what have
+we got here?&nbsp; Oh, delicate Jesus! what is the matter with the child?</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page40b.jpg">
+<img alt="&lsquo;Tiny Jesus! what have we got here?  Oh, delicate Jesus! what is the matter with the child?&rsquo;" src="images/page40s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>I had made a motion which the viper understood; and now, partly disengaging
+itself from my bosom, where it had lain perdu, it raised its head to
+a level with my face, and stared upon my enemy with its glittering eyes.</p>
+<p>The man stood like one transfixed, and the ladle, with which he had
+aimed a blow at me, now hung in the air like the hand which held it;
+his mouth was extended, and his cheeks became of a pale yellow, save
+alone that place which bore the mark which I have already described,
+and this shone now portentously, like fire.&nbsp; He stood in this manner
+for some time; at last the ladle fell from his hand, and its falling
+appeared to rouse him from his stupor.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I say, wifelkin,&rsquo; said he, in a faltering tone, &lsquo;did
+you ever see the like of this here?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>But the woman had retreated to the tent, from the entrance of which
+her loathly face was now thrust, with an expression partly of terror
+and partly of curiosity.&nbsp; After gazing some time longer at the
+viper and myself, the man stooped down and took up the ladle; then,
+as if somewhat more assured, he moved to the tent, where he entered
+into conversation with the beldame in a low voice.&nbsp; Of their discourse,
+though I could hear the greater part of it, I understood not a single
+word; and I wondered what it could be, for I knew by the sound that
+it was not French.&nbsp; At last the man, in a somewhat louder tone,
+appeared to put a question to the woman, who nodded her head affirmatively,
+and in a moment or two produced a small stool, which she delivered to
+him.&nbsp; He placed it on the ground, close by the door of the tent,
+first rubbing it with his sleeve, as if for the purpose of polishing
+its surface.</p>
+<p><i>Man</i>.&nbsp; Now, my precious little gentleman, do sit down
+here by the poor people&rsquo;s tent; we wish to be civil in our slight
+way.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t be angry, and say no; but look kindly upon us,
+and satisfied, my precious little God Almighty.</p>
+<p><i>Woman</i>.&nbsp; Yes, my gorgeous angel, sit down by the poor
+bodies&rsquo; fire, and eat a sweetmeat.&nbsp; We want to ask you a
+question or two; only first put that serpent away.</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; I can sit down, and bid the serpent go to sleep,
+that&rsquo;s easy enough; but as for eating a sweetmeat, how can I do
+that?&nbsp; I have not got one, and where am I to get it?</p>
+<p><i>Woman</i>.&nbsp; Never fear, my tiny tawny, we can give you one,
+such as you never ate, I daresay, however far you may have come from.</p>
+<p>The serpent sank into its usual resting-place, and I sat down on
+the stool.&nbsp; The woman opened a box, and took out a strange little
+basket or hamper, not much larger than a man&rsquo;s fist, and formed
+of a delicate kind of matting.&nbsp; It was sewed at the top; but, ripping
+it open with a knife, she held it to me, and I saw, to my surprise,
+that it contained candied fruits of a dark green hue, tempting enough
+to one of my age.&nbsp; &lsquo;There, my tiny,&rsquo; said she; &lsquo;taste,
+and tell me how you like them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very much,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;where did you get them?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The beldame leered upon me for a moment, then, nodding her head thrice,
+with a knowing look, said, &lsquo;Who knows better than yourself, my
+tawny?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Now, I knew nothing about the matter; but I saw that these strange
+people had conceived a very high opinion of the abilities of their visitor,
+which I was nothing loth to encourage.&nbsp; I therefore answered boldly,
+&lsquo;Ah! who indeed!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Certainly,&rsquo; said the man; &lsquo;who should know better
+than yourself, or so well?&nbsp; And now, my tiny one, let me ask you
+one thing&mdash;you didn&rsquo;t come to do us any harm?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I had no dislike to you; though,
+if you were to meddle with me&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p><i>Man</i>.&nbsp; Of course, my gorgeous, of course you would; and
+quite right too.&nbsp; Meddle with you!&mdash;what right have we?&nbsp;
+I should say, it would not be quite safe.&nbsp; I see how it is; you
+are one of them there;&mdash;and he bent his head towards his left shoulder.</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; Yes, I am one of them&mdash;for I thought he
+was alluding to the soldiers,&mdash;you had best mind what you are about,
+I can tell you.</p>
+<p><i>Man</i>.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t doubt we will for our own sake; Lord
+bless you, wifelkin, only think that we should see one of them there
+when we least thought about it.&nbsp; Well, I have heard of such things,
+though I never thought to see one; however, seeing is believing.&nbsp;
+Well! now you are come, and are not going to do us any mischief, I hope
+you will stay; you can do us plenty of good if you will.</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; What good could I do you?</p>
+<p><i>Man</i>.&nbsp; What good? plenty!&nbsp; Would you not bring us
+luck?&nbsp; I have heard say that one of them there always does, if
+it will but settle down.&nbsp; Stay with us, you shall have a tilted
+cart all to yourself if you like.&nbsp; We&rsquo;ll make you our little
+God Almighty, and say our prayers to you every morning!</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; That would be nice; and, if you were to give
+me plenty of these things, I should have no objection.&nbsp; But what
+would my father say?&nbsp; I think he would hardly let me.</p>
+<p><i>Man</i>.&nbsp; Why not? he would be with you; and kindly would
+we treat him.&nbsp; Indeed, without your father you would be nothing
+at all.</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s true; but I do not think he could
+be spared from his regiment.&nbsp; I have heard him say that they could
+do nothing without him.</p>
+<p><i>Man</i>.&nbsp; His regiment!&nbsp; What are you talking about?&mdash;what
+does the child mean?</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; What do I mean!&mdash;why, that my father is
+an officer-man at the barracks yonder, keeping guard over the French
+prisoners.</p>
+<p><i>Man</i>.&nbsp; Oh! then that sap is not your father?</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; What, the snake?&nbsp; Why, no!&nbsp; Did you
+think he was?</p>
+<p><i>Man</i>.&nbsp; To be sure we did.&nbsp; Didn&rsquo;t you tell
+me so?</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; Why, yes; but who would have thought you would
+have believed it?&nbsp; It is a tame one.&nbsp; I hunt vipers, and tame
+them.</p>
+<p><i>Man</i>.&nbsp; O-h!</p>
+<p>&lsquo;O-h!&rsquo; grunted the woman, &lsquo;that&rsquo;s it, is
+it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The man and woman, who during this conversation had resumed their
+former positions within the tent, looked at each other with a queer
+look of surprise, as if somewhat disconcerted at what they now heard.&nbsp;
+They then entered into discourse with each other in the same strange
+tongue which had already puzzled me.&nbsp; At length the man looked
+me in the face, and said, somewhat hesitatingly, &lsquo;So you are not
+one of them there after all?&rsquo;</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; One of them there?&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t know
+what you mean.</p>
+<p><i>Man</i>.&nbsp; Why, we have been thinking you were a goblin&mdash;a
+devilkin!&nbsp; However, I see how it is: you are a sap-engro, a chap
+who catches snakes, and plays tricks with them!&nbsp; Well, it comes
+very nearly to the same thing; and if you please to list with us, and
+bear us pleasant company, we shall be glad of you.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d take
+my oath upon it, that we might make a mort of money by you and that
+sap, and the tricks it could do; and, as you seem fly to everything,
+I shouldn&rsquo;t wonder if you would make a prime hand at telling fortunes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I shouldn&rsquo;t wonder,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p><i>Man</i>.&nbsp; Of course.&nbsp; And you might still be our God
+Almighty, or at any rate our clergyman, so you should live in a tilted
+cart by yourself, and say prayers to us night and morning&mdash;to wifelkin
+here, and all our family; there&rsquo;s plenty of us when we are all
+together: as I said before, you seem fly, I shouldn&rsquo;t wonder if
+you could read?</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh yes!&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I can read&rsquo;; and, eager
+to display my accomplishments, I took my book out of my pocket, and,
+opening it at random, proceeded to read how a certain man, whilst wandering
+about a certain solitary island, entered a cave, the mouth of which
+was overgrown with brushwood, and how he was nearly frightened to death
+in that cave by something which he saw.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That will do,&rsquo; said the man; &lsquo;that&rsquo;s the
+kind of prayers for me and my family, aren&rsquo;t they, wifelkin?&nbsp;
+I never heard more delicate prayers in all my life!&nbsp; Why, they
+beat the rubricals hollow!&mdash;and here comes my son Jasper.&nbsp;
+I say, Jasper, here&rsquo;s a young sap-engro that can read, and is
+more fly than yourself.&nbsp; Shake hands with him; I wish ye to be
+two brothers.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>With a swift but stealthy pace Jasper came towards us from the farther
+part of the lane; on reaching the tent he stood still, and looked fixedly
+upon me as I sat upon the stool; I looked fixedly upon him.&nbsp; A
+queer look had Jasper; he was a lad of some twelve or thirteen years,
+with long arms, unlike the singular being who called himself his father;
+his complexion was ruddy, but his face was seamed, though it did not
+bear the peculiar scar which disfigured the countenance of the other;
+nor, though roguish enough, a certain evil expression which that of
+the other bore, and which the face of the woman possessed in a yet more
+remarkable degree.&nbsp; For the rest, he wore drab breeches, with certain
+strings at the knee, a rather gay waistcoat, and tolerably white shirt;
+under his arm he bore a mighty whip of whalebone with a brass knob,
+and upon his head was a hat without either top or brim.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There, Jasper! shake hands with the sap-engro.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Can he box, father?&rsquo; said Jasper, surveying me rather
+contemptuously.&nbsp; &lsquo;I should think not, he looks so puny and
+small.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Hold your peace, fool!&rsquo; said the man; &lsquo;he can
+do more than that&mdash;I tell you he&rsquo;s fly: he carries a sap
+about, which would sting a ninny like you to dead.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What, a sap-engro!&rsquo; said the boy, with a singular whine,
+and, stooping down, he leered curiously in my face, kindly, however,
+and then patted me on the head.&nbsp; &lsquo;A sap-engro,&rsquo; he
+ejaculated; &lsquo;lor!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, and one of the right sort,&rsquo; said the man; &lsquo;I
+am glad we have met with him, he is going to list with us, and be our
+clergyman and God Almighty, ain&rsquo;t you, my tawny?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;I must see what
+my father will say.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Your father; bah!&rsquo;&mdash;but here he stopped, for a
+sound was heard like the rapid galloping of a horse, not loud and distinct
+as on a road, but dull and heavy as if upon a grass sward; nearer and
+nearer it came, and the man, starting up, rushed out of the tent, and
+looked around anxiously.&nbsp; I arose from the stool upon which I had
+been seated, and just at that moment, amidst a crashing of boughs and
+sticks, a man on horseback bounded over the hedge into the lane at a
+few yards&rsquo; distance from where we were: from the impetus of the
+leap the horse was nearly down on his knees; the rider, however, by
+dint of vigorous handling of the reins, prevented him from falling,
+and then rode up to the tent.&nbsp; &lsquo;&rsquo;Tis Nat,&rsquo; said
+the man; &lsquo;what brings him here?&rsquo;&nbsp; The new-comer was
+a stout burly fellow, about the middle age; he had a savage determined
+look, and his face was nearly covered over with carbuncles; he wore
+a broad slouching hat, and was dressed in a gray coat, cut in a fashion
+which I afterwards learnt to be the genuine Newmarket cut, the skirts
+being exceedingly short; his waistcoat was of red plush, and he wore
+broad corduroy breeches and white top-boots.&nbsp; The steed which carried
+him was of iron gray, spirited and powerful, but covered with sweat
+and foam.&nbsp; The fellow glanced fiercely and suspiciously around,
+and said something to the man of the tent in a harsh and rapid voice.&nbsp;
+A short and hurried conversation ensued in the strange tongue.&nbsp;
+I could not take my eyes off this new-comer.&nbsp; Oh, that half-jockey,
+half-bruiser countenance, I never forgot it!&nbsp; More than fifteen
+years afterwards I found myself amidst a crowd before Newgate; a gallows
+was erected, and beneath it stood a criminal, a notorious malefactor.&nbsp;
+I recognised him at once; the horseman of the lane is now beneath the
+fatal tree, but nothing altered; still the same man; jerking his head
+to the right and left with the same fierce and under glance, just as
+if the affairs of this world had the same kind of interest to the last;
+gray coat of Newmarket cut, plush waistcoat, corduroys, and boots, nothing
+altered; but the head, alas! is bare, and so is the neck.&nbsp; Oh,
+crime and virtue, virtue and crime!&mdash;it was old John Newton, I
+think, who, when he saw a man going to be hanged, said, &lsquo;There
+goes John Newton, but for the grace of God!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>But the lane, the lane, all was now in confusion in the lane; the
+man and woman were employed in striking the tents and in making hurried
+preparations for departure; the boy Jasper was putting the harness upon
+the ponies and attaching them to the carts; and, to increase the singularity
+of the scene, two or three wild-looking women and girls, in red cloaks
+and immense black beaver bonnets, came from I know not what direction,
+and, after exchanging a few words with the others, commenced with fierce
+and agitated gestures to assist them in their occupation.&nbsp; The
+rider meanwhile sat upon his horse, but evidently in a state of great
+impatience; he muttered curses between his teeth, spurred the animal
+furiously, and then reined it in, causing it to rear itself up nearly
+perpendicular.&nbsp; At last he said, &lsquo;Curse ye for Romans, how
+slow ye are! well, it is no business of mine, stay here all day if you
+like; I have given ye warning, I am off to the big north road.&nbsp;
+However, before I go, you had better give me all you have of that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Truly spoken, Nat, my pal,&rsquo; said the man; &lsquo;give
+it him, mother.&nbsp; There it is; now be off as soon as you please,
+and rid us of evil company.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The woman had handed him two bags formed of stocking, half full of
+something heavy, which looked through them for all the world like money
+of some kind.&nbsp; The fellow, on receiving them, thrust them without
+ceremony into the pockets of his coat, and then, without a word of farewell
+salutation, departed at a tremendous rate, the hoofs of his horse thundering
+for a long time on the hard soil of the neighbouring road, till the
+sound finally died away in the distance.&nbsp; The strange people were
+not slow in completing their preparations, and then, flogging their
+animals terrifically, hurried away seemingly in the same direction.</p>
+<p>The boy Jasper was last of the band.&nbsp; As he was following the
+rest, he stopped suddenly, and looked on the ground appearing to muse;
+then, turning round, he came up to me where I was standing, leered in
+my face, and then, thrusting out his hand, he said, &lsquo;Good-bye,
+Sap, I daresay we shall meet again, remember we are brothers; two gentle
+brothers.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Then whining forth, &lsquo;What a sap-engro, lor!&rsquo; he gave
+me a parting leer, and hastened away.</p>
+<p>I remained standing in the lane gazing after the retreating company.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;A strange set of people,&rsquo; said I at last; &lsquo;wonder
+who they can be?&rsquo;</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page47b.jpg">
+<img alt="Then whining forth, &lsquo;What a sap-engro, lor!&rsquo; he gave me a parting leer, and hastened away" src="images/page47s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2>
+<p>Three years&mdash;Lilly&rsquo;s grammar&mdash;Proficiency&mdash;Ignorant
+of figures&mdash;The school bell&mdash;Order of succession&mdash;Persecution&mdash;What
+are we to do?&mdash;Northward&mdash;A goodly scene&mdash;Haunted ground&mdash;Feats
+of chivalry&mdash;Rivers&mdash;Over the brig.</p>
+<p>Years passed on, even three years; during this period I had increased
+considerably in stature and in strength, and, let us hope, improved
+in mind; for I had entered on the study of the Latin language.&nbsp;
+The very first person to whose care I was intrusted for the acquisition
+of Latin was an old friend of my fathers, a clergyman who kept a seminary
+at a town the very next we visited after our departure from &lsquo;the
+Cross.&rsquo;&nbsp; Under his instruction, however, I continued only
+a few weeks, as we speedily left the place.&nbsp; &lsquo;Captain,&rsquo;
+said this divine, when my father came to take leave of him on the eve
+of our departure, &lsquo;I have a friendship for you, and therefore
+wish to give you a piece of advice concerning this son of yours.&nbsp;
+You are now removing him from my care; you do wrong, but we will let
+that pass.&nbsp; Listen to me: there is but one good school-book in
+the world&mdash;the one I use in my seminary&mdash;Lilly&rsquo;s Latin
+grammar, in which your son has already made some progress.&nbsp; If
+you are anxious for the success of your son in life, for the correctness
+of his conduct and the soundness of his principles, keep him to Lilly&rsquo;s
+grammar.&nbsp; If you can by any means, either fair or foul, induce
+him to get by heart Lilly&rsquo;s Latin grammar, you may set your heart
+at rest with respect to him; I, myself, will be his warrant.&nbsp; I
+never yet knew a boy that was induced, either by fair means or foul,
+to learn Lilly&rsquo;s Latin grammar by heart, who did not turn out
+a man, provided he lived long enough.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>My father, who did not understand the classical languages, received
+with respect the advice of his old friend, and from that moment conceived
+the highest opinion of Lilly&rsquo;s Latin grammar.&nbsp; During three
+years I studied Lilly&rsquo;s Latin grammar under the tuition of various
+schoolmasters, for I travelled with the regiment, and in every town
+in which we were stationary I was invariably (God bless my father!)
+sent to the classical academy of the place.&nbsp; It chanced, by good
+fortune, that in the generality of these schools the grammar of Lilly
+was in use; when, however, that was not the case, it made no difference
+in my educational course, my father always stipulating with the masters
+that I should be daily examined in Lilly.&nbsp; At the end of the three
+years I had the whole by heart; you had only to repeat the first two
+or three words of any sentence in any part of the book, and forthwith
+I would open cry, commencing without blundering and hesitation, and
+continue till you were glad to beg me to leave off, with many expressions
+of admiration at my proficiency in the Latin language.&nbsp; Sometimes,
+however, to convince you how well I merited these encomiums, I would
+follow you to the bottom of the stair, and even into the street, repeating
+in a kind of sing-song measure the sonorous lines of the golden schoolmaster.&nbsp;
+If I am here asked whether I understood anything of what I had got by
+heart, I reply&mdash;&lsquo;Never mind, I understand it all now, and
+believe that no one ever yet got Lilly&rsquo;s Latin grammar by heart
+when young, who repented of the feat at a mature age.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And, when my father saw that I had accomplished my task, he opened
+his mouth, and said, &lsquo;Truly, this is more than I expected.&nbsp;
+I did not think that there had been so much in you, either of application
+or capacity; you have now learnt all that is necessary, if my friend
+Dr. B---&rsquo;s opinion was sterling, as I have no doubt it was.&nbsp;
+You are still a child, however, and must yet go to school, in order
+that you may be kept out of evil company.&nbsp; Perhaps you may still
+contrive, now you have exhausted the barn, to pick up a grain or two
+in the barn-yard.&nbsp; You are still ignorant of figures, I believe,
+not that I would mention figures in the same day with Lilly&rsquo;s
+grammar.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>These words were uttered in a place called ---, in the north, or
+in the road to the north, to which, for some time past, our corps had
+been slowly advancing.&nbsp; I was sent to the school of the place,
+which chanced to be a day school.&nbsp; It was a somewhat extraordinary
+one, and a somewhat extraordinary event occurred to me within its walls.</p>
+<p>It occupied part of the farther end of a small plain, or square,
+at the outskirts of the town, close to some extensive bleaching fields.&nbsp;
+It was a long low building of one room, with no upper story; on the
+top was a kind of wooden box, or sconce, which I at first mistook for
+a pigeon-house, but which in reality contained a bell, to which was
+attached a rope, which, passing through the ceiling, hung dangling in
+the middle of the school-room.&nbsp; I am the more particular in mentioning
+this appurtenance, as I had soon occasion to scrape acquaintance with
+it in a manner not very agreeable to my feelings.&nbsp; The master was
+very proud of his bell, if I might judge from the fact of his eyes being
+frequently turned to that part of the ceiling from which the rope depended.&nbsp;
+Twice every day, namely, after the morning and evening tasks had been
+gone through, were the boys rung out of school by the monotonous jingle
+of this bell.&nbsp; This ringing out was rather a lengthy affair, for,
+as the master was a man of order and method, the boys were only permitted
+to go out of the room one by one; and as they were rather numerous,
+amounting, at least, to one hundred, and were taught to move at a pace
+of suitable decorum, at least a quarter of an hour elapsed from the
+commencement of the march before the last boy could make his exit.&nbsp;
+The office of bell-ringer was performed by every boy successively; and
+it so happened that, the very first day of my attendance at the school,
+the turn to ring the bell had, by order of succession, arrived at the
+place which had been allotted to me; for the master, as I have already
+observed, was a man of method and order, and every boy had a particular
+seat, to which he became a fixture as long as he continued at the school.</p>
+<p>So, upon this day, when the tasks were done and completed, and the
+boys sat with their hats and caps in their hands, anxiously expecting
+the moment of dismissal, it was suddenly notified to me, by the urchins
+who sat nearest to me, that I must get up and ring the bell.&nbsp; Now,
+as this was the first time that I had been at the school, I was totally
+unacquainted with the process, which I had never seen, and, indeed,
+had never heard of till that moment.&nbsp; I therefore sat still, not
+imagining it possible that any such duty could be required of me.&nbsp;
+But now, with not a little confusion, I perceived that the eyes of all
+the boys in the school were fixed upon me.&nbsp; Presently there were
+nods and winks in the direction of the bell-rope; and, as these produced
+no effect, uncouth visages were made, like those of monkeys when enraged;
+teeth were gnashed, tongues thrust out, and even fists were bent at
+me.&nbsp; The master, who stood at the end of the room, with a huge
+ferule under his arm, bent full upon me a look of stern appeal; and
+the ushers, of whom there were four, glared upon me, each from his own
+particular corner, as I vainly turned, in one direction and another,
+in search of one reassuring look.</p>
+<p>But now, probably in obedience to a sign from the master, the boys
+in my immediate neighbourhood began to maltreat me. Some pinched me
+with their fingers, some buffeted me, whilst others pricked me with
+pins, or the points of compasses.&nbsp; These arguments were not without
+effect.&nbsp; I sprang from my seat, and endeavoured to escape along
+a double line of benches, thronged with boys of all ages, from the urchin
+of six or seven to the nondescript of sixteen or seventeen.&nbsp; It
+was like running the gauntlet; every one, great or small, pinching,
+kicking, or otherwise maltreating me, as I passed by.</p>
+<p>Goaded on in this manner, I at length reached the middle of the room,
+where dangled the bell-rope, the cause of all my sufferings.&nbsp; I
+should have passed it&mdash;for my confusion was so great that I was
+quite at a loss to comprehend what all this could mean, and almost believed
+myself under the influence of an ugly dream&mdash;but now the boys,
+who were seated in advance in the row, arose with one accord, and barred
+my farther progress; and one, doubtless more sensible than the rest,
+seizing the rope, thrust it into my hand.&nbsp; I now began to perceive
+that the dismissal of the school, and my own release from torment, depended
+upon this selfsame rope.&nbsp; I therefore, in a fit of desperation,
+pulled it once or twice, and then left off, naturally supposing that
+I had done quite enough.&nbsp; The boys who sat next the door no sooner
+heard the bell, than, rising from their seats, they moved out at the
+door.&nbsp; The bell, however, had no sooner ceased to jingle, than
+they stopped short, and, turning round, stared at the master, as much
+as to say, &lsquo;What are we to do now?&rsquo;&nbsp; This was too much
+for the patience of the man of method, which my previous stupidity had
+already nearly exhausted.&nbsp; Dashing forward into the middle of the
+room, he struck me violently on the shoulders with his ferule, and,
+snatching the rope out of my hand, exclaimed, with a stentorian voice,
+and genuine Yorkshire accent, &lsquo;Prodigy of ignorance! dost not
+even know how to ring a bell?&nbsp; Must I myself instruct thee?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+He then commenced pulling at the bell with such violence that long before
+half the school was dismissed the rope broke, and the rest of the boys
+had to depart without their accustomed music.</p>
+<p>But I must not linger here, though I could say much about the school
+and the pedagogue highly amusing and diverting, which, however, I suppress,
+in order to make way for matters of yet greater interest.&nbsp; On we
+went, northward, northward! and, as we advanced, I saw that the country
+was becoming widely different from those parts of merry England in which
+we had previously travelled.&nbsp; It was wilder, and less cultivated,
+and more broken with hills and hillocks.&nbsp; The people, too, of these
+regions appeared to partake of something of the character of their country.&nbsp;
+They were coarsely dressed; tall and sturdy of frame; their voices were
+deep and guttural; and the half of the dialect which they spoke was
+unintelligible to my ears.</p>
+<p>I often wondered where we could be going, for I was at this time
+about as ignorant of geography as I was of most other things.&nbsp;
+However, I held my peace, asked no questions, and patiently awaited
+the issue.</p>
+<p>Northward, northward, still!&nbsp; And it came to pass that, one
+morning, I found myself extended on the bank of a river.&nbsp; It was
+a beautiful morning of early spring; small white clouds were floating
+in the heaven, occasionally veiling the countenance of the sun, whose
+light, as they retired, would again burst forth, coursing like a race-horse
+over the scene&mdash;and a goodly scene it was!&nbsp; Before me, across
+the water, on an eminence, stood a white old city, surrounded with lofty
+walls, above which rose the tops of tall houses, with here and there
+a church or steeple.&nbsp; To my right hand was a long and massive bridge,
+with many arches, and of antique architecture, which traversed the river.&nbsp;
+The river was a noble one; the broadest that I had hitherto seen.&nbsp;
+Its waters, of a greenish tinge, poured with impetuosity beneath the
+narrow arches to meet the sea, close at hand, as the boom of the billows
+breaking distinctly upon a beach declared.&nbsp; There were songs upon
+the river from the fisher-barks; and occasionally a chorus, plaintive
+and wild, such as I had never heard before, the words of which I did
+not understand, but which, at the present time, down the long avenue
+of years, seem in memory&rsquo;s ear to sound like &lsquo;Horam, coram,
+dago.&rsquo;&nbsp; Several robust fellows were near me, some knee-deep
+in water, employed in hauling the seine upon the strand.&nbsp; Huge
+fish were struggling amidst the meshes&mdash;princely salmon,&mdash;their
+brilliant mail of blue and silver flashing in the morning beam; so goodly
+and gay a scene, in truth, had never greeted my boyish eye.</p>
+<p>And, as I gazed upon the prospect, my bosom began to heave, and my
+tears to trickle.&nbsp; Was it the beauty of the scene which gave rise
+to these emotions?&nbsp; Possibly; for though a poor ignorant child&mdash;a
+half-wild creature&mdash;I was not insensible to the loveliness of nature,
+and took pleasure in the happiness and handiworks of my fellow-creatures.&nbsp;
+Yet, perhaps, in something more deep and mysterious the feelings which
+then pervaded me might originate.&nbsp; Who can lie down on Elvir Hill
+without experiencing something of the sorcery of the place?&nbsp; Flee
+from Elvir Hill, young swain, or the maids of Elle will have power over
+you, and you will go elf-wild!&mdash;so say the Danes.&nbsp; I had unconsciously
+laid myself down upon haunted ground; and I am willing to imagine that
+what I then experienced was rather connected with the world of spirits
+and dreams than with what I actually saw and heard around me.&nbsp;
+Surely the elves and genii of the place were conversing, by some inscrutable
+means, with the principle of intelligence lurking within the poor uncultivated
+clod!&nbsp; Perhaps to that ethereal principle the wonders of the past,
+as connected with that stream, the glories of the present, and even
+the history of the future, were at that moment being revealed!&nbsp;
+Of how many feats of chivalry had those old walls been witness, when
+hostile kings contended for their possession!&mdash;how many an army
+from the south and from the north had trod that old bridge!&mdash;what
+red and noble blood had crimsoned those rushing waters!-what strains
+had been sung, ay, were yet being sung, on its banks!&mdash;some soft
+as Doric reed; some fierce and sharp as those of Norwegian Skaldaglam;
+some as replete with wild and wizard force as Finland&rsquo;s runes,
+singing of Kalevala&rsquo;s moors, and the deeds of Woinomoinen!&nbsp;
+Honour to thee, thou island stream!&nbsp; Onward may thou ever roll,
+fresh and green, rejoicing in thy bright past, thy glorious present,
+and in vivid hope of a triumphant future!&nbsp; Flow on, beautiful one!&mdash;which
+of the world&rsquo;s streams canst thou envy, with thy beauty and renown?&nbsp;
+Stately is the Danube, rolling in its might through lands romantic with
+the wild exploits of Turk, Polak, and Magyar!&nbsp; Lovely is the Rhine!
+on its shelvy banks grows the racy grape; and strange old keeps of robber-knights
+of yore are reflected in its waters, from picturesque crags and airy
+headlands!&mdash;yet neither the stately Danube nor the beauteous Rhine,
+with all their fame, though abundant, needst thou envy, thou pure island
+stream!&mdash;and far less yon turbid river of old, not modern renown,
+gurgling beneath the walls of what was once proud Rome, towering Rome,
+Jupiter&rsquo;s town, but now vile Rome, crumbling Rome, Batuscha&rsquo;s
+town, far less needst thou envy the turbid Tiber of bygone fame, creeping
+sadly to the sea, surcharged with the abominations of modern Rome&mdash;how
+unlike to thee, thou pure island stream!</p>
+<p>And, as I lay on the bank and wept, there drew nigh to me a man in
+the habiliments of a fisher.&nbsp; He was bare-legged, of a weather-beaten
+countenance, and of stature approaching to the gigantic.&nbsp; &lsquo;What
+is the callant greeting for?&rsquo; said he, as he stopped and surveyed
+me.&nbsp; &lsquo;Has onybody wrought ye ony harm?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not that I know of,&rsquo; I replied, rather guessing at than
+understanding his question; &lsquo;I was crying because I could not
+help it!&nbsp; I say, old one, what is the name of this river?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Hout!&nbsp; I now see what you was greeting at&mdash;at your
+ain ignorance, nae doubt&mdash;&rsquo;tis very great!&nbsp; Weel, I
+will na fash you with reproaches, but even enlighten ye, since you seem
+a decent man&rsquo;s bairn, and you speir a civil question.&nbsp; Yon
+river is called the Tweed; and yonder, over the brig, is Scotland.&nbsp;
+Did ye never hear of the Tweed, my bonny man?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said I, as I rose from the grass, and proceeded
+to cross the bridge to the town at which we had arrived the preceding
+night; &lsquo;I never heard of it; but now I have seen it, I shall not
+soon forget it!&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2>
+<p>The Castle&mdash;A father&rsquo;s inquiries&mdash;Scotch language&mdash;A
+determination&mdash;Bui hin Digri&mdash;Good Scotchman&mdash;Difference
+of races&mdash;Ne&rsquo;er a haggis&mdash;Pugnacious people&mdash;Wha
+are ye, man?&mdash;The Nor Loch&mdash;Gestures wild&mdash;The bicker&mdash;New
+Town champion&mdash;Wild-looking figure&mdash;Headlong.</p>
+<p>It was not long before we found ourselves at Edinburgh, or rather
+in the Castle, into which the regiment marched with drums beating, colours
+flying, and a long train of baggage-waggons behind.&nbsp; The Castle
+was, as I suppose it is now, a garrison for soldiers.&nbsp; Two other
+regiments were already there; the one an Irish, if I remember right,
+the other a small Highland corps.</p>
+<p>It is hardly necessary to say much about this Castle, which everybody
+has seen; on which account, doubtless, nobody has ever yet thought fit
+to describe it&mdash;at least that I am aware.&nbsp; Be this as it may,
+I have no intention of describing it, and shall content myself with
+observing that we took up our abode in that immense building, or caserne,
+of modern erection, which occupies the entire eastern side of the bold
+rock on which the Castle stands.&nbsp; A gallant caserne it was&mdash;the
+best and roomiest that I had hitherto seen&mdash;rather cold and windy,
+it is true, especially in the winter, but commanding a noble prospect
+of a range of distant hills, which I was told were &lsquo;the hieland
+hills,&rsquo; and of a broad arm of the sea, which I heard somebody
+say was the Firth of Forth.</p>
+<p>My brother, who, for some years past, had been receiving his education
+in a certain celebrated school in England, was now with us; and it came
+to pass, that one day my father, as he sat at table, looked steadfastly
+on my brother and myself, and then addressed my mother:&mdash;&lsquo;During
+my journey down hither, I have lost no opportunity of making inquiries
+about these people, the Scotch, amongst whom we now are, and since I
+have been here I have observed them attentively.&nbsp; From what I have
+heard and seen, I should say that upon the whole they are a very decent
+set of people; they seem acute and intelligent, and I am told that their
+system of education is so excellent that every person is learned&mdash;more
+or less acquainted with Greek and Latin.&nbsp; There is one thing, however,
+connected with them, which is a great drawback&mdash;the horrid jargon
+which they speak.&nbsp; However learned they may be in Greek and Latin,
+their English is execrable; and yet I&rsquo;m told it is not so bad
+as it was.&nbsp; I was in company, the other day, with an Englishman
+who has resided here many years.&nbsp; We were talking about the country
+and the people.&nbsp; &ldquo;I should like both very well,&rdquo; said
+I, &ldquo;were it not for the language.&nbsp; I wish sincerely our Parliament,
+which is passing so many foolish acts every year, would pass one to
+force these Scotch to speak English.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;I wish so,
+too,&rdquo; said he.&nbsp; &ldquo;The language is a disgrace to the
+British Government; but, if you had heard it twenty years ago, captain!&mdash;if
+you had heard it as it was spoken when I first came to Edinburgh!&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Only custom,&rsquo; said my mother.&nbsp; &lsquo;I daresay
+the language is now what it was then.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know,&rsquo; said my father; &lsquo;though I
+daresay you are right; it could never have been worse than it is at
+present.&nbsp; But now to the point.&nbsp; Were it not for the language,
+which, if the boys were to pick it up, might ruin their prospects in
+life,&mdash;were it not for that, I should very much like to send them
+to a school there is in this place, which everybody talks about&mdash;the
+High School I think they call it.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis said to be the best
+school in the whole island; but the idea of one&rsquo;s children speaking
+Scotch&mdash;broad Scotch!&nbsp; I must think the matter over.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And he did think the matter over; and the result of his deliberation
+was a determination to send us to the school.&nbsp; Let me call thee
+up before my mind&rsquo;s eye, High School, to which, every morning,
+the two English brothers took their way from the proud old Castle through
+the lofty streets of the Old Town.&nbsp; High School!&mdash;called so,
+I scarcely know why; neither lofty in thyself nor by position, being
+situated in a flat bottom; oblong structure of tawny stone, with many
+windows fenced with iron netting&mdash;with thy long hall below, and
+thy five chambers above, for the reception of the five classes, into
+which the eight hundred urchins who styled thee instructress were divided.&nbsp;
+Thy learned rector and his four subordinate dominies; thy strange old
+porter of the tall form and grizzled hair, hight Boee, and doubtless
+of Norse ancestry, as his name declares; perhaps of the blood of Bui
+hin Digri, the hero of northern song&mdash;the Jomsborg Viking who clove
+Thorsteinn Midlangr asunder in the dread sea battle of Horunga Vog,
+and who, when the fight was lost and his own two hands smitten off,
+seized two chests of gold with his bloody stumps, and, springing with
+them into the sea, cried to the scanty relics of his crew, &lsquo;Overboard
+now, all Bui&rsquo;s lads!&rsquo;&nbsp; Yes, I remember all about thee,
+and how at eight of every morn we were all gathered together with one
+accord in the long hall, from which, after the litanies had been read
+(for so I will call them, being an Episcopalian), the five classes from
+the five sets of benches trotted off in long files, one boy after the
+other, up the five spiral staircases of stone, each class to its destination;
+and well do I remember how we of the third sat hushed and still, watched
+by the eye of the dux, until the door opened, and in walked that model
+of a good Scotchman, the shrewd, intelligent, but warm-hearted and kind
+dominie, the respectable Carson.</p>
+<p>And in this school I began to construe the Latin language, which
+I had never done before, notwithstanding my long and diligent study
+of Lilly, which illustrious grammar was not used at Edinburgh, nor indeed
+known.&nbsp; Greek was only taught in the fifth or highest class, in
+which my brother was; as for myself, I never got beyond the third during
+the two years that I remained at this seminary.&nbsp; I certainly acquired
+here a considerable insight in the Latin tongue; and, to the scandal
+of my father and horror of my mother, a thorough proficiency in the
+Scotch, which, in less than two months, usurped the place of the English,
+and so obstinately maintained its ground, that I still can occasionally
+detect its lingering remains.&nbsp; I did not spend my time unpleasantly
+at this school, though, first of all, I had to pass through an ordeal.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Scotland is a better country than England,&rsquo; said an
+ugly, blear-eyed lad, about a head and shoulders taller than myself,
+the leader of a gang of varlets who surrounded me in the playground,
+on the first day, as soon as the morning lesson was over.&nbsp; &lsquo;Scotland
+is a far better country than England, in every respect.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is it?&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;Then you ought to be very
+thankful for not having been born in England.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That&rsquo;s just what I am, ye loon; and every morning, when
+I say my prayers, I thank God for not being an Englishman.&nbsp; The
+Scotch are a much better and braver people than the English.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It may be so,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;for what I know&mdash;indeed,
+till I came here, I never heard a word either about the Scotch or their
+country.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are ye making fun of us, ye English puppy?&rsquo; said the
+blear-eyed lad; &lsquo;take that!&rsquo; and I was presently beaten
+black and blue.&nbsp; And thus did I first become aware of the difference
+of races and their antipathy to each other.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Bow to the storm, and it shall pass over you.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+I held my peace, and silently submitted to the superiority of the Scotch&mdash;<i>in
+numbers</i>.&nbsp; This was enough; from an object of persecution I
+soon became one of patronage, especially amongst the champions of the
+class.&nbsp; &lsquo;The English,&rsquo; said the blear-eyed lad, &lsquo;though
+a wee bit behind the Scotch in strength and fortitude, are nae to be
+sneezed at, being far ahead of the Irish, to say nothing of the French,
+a pack of cowardly scoundrels.&nbsp; And with regard to the English
+country, it is na Scotland, it is true, but it has its gude properties;
+and, though there is ne&rsquo;er a haggis in a&rsquo; the land, there&rsquo;s
+an unco deal o&rsquo; gowd and siller.&nbsp; I respect England, for
+I have an auntie married there.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The Scotch are certainly a most pugnacious people; their whole history
+proves it.&nbsp; Witness their incessant wars with the English in the
+olden time, and their internal feuds, highland and lowland, clan with
+clan, family with family, Saxon with Gael.&nbsp; In my time, the schoolboys,
+for want, perhaps, of English urchins to contend with, were continually
+fighting with each other; every noon there was at least one pugilistic
+encounter, and sometimes three.&nbsp; In one month I witnessed more
+of these encounters than I had ever previously seen under similar circumstances
+in England.&nbsp; After all, there was not much harm done.&nbsp; Harm!
+what harm could result from short chopping blows, a hug, and a tumble?&nbsp;
+I was witness to many a sounding whack, some blood shed, &lsquo;a blue
+ee&rsquo; now and then, but nothing more.&nbsp; In England, on the contrary,
+where the lads were comparatively mild, gentle, and pacific, I had been
+present at more than one death caused by blows in boyish combats, in
+which the oldest of the victors had scarcely reached thirteen years;
+but these blows were in the jugular, given with the full force of the
+arm shot out horizontally from the shoulder.</p>
+<p>But the Scotch&mdash;though by no means proficients in boxing (and
+how should they box, seeing that they have never had a teacher?)&mdash;are,
+I repeat, a most pugnacious people; at least they were in my time.&nbsp;
+Anything served them, that is, the urchins, as a pretence for a fray,
+or, Dorically speaking, a <i>bicker</i>; every street and close was
+at feud with its neighbour; the lads of the school were at feud with
+the young men of the college, whom they pelted in winter with snow,
+and in summer with stones; and then the feud between the old and new
+town!</p>
+<p>One day I was standing on the ramparts of the Castle on the south-western
+side which overhangs the green brae, where it slopes down into what
+was in those days the green swamp or morass, called by the natives of
+Auld Reekie the Nor Loch; it was a dark gloomy day, and a thin veil
+of mist was beginning to settle down upon the brae and the morass.&nbsp;
+I could perceive, however, that there was a skirmish taking place in
+the latter spot.&nbsp; I had an indistinct view of two parties&mdash;apparently
+of urchins&mdash;and I heard whoops and shrill cries: eager to know
+the cause of this disturbance, I left the Castle, and descending the
+brae reached the borders of the morass, where were a runnel of water
+and the remains of an old wall, on the other side of which a narrow
+path led across the swamp: upon this path at a little distance before
+me there was &lsquo;a bicker.&rsquo;&nbsp; I pushed forward, but had
+scarcely crossed the ruined wall and runnel, when the party nearest
+to me gave way, and in great confusion came running in my direction.&nbsp;
+As they drew nigh, one of them shouted to me, &lsquo;Wha are ye, man?
+are ye o&rsquo; the Auld Toon?&rsquo;&nbsp; I made no answer.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Ha! ye are o&rsquo; the New Toon; De&rsquo;il tak ye, we&rsquo;ll
+moorder ye&rsquo;; and the next moment a huge stone sung past my head.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Let me be, ye fule bodies,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I&rsquo;m no
+of either of ye, I live yonder aboon in the Castle.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Ah!
+ye live in the Castle; then ye&rsquo;re an auld tooner; come gie us
+your help, man, and dinna stand there staring like a dunnot, we want
+help sair eneugh.&nbsp; Here are stanes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>For my own part I wished for nothing better, and, rushing forward,
+I placed myself at the head of my new associates, and commenced flinging
+stones fast and desperately.&nbsp; The other party now gave way in their
+turn, closely followed by ourselves; I was in the van, and about to
+stretch out my hand to seize the hindermost boy of the enemy, when,
+not being acquainted with the miry and difficult paths of the Nor Loch,
+and in my eagerness taking no heed of my footing, I plunged into a quagmire,
+into which I sank as far as my shoulders.&nbsp; Our adversaries no sooner
+perceived this disaster, than, setting up a shout, they wheeled round
+and attacked us most vehemently.&nbsp; Had my comrades now deserted
+me, my life had not been worth a straw&rsquo;s purchase, I should either
+have been smothered in the quag, or, what is more probable, had my brains
+beaten out with stones; but they behaved like true Scots, and fought
+stoutly around their comrade, until I was extricated, whereupon both
+parties retired, the night being near at hand.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ye are na a bad hand at flinging stanes,&rsquo; said the lad
+who first addressed me, as we now returned up the brae; &lsquo;your
+aim is right dangerous, mon, I saw how ye skelpit them, ye maun help
+us agin thae New Toon blackguards at our next bicker.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>So to the next bicker I went, and to many more, which speedily followed
+as the summer advanced; the party to which I had given my help on the
+first occasion consisted merely of outlyers, posted about half-way up
+the hill, for the purpose of overlooking the movements of the enemy.</p>
+<p>Did the latter draw nigh in any considerable force, messengers were
+forthwith despatched to the &lsquo;Auld Toon,&rsquo; especially to the
+filthy alleys and closes of the High Street, which forthwith would disgorge
+swarms of bare-headed and bare-footed &lsquo;callants,&rsquo; who, with
+gestures wild and &lsquo;eldrich screech and hollo,&rsquo; might frequently
+be seen pouring down the sides of the hill.&nbsp; I have seen upwards
+of a thousand engaged on either side in these frays, which I have no
+doubt were full as desperate as the fights described in the <i>Iliad</i>,
+and which were certainly much more bloody than the combats of modern
+Greece in the war of independence: the callants not only employed their
+hands in hurling stones, but not unfrequently slings; at the use of
+which they were very expert, and which occasionally dislodged teeth,
+shattered jaws, or knocked out an eye.&nbsp; Our opponents certainly
+laboured under considerable disadvantage, being compelled not only to
+wade across a deceitful bog, but likewise to clamber up part of a steep
+hill, before they could attack us; nevertheless, their determination
+was such, and such their impetuosity, that we had sometimes difficulty
+enough to maintain our own.&nbsp; I shall never forget one bicker, the
+last indeed which occurred at that time, as the authorities of the town,
+alarmed by the desperation of its character, stationed forthwith a body
+of police on the hill-side, to prevent, in future, any such breaches
+of the peace.</p>
+<p>It was a beautiful Sunday evening, the rays of the descending sun
+were reflected redly from the gray walls of the Castle, and from the
+black rocks on which it was founded.&nbsp; The bicker had long since
+commenced, stones from sling and hand were flying; but the callants
+of the New Town were now carrying everything before them.</p>
+<p>A full-grown baker&rsquo;s apprentice was at their head; he was foaming
+with rage, and had taken the field, as I was told, in order to avenge
+his brother, whose eye had been knocked out in one of the late bickers.&nbsp;
+He was no slinger or flinger, but brandished in his right hand the spoke
+of a cart-wheel, like my countryman Tom Hickathrift of old in his encounter
+with the giant of the Lincolnshire fen.&nbsp; Protected by a piece of
+wicker-work attached to his left arm, he rushed on to the fray, disregarding
+the stones which were showered against him, and was ably seconded by
+his followers.&nbsp; Our own party was chased half-way up the hill,
+where I was struck to the ground by the baker, after having been foiled
+in an attempt which I had made to fling a handful of earth into his
+eyes.&nbsp; All now appeared lost, the Auld Toon was in full retreat.&nbsp;
+I myself lay at the baker&rsquo;s feet, who had just raised his spoke,
+probably to give me the <i>coup de grace</i>,&mdash;it was an awful
+moment.&nbsp; Just then I heard a shout and a rushing sound; a wild-looking
+figure is descending the hill with terrible bounds; it is a lad of some
+fifteen years; he is bare-headed, and his red uncombed hair stands on
+end like hedgehogs&rsquo; bristles: his frame is lithy, like that of
+an antelope, but he has prodigious breadth of chest; he wears a military
+undress, that of the regiment, even of a drummer, for it is wild Davy,
+whom a month before I had seen enlisted on Leith Links to serve King
+George with drum and drumstick as long as his services might be required,
+and who, ere a week had elapsed, had smitten with his fist Drum-Major
+Elzigood, who, incensed at his inaptitude, had threatened him with his
+cane; he has been in confinement for weeks, this is the first day of
+his liberation, and he is now descending the hill with horrid bounds
+and shoutings; he is now about five yards distant, and the baker, who
+apprehends that something dangerous is at hand, prepares himself for
+the encounter; but what avails the strength of a baker, even full grown?&mdash;what
+avails the defence of a wicker shield?&mdash;what avails the wheel-spoke,
+should there be an opportunity of using it, against the impetus of an
+avalanche or a cannon-ball?&mdash;for to either of these might that
+wild figure be compared, which, at the distance of five yards, sprang
+at once with head, hands, feet and body, all together, upon the champion
+of the New Town, tumbling him to the earth amain.&nbsp; And now it was
+the turn of the Old Town to triumph.&nbsp; Our late discomfited host,
+returning on its steps, overwhelmed the fallen champion with blows of
+every kind, and then, led on by his vanquisher, who had assumed his
+arms, namely, the wheel-spoke and wicker shield, fairly cleared the
+brae of their adversaries, whom they drove down headlong into the morass.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
+<p>Expert climbers&mdash;The crags&mdash;Something red&mdash;The horrible
+edge&mdash;David Haggart&mdash;Fine materials&mdash;The greatest victory&mdash;Extraordinary
+robber&mdash;The ruling passion.</p>
+<p>Meanwhile I had become a daring cragsman, a character to which an
+English lad has seldom opportunities of aspiring; for in England there
+are neither crags nor mountains.&nbsp; Of these, however, as is well
+known, there is no lack in Scotland, and the habits of individuals are
+invariably in harmony with the country in which they dwell.&nbsp; The
+Scotch are expert climbers, and I was now a Scot in most things, particularly
+in language.&nbsp; The Castle in which I dwelt stood upon a rock, a
+bold and craggy one, which, at first sight, would seem to bid defiance
+to any feet save those of goats and chamois; but patience and perseverance
+generally enable mankind to overcome things which, at first sight, appear
+impossible.&nbsp; Indeed, what is there above man&rsquo;s exertions?&nbsp;
+Unwearied determination will enable him to run with the horse, to swim
+with the fish, and assuredly to compete with the chamois and the goat
+in agility and sureness of foot.&nbsp; To scale the rock was merely
+child&rsquo;s play for the Edinbro&rsquo; callants.&nbsp; It was my
+own favourite diversion.&nbsp; I soon found that the rock contained
+all manner of strange crypts, crannies, and recesses, where owls nestled,
+and the weasel brought forth her young; here and there were small natural
+platforms, overgrown with long grass and various kinds of plants, where
+the climber, if so disposed, could stretch himself, and either give
+his eyes to sleep or his mind to thought; for capital places were these
+same platforms either for repose or meditation.&nbsp; The boldest features
+of the rock are descried on the northern side, where, after shelving
+down gently from the wall for some distance, it terminates abruptly
+in a precipice, black and horrible, of some three hundred feet at least,
+as if the axe of nature had been here employed cutting sheer down, and
+leaving behind neither excrescence nor spur&mdash;a dizzy precipice
+it is, assimilating much to those so frequent in the flinty hills of
+Northern Africa, and exhibiting some distant resemblance to that of
+Gibraltar, towering in its horridness above the Neutral Ground.</p>
+<p>It was now holiday time, and having nothing particular wherewith
+to occupy myself, I not unfrequently passed the greater part of the
+day upon the rocks.&nbsp; Once, after scaling the western crags, and
+creeping round a sharp angle of the wall, overhung by a kind of watch-tower,
+I found myself on the northern side.&nbsp; Still keeping close to the
+wall, I was proceeding onward, for I was bent upon a long excursion
+which should embrace half the circuit of the Castle, when suddenly my
+eye was attracted by the appearance of something red, far below me;
+I stopped short, and, looking fixedly upon it, perceived that it was
+a human being in a kind of red jacket, seated on the extreme verge of
+the precipice which I have already made a faint attempt to describe.&nbsp;
+Wondering who it could be, I shouted; but it took not the slightest
+notice, remaining as immovable as the rock on which it sat.&nbsp; &lsquo;I
+should never have thought of going near that edge,&rsquo; said I to
+myself; &lsquo;however, as you have done it, why should not I?&nbsp;
+And I should like to know who you are.&rsquo;&nbsp; So I commenced the
+descent of the rock, but with great care, for I had as yet never been
+in a situation so dangerous; a slight moisture exuded from the palms
+of my hands, my nerves were tingling, and my brain was somewhat dizzy&mdash;and
+now I had arrived within a few yards of the figure, and had recognised
+it: it was the wild drummer who had turned the tide of battle in the
+bicker on the Castle Brae.&nbsp; A small stone which I dislodged now
+rolled down the rock, and tumbled into the abyss close beside him.&nbsp;
+He turned his head, and after looking at me for a moment somewhat vacantly,
+he resumed his former attitude.&nbsp; I drew yet nearer to the horrible
+edge not close, however, for fear was on me.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What are you thinking of, David?&rsquo; said I, as I sat behind
+him and trembled, for I repeat that I was afraid.</p>
+<p><i>David Haggart</i>.&nbsp; I was thinking of Willie Wallace.</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; You had better be thinking of yourself, man.&nbsp;
+A strange place this to come to and think of William Wallace.</p>
+<p><i>David Haggart</i>.&nbsp; Why so?&nbsp; Is not his tower just beneath
+our feet?</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; You mean the auld ruin by the side of the Nor
+Loch&mdash;the ugly stane bulk, from the foot of which flows the spring
+into the dyke where the watercresses grow?</p>
+<p><i>David Haggart</i>.&nbsp; Just sae, Geordie.</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; And why were ye thinking of him?&nbsp; The English
+hanged him long since, as I have heard say.</p>
+<p><i>David Haggart</i>.&nbsp; I was thinking that I should wish to
+be like him.</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; Do ye mean that ye would wish to be hanged?</p>
+<p><i>David Haggart</i>.&nbsp; I wadna flinch from that, Geordie, if
+I might be a great man first.</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; And wha kens, Davie, how great you may be, even
+without hanging?&nbsp; Are ye not in the high road of preferment?&nbsp;
+Are ye not a bauld drummer already?&nbsp; Wha kens how high ye may rise?
+perhaps to be general, or drum-major.</p>
+<p><i>David Haggart</i>.&nbsp; I hae nae wish to be drum-major; it were
+nae great things to be like the doited carle, Else-than-gude, as they
+call him; and, troth, he has nae his name for naething.&nbsp; But I
+should have nae objection to be a general, and to fight the French and
+Americans, and win myself a name and a fame like Willie Wallace, and
+do brave deeds, such as I have been reading about in his story book.</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; Ye are a fule, Davie; the story book is full
+of lies.&nbsp; Wallace, indeed! the wuddie rebel!&nbsp; I have heard
+my father say that the Duke of Cumberland was worth twenty of Willie
+Wallace.</p>
+<p><i>David Haggart</i>.&nbsp; Ye had better sae naething agin Willie
+Wallace, Geordie, for, if ye do, De&rsquo;il hae me, if I dinna tumble
+ye doon the craig.</p>
+<p>Fine materials in that lad for a hero, you will say.&nbsp; Yes, indeed,
+for a hero, or for what he afterwards became.&nbsp; In other times,
+and under other circumstances, he might have made what is generally
+termed a great man, a patriot, or a conqueror.&nbsp; As it was, the
+very qualities which might then have pushed him on to fortune and renown
+were the cause of his ruin.&nbsp; The war over, he fell into evil courses;
+for his wild heart and ambitious spirit could not brook the sober and
+quiet pursuits of honest industry.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Can an Arabian steed submit to be a vile drudge?&rsquo; I
+cries the fatalist.&nbsp; Nonsense!&nbsp; A man is not an irrational
+creature, but a reasoning being, and has something within him beyond
+mere brutal instinct.&nbsp; The greatest victory which a man can achieve
+is over himself, by which is meant those unruly passions which are not
+convenient to the time and place.&nbsp; David did not do this; he gave
+the reins to his wild heart, instead of curbing it, and became a robber,
+and, alas! alas! he shed blood&mdash;under peculiar circumstances, it
+is true, and without <i>malice prepense</i>&mdash;and for that blood
+he eventually died, and justly; for it was that of the warden of a prison
+from which he was escaping, and whom he slew with one blow of his stalwart
+arm.</p>
+<p>Tamerlane and Haggart!&nbsp; Haggart and Tamerlane!&nbsp; Both these
+men were robbers, and of low birth, yet one perished on an ignoble scaffold,
+and the other died emperor of the world.&nbsp; Is this justice?&nbsp;
+The ends of the two men were widely dissimilar&mdash;yet what is the
+intrinsic difference between them?&nbsp; Very great indeed; the one
+acted according to his lights and his country, not so the other.&nbsp;
+Tamerlane was a heathen, and acted according to his lights; he was a
+robber where all around were robbers, but he became the avenger of God&mdash;God&rsquo;s
+scourge on unjust kings, on the cruel Bajazet, who had plucked out his
+own brothers&rsquo; eyes; he became to a certain extent the purifier
+of the East, its regenerator; his equal never was before, nor has it
+since been seen.&nbsp; Here the wild heart was profitably employed,
+the wild strength, the teeming brain.&nbsp; Onward, Lame one!&nbsp;
+Onward, Tamur&mdash;lank!&nbsp; Haggart . . . .</p>
+<p>But peace to thee, poor David! why should a mortal worm be sitting
+in judgment over thee?&nbsp; The Mighty and Just One has already judged
+thee, and perhaps above thou hast received pardon for thy crimes, which
+could not be pardoned here below; and now that thy feverish existence
+has closed, and thy once active form become inanimate dust, thy very
+memory all but forgotten, I will say a few words about thee, a few words
+soon also to be forgotten.&nbsp; Thou wast the most extraordinary robber
+that ever lived within the belt of Britain; Scotland rang with thy exploits,
+and England, too, north of the Humber; strange deeds also didst thou
+achieve when, fleeing from justice, thou didst find thyself in the Sister
+Isle; busy wast thou there in town and on curragh, at fair and race-course,
+and also in the solitary place.&nbsp; Ireland thought thee her child,
+for who spoke her brogue better than thyself?&mdash;she felt proud of
+thee, and said, &lsquo;Sure, O&rsquo;Hanlon is come again.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+What might not have been thy fate in the far west in America, whither
+thou hadst turned thine eye, saying, &lsquo;I will go there, and become
+an honest man!&rsquo;&nbsp; But thou wast not to go there, David&mdash;the
+blood which thou hadst shed in Scotland was to be required of thee;
+the avenger was at hand, the avenger of blood.&nbsp; Seized, manacled,
+brought back to thy native land, condemned to die, thou wast left in
+thy narrow cell, and told to make the most of thy time, for it was short:
+and there, in thy narrow cell, and thy time so short, thou didst put
+the crowning stone to thy strange deeds, by that strange history of
+thyself, penned by thy own hand in the robber tongue.&nbsp; Thou mightest
+have been better employed, David!&mdash;but the ruling passion was strong
+with thee, even in the jaws of death.&nbsp; Thou mightest have been
+better employed!&mdash;but peace be with thee, I repeat, and the Almighty&rsquo;s
+grace and pardon.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2>
+<p>Napoleon&mdash;The storm&mdash;The cove&mdash;Up the country&mdash;The
+trembling hand&mdash;Irish&mdash;Tough battle&mdash;Tipperary hills&mdash;Elegant
+lodgings&mdash;A speech&mdash;Fair specimen&mdash;Orangemen.</p>
+<p>Onward, onward! and after we had sojourned in Scotland nearly two
+years, the long continental war had been brought to an end, Napoleon
+was humbled for a time, and the Bourbons restored to a land which could
+well have dispensed with them; we returned to England, where the corps
+was disbanded, and my parents with their family retired to private life.&nbsp;
+I shall pass over in silence the events of a year, which offer little
+of interest as far as connected with me and mine.&nbsp; Suddenly, however,
+the sound of war was heard again, Napoleon had broken forth from Elba,
+and everything was in confusion.&nbsp; Vast military preparations were
+again made, our own corps was levied anew, and my brother became an
+officer in it; but the danger was soon over, Napoleon was once more
+quelled, and chained for ever, like Prometheus, to his rock.&nbsp; As
+the corps, however, though so recently levied, had already become a
+very fine one, thanks to my father&rsquo;s energetic drilling, the Government
+very properly determined to turn it to some account, and, as disturbances
+were apprehended in Ireland about this period, it occurred to them that
+they could do no better than despatch it to that country.</p>
+<p>In the autumn of the year 1815 we set sail from a port in Essex;
+we were some eight hundred strong, and were embarked in two ships, very
+large, but old and crazy; a storm overtook us when off Beachy Head,
+in which we had nearly foundered.&nbsp; I was awakened early in the
+morning by the howling of the wind and the uproar on deck.&nbsp; I kept
+myself close, however, as is still my constant practice on similar occasions,
+and waited the result with that apathy and indifference which violent
+sea-sickness is sure to produce.&nbsp; We shipped several seas, and
+once the vessel missing stays&mdash;which, to do it justice, it generally
+did at every third or fourth tack&mdash;we escaped almost by a miracle
+from being dashed upon the foreland.&nbsp; On the eighth day of our
+voyage we were in sight of Ireland.&nbsp; The weather was now calm and
+serene, the sun shone brightly on the sea and on certain green hills
+in the distance, on which I descried what at first sight I believed
+to be two ladies gathering flowers, which, however, on our nearer approach,
+proved to be two tall white towers, doubtless built for some purpose
+or other, though I did not learn for what.</p>
+<p>We entered a kind of bay, or cove, by a narrow inlet; it was a beautiful
+and romantic place this cove, very spacious, and, being nearly land-locked,
+was sheltered from every wind.&nbsp; A small island, every inch of which
+was covered with fortifications, appeared to swim upon the waters, whose
+dark blue denoted their immense depth; tall green hills, which ascended
+gradually from the shore, formed the background to the west; they were
+carpeted to the top with turf of the most vivid green, and studded here
+and there with woods, seemingly of oak; there was a strange old castle
+half-way up the ascent, a village on a crag&mdash;but the mists of morning
+were half veiling the scene when I surveyed it, and the mists of time
+are now hanging densely between it and my no longer youthful eye; I
+may not describe it;&mdash;nor will I try.</p>
+<p>Leaving the ship in the cove, we passed up a wide river in boats
+till we came to a city, where we disembarked.&nbsp; It was a large city,
+as large as Edinburgh to my eyes; there were plenty of fine houses,
+but little neatness; the streets were full of impurities; handsome equipages
+rolled along, but the greater part of the population were in rags; beggars
+abounded; there was no lack of merriment, however; boisterous shouts
+of laughter were heard on every side.&nbsp; It appeared a city of contradictions.&nbsp;
+After a few days&rsquo; rest we marched from this place in two divisions.&nbsp;
+My father commanded the second, I walked by his side.</p>
+<p>Our route lay up the country; the country at first offered no very
+remarkable feature, it was pretty, but tame.&nbsp; On the second day,
+however, its appearance had altered, it had become more wild; a range
+of distant mountains bounded the horizon.&nbsp; We passed through several
+villages, as I suppose I may term them, of low huts, the walls formed
+of rough stones without mortar, the roof of flags laid over wattles
+and wicker-work; they seemed to be inhabited solely by women and children;
+the latter were naked, the former, in general, blear-eyed beldames,
+who sat beside the doors on low stools, spinning.&nbsp; We saw, however,
+both men and women working at a distance in the fields.</p>
+<p>I was thirsty; and going up to an ancient crone, employed in the
+manner which I have described, I asked her for water; she looked me
+in the face, appeared to consider a moment, then tottering into her
+hut, presently reappeared with a small pipkin of milk, which she offered
+to me with a trembling hand.&nbsp; I drank the milk; it was sour, but
+I found it highly refreshing.&nbsp; I then took out a penny and offered
+it to her, whereupon she shook her head, smiled, and, patting my face
+with her skinny hand, murmured some words in a tongue which I had never
+heard before.</p>
+<p>I walked on by my father&rsquo;s side, holding the stirrup-leather
+of his horse; presently several low uncouth cars passed by, drawn by
+starved cattle: the drivers were tall fellows, with dark features and
+athletic frames&mdash;they wore long loose blue cloaks with sleeves,
+which last, however, dangled unoccupied: these cloaks appeared in tolerably
+good condition, not so their under garments.&nbsp; On their heads were
+broad slouching hats: the generality of them were bare-footed.&nbsp;
+As they passed, the soldiers jested with them in the patois of East
+Anglia, whereupon the fellows laughed, and appeared to jest with the
+soldiers; but what they said who knows, it being in a rough guttural
+language, strange and wild.&nbsp; The soldiers stared at each other,
+and were silent.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A strange language that!&rsquo; said a young officer to my
+father, &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t understand a word of it; what can it be?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Irish!&rsquo; said my father, with a loud voice, &lsquo;and
+a bad language it is, I have known it of old, that is, I have often
+heard it spoken when I was a guardsman in London.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s
+one part of London where all the Irish live&mdash;at least all the worst
+of them&mdash;and there they hatch their villainies and speak this tongue;
+it is that which keeps them together and makes them dangerous: I was
+once sent there to seize a couple of deserters&mdash;Irish&mdash;who
+had taken refuge amongst their companions; we found them in what was
+in my time called a ken, that is a house where only thieves and desperadoes
+are to be found.&nbsp; Knowing on what kind of business I was bound,
+I had taken with me a sergeant&rsquo;s party; it was well I did so.&nbsp;
+We found the deserters in a large room, with at least thirty ruffians,
+horrid-looking fellows, seated about a long table, drinking, swearing,
+and talking Irish.&nbsp; Ah! we had a tough battle, I remember; the
+two fellows did nothing, but sat still, thinking it best to be quiet;
+but the rest, with an ubbubboo like the blowing up of a powder-magazine,
+sprang up, brandishing their sticks; for these fellows always carry
+sticks with them even to bed, and not unfrequently spring up in their
+sleep, striking left and right.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And did you take the deserters?&rsquo; said the officer.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said my father; &lsquo;for we formed at the end
+of the room, and charged with fixed bayonets, which compelled the others
+to yield notwithstanding their numbers; but the worst was when we got
+out into the street; the whole district had become alarmed, and hundreds
+came pouring down upon us&mdash;men, women, and children.&nbsp; Women,
+did I say!&mdash;they looked fiends, half naked, with their hair hanging
+down over their bosoms; they tore up the very pavement to hurl at us,
+sticks rang about our ears, stones, and Irish&mdash;I liked the Irish
+worst of all, it sounded so horrid, especially as I did not understand
+it.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s a bad language.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A queer tongue,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;I wonder if I could
+learn it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Learn it!&rsquo; said my father; &lsquo;what should you learn
+it for?&mdash;however, I am not afraid of that.&nbsp; It is not like
+Scotch, no person can learn it, save those who are born to it, and even
+in Ireland the respectable people do not speak it, only the wilder sort,
+like those we have passed.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Within a day or two we had reached a tall range of mountains running
+north and south, which I was told were those of Tipperary; along the
+skirts of these we proceeded till we came to a town, the principal one
+of these regions.&nbsp; It was on the bank of a beautiful river, which
+separated it from the mountains.&nbsp; It was rather an ancient place,
+and might contain some ten thousand inhabitants&mdash;I found that it
+was our destination; there were extensive barracks at the farther end,
+in which the corps took up its quarters; with respect to ourselves,
+we took lodgings in a house which stood in the principal street.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You never saw more elegant lodgings than these, captain,&rsquo;
+said the master of the house, a tall, handsome, and athletic man, who
+came up whilst our little family were seated at dinner late in the afternoon
+of the day of our arrival; &lsquo;they beat anything in this town of
+Clonmel.&nbsp; I do not let them for the sake of interest, and to none
+but gentlemen in the army, in order that myself and my wife, who is
+from Londonderry, may have the advantage of pleasant company, genteel
+company; ay, and Protestant company, captain.&nbsp; It did my heart
+good when I saw your honour ride in at the head of all those fine fellows,
+real Protestants, I&rsquo;ll engage, not a Papist among them, they are
+too good-looking and honest-looking for that.&nbsp; So I no sooner saw
+your honour at the head of your army, with that handsome young gentleman
+holding by your stirrup, than I said to my wife, Mistress Hyne, who
+is from Londonderry, &ldquo;God bless me,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;what
+a truly Protestant countenance, what a noble bearing, and what a sweet
+young gentleman.&nbsp; By the silver hairs of his honour&rdquo;&mdash;and
+sure enough I never saw hairs more regally silver than those of your
+honour&mdash;&ldquo;by his honour&rsquo;s gray silver hairs, and by
+my own soul, which is not worthy to be mentioned in the same day with
+one of them&mdash;it would be no more than decent and civil to run out
+and welcome such a father and son coming in at the head of such a Protestant
+military.&rdquo;&nbsp; And then my wife, who is from Londonderry, Mistress
+Hyne, looking me in the face like a fairy as she is, &ldquo;You may
+say that,&rdquo; says she.&nbsp; &ldquo;It would be but decent and civil,
+honey.&rdquo;&nbsp; And your honour knows how I ran out of my own door
+and welcomed your honour riding in company with your son, who was walking;
+how I welcomed ye both at the head of your royal regiment, and how I
+shook your honour by the hand, saying, I am glad to see your honour,
+and your honour&rsquo;s son, and your honour&rsquo;s royal military
+Protestant regiment.&nbsp; And now I have you in the house, and right
+proud I am to have ye one and all; one, two, three, four, true Protestants
+every one, no Papists here; and I have made bold to bring up a bottle
+of claret which is now waiting behind the door; and, when your honour
+and your family have dined, I will make bold too to bring up Mistress
+Hyne, from Londonderry, to introduce to your honour&rsquo;s lady, and
+then we&rsquo;ll drink to the health of King George, God bless him;
+to the &ldquo;glorious and immortal&rdquo;&mdash;to Boyne water&mdash;to
+your honour&rsquo;s speedy promotion to be Lord Lieutenant, and to the
+speedy downfall of the Pope and Saint Anthony of Padua.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Such was the speech of the Irish Protestant addressed to my father
+in the long lofty dining-room with three windows, looking upon the high
+street of the good town of Clonmel, as he sat at meat with his family,
+after saying grace like a true-hearted respectable soldier as he was.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A bigot and an Orangeman!&rsquo;&nbsp; Oh yes!&nbsp; It is
+easier to apply epithets of opprobrium to people than to make yourself
+acquainted with their history and position.&nbsp; He was a specimen,
+and a fair specimen, of a most remarkable body of men, who during two
+centuries have fought a good fight in Ireland in the cause of civilisation
+and religious truth; they were sent as colonists, few in number, into
+a barbarous and unhappy country, where ever since, though surrounded
+with difficulties of every kind, they have maintained their ground;
+theirs has been no easy life, nor have their lines fallen upon very
+pleasant places; amidst darkness they have held up a lamp, and it would
+be well for Ireland were all her children like these her adopted ones.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;But they are fierce and sanguinary,&rsquo; it is said.&nbsp;
+Ay, ay! they have not unfrequently opposed the keen sword to the savage
+pike.&nbsp; &lsquo;But they are bigoted and narrow-minded.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Ay, ay! they do not like idolatry, and will not bow the knee before
+a stone!&nbsp; &lsquo;But their language is frequently indecorous.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Go to, my dainty one, did ye ever listen to the voice of Papist cursing?</p>
+<p>The Irish Protestants have faults, numerous ones; but the greater
+number of these may be traced to the peculiar circumstances of their
+position: but they have virtues, numerous ones; and their virtues are
+their own, their industry, their energy, and their undaunted resolution
+are their own.&nbsp; They have been vilified and traduced&mdash;but
+what would Ireland be without them?&nbsp; I repeat, that it would be
+well for her were all her sons no worse than these much-calumniated
+children of her adoption.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER X</h2>
+<p>Protestant young gentlemen&mdash;The Greek letters&mdash;Open chimney&mdash;Murtagh&mdash;Paris
+and Salamanca&mdash;Nothing to do&mdash;To whit, to whoo!&mdash;The
+pack of cards&mdash;Before Christmas.</p>
+<p>We continued at this place for some months, during which time the
+soldiers performed their duties, whatever they were; and I, having no
+duties to perform, was sent to school.&nbsp; I had been to English schools,
+and to the celebrated one of Edinburgh; but my education, at the present
+day, would not be what it is&mdash;perfect, had I never had the honour
+of being <i>alumnus</i> in an Irish seminary.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Captain,&rsquo; said our kind host, &lsquo;you would, no doubt,
+wish that the young gentleman should enjoy every advantage which the
+town may afford towards helping him on in the path of genteel learning.&nbsp;
+It&rsquo;s a great pity that he should waste his time in idleness&mdash;doing
+nothing else than what he says he has been doing for the last fortnight&mdash;fishing
+in the river for trouts which he never catches; and wandering up the
+glen in the mountain, in search of the hips that grow there.&nbsp; Now,
+we have a school here, where he can learn the most elegant Latin, and
+get an insight into the Greek letters, which is desirable; and where,
+moreover, he will have an opportunity of making acquaintance with all
+the Protestant young gentlemen of the place, the handsome well-dressed
+young persons whom your honour sees in the church on the Sundays, when
+your honour goes there in the morning, with the rest of the Protestant
+military; for it is no Papist school, though there may be a Papist or
+two there&mdash;a few poor farmers&rsquo; sons from the country, with
+whom there is no necessity for your honour&rsquo;s child to form any
+acquaintance at all, at all!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And to the school I went, where I read the Latin tongue and the Greek
+letters, with a nice old clergyman, who sat behind a black oaken desk,
+with a huge Elzevir Flaccus before him, in a long gloomy kind of hall,
+with a broken stone floor, the roof festooned with cobwebs, the walls
+considerably dilapidated, and covered over with strange figures and
+hieroglyphics, evidently produced by the application of burnt stick;
+and there I made acquaintance with the Protestant young gentlemen of
+the place, who, with whatever <i>&eacute;clat</i> they might appear
+at church on a Sunday, did assuredly not exhibit to much advantage in
+the schoolroom on the week days, either with respect to clothes or looks.&nbsp;
+And there I was in the habit of sitting on a large stone, before the
+roaring fire in the huge open chimney, and entertaining certain of the
+Protestant young gentlemen of my own age, seated on similar stones,
+with extraordinary accounts of my own adventures, and those of the corps,
+with an occasional anecdote extracted from the story-books of Hickathrift
+and Wight Wallace, pretending to be conning the lesson all the while.</p>
+<p>And there I made acquaintance, notwithstanding the hint of the landlord,
+with the Papist &lsquo;gossoons,&rsquo; as they were called, the farmers&rsquo;
+sons from the country; and of these gossoons, of whom there were three,
+two might be reckoned as nothing at all; in the third, however, I soon
+discovered that there was something extraordinary.</p>
+<p>He was about sixteen years old, and above six feet high, dressed
+in a gray suit; the coat, from its size, appeared to have been made
+for him some ten years before.&nbsp; He was remarkably narrow-chested
+and round-shouldered, owing, perhaps as much to the tightness of his
+garment as to the hand of nature.&nbsp; His face was long, and his complexion
+swarthy, relieved, however, by certain freckles, with which the skin
+was plentifully studded.&nbsp; He had strange wandering eyes, gray,
+and somewhat unequal in size; they seldom rested on the book, but were
+generally wandering about the room, from one object to another.&nbsp;
+Sometimes he would fix them intently on the wall, and then suddenly
+starting, as if from a reverie, he would commence making certain mysterious
+movements with his thumbs and forefingers, as if he were shuffling something
+from him.</p>
+<p>One morning, as he sat by himself on a bench, engaged in this manner,
+I went up to him, and said, &lsquo;Good-day, Murtagh; you do not seem
+to have much to do?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Faith, you may say that, Shorsha dear!&mdash;it is seldom
+much to do that I have.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what are you doing with your hands?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Faith, then, if I must tell you, I was e&rsquo;en dealing
+with the cards.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you play much at cards?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sorra a game, Shorsha, have I played with the cards since
+my uncle Phelim, the thief, stole away the ould pack, when he went to
+settle in the county Waterford!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But you have other things to do?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sorra anything else has Murtagh to do that he cares about
+and that makes me dread so going home at nights.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I should like to know all about you; where do you live, joy?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Faith, then, ye shall know all about me, and where I live.&nbsp;
+It is at a place called the Wilderness that I live, and they call it
+so, because it is a fearful wild place, without any house near it but
+my father&rsquo;s own; and that&rsquo;s where I live when at home.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And your father is a farmer, I suppose?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You may say that; and it is a farmer I should have been, like
+my brother Denis, had not my uncle Phelim, the thief, tould my father
+to send me to school, to learn Greek letters, that I might be made a
+saggart of, and sent to Paris and Salamanca.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And you would rather be a farmer than a priest?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You may say that!&mdash;for, were I a farmer, like the rest,
+I should have something to do, like the rest&mdash;something that I
+cared for&mdash;and I should come home tired at night, and fall asleep,
+as the rest do, before the fire; but when I comes home at night I am
+not tired, for I have been doing nothing all day that I care for; and
+then I sits down and stares about me, and at the fire, till I become
+frighted; and then I shouts to my brother Denis, or to the gossoons,
+&ldquo;Get up, I say, and let&rsquo;s be doing something; tell us the
+tale of Finn-ma-Coul, and how he lay down in the Shannon&rsquo;s bed,
+and let the river flow down his jaws!&rdquo;&nbsp; Arrah, Shorsha!&nbsp;
+I wish you would come and stay with us, and tell us some o&rsquo; your
+sweet stories of your own self and the snake ye carried about wid ye.&nbsp;
+Faith, Shorsha dear! that snake bates anything about Finn-ma-Coul or
+Brian Boroo, the thieves two, bad luck to them!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And do they get up and tell you stories?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sometimes they does, but oftenmost they curses me, and bids
+me be quiet!&nbsp; But I can&rsquo;t be quiet, either before the fire
+or abed; so I runs out of the house, and stares at the rocks, at the
+trees, and sometimes at the clouds, as they run a race across the bright
+moon; and, the more I stares, the more frighted I grows, till I screeches
+and holloas.&nbsp; And last night I went into the barn, and hid my face
+in the straw; and there, as I lay and shivered in the straw, I heard
+a voice above my head singing out &ldquo;To whit, to whoo!&rdquo; and
+then up I starts, and runs into the house, and falls over my brother
+Denis, as he lies at the fire.&nbsp; &ldquo;What&rsquo;s that for?&rdquo;
+says he.&nbsp; &ldquo;Get up, you thief!&rdquo; says I, &ldquo;and be
+helping me.&nbsp; I have been out into the barn, and an owl has crow&rsquo;d
+at me!&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what has this to do with playing cards?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Little enough, Shorsha dear!&mdash;If there were card-playing,
+I should not be frighted.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And why do you not play at cards?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Did I not tell you that the thief, my uncle Phelim, stole
+away the pack?&nbsp; If we had the pack, my brother Denis and the gossoons
+would be ready enough to get up from their sleep before the fire, and
+play cards with me for ha&rsquo;pence, or eggs, or nothing at all; but
+the pack is gone&mdash;bad luck to the thief who took it!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And why don&rsquo;t you buy another?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is it of buying you are speaking?&nbsp; And where am I to
+get the money?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah! that&rsquo;s another thing!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Faith it is, honey!&mdash;And now the Christmas holidays is
+coming, when I shall be at home by day as well as night, and then what
+am I to do?&nbsp; Since I have been a saggarting, I have been good for
+nothing at all&mdash;neither for work nor Greek&mdash;only to play cards!&nbsp;
+Faith, it&rsquo;s going mad I will be!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I say, Murtagh!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, Shorsha dear!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have a pack of cards.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You don&rsquo;t say so, Shorsha ma vourneen?&mdash;you don&rsquo;t
+say that you have cards fifty-two?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do, though; and they are quite new&mdash;never been once
+used.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And you&rsquo;ll be lending them to me, I warrant?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t think it!&mdash;But I&rsquo;ll sell them to you,
+joy, if you like.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Hanam mon Dioul! am I not after telling you that I have no
+money at all!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But you have as good as money, to me, at least; and I&rsquo;ll
+take it in exchange.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What&rsquo;s that, Shorsha dear?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Irish!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Irish?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, you speak Irish; I heard you talking it the other day
+to the cripple.&nbsp; You shall teach me Irish.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And is it a language-master you&rsquo;d be making of me?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To be sure!&mdash;what better can you do?&mdash;it would help
+you to pass your time at school.&nbsp; You can&rsquo;t learn Greek,
+so you must teach Irish!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Before Christmas, Murtagh was playing at cards with his brother Denis,
+and I could speak a considerable quantity of broken Irish.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2>
+<p>Templemore&mdash;Devil&rsquo;s Mountain&mdash;No companion&mdash;Force
+of circumstance&mdash;Way of the world&mdash;Ruined castle&mdash;Grim
+and desolate&mdash;The donjon&mdash;Old woman&mdash;My own house.</p>
+<p>When Christmas was over, and the new year commenced, we broke up
+our quarters, and marched away to Templemore.&nbsp; This was a large
+military station, situated in a wild and thinly inhabited country.&nbsp;
+Extensive bogs were in the neighbourhood, connected with the huge bog
+of Allen, the Palus Maeotis of Ireland.&nbsp; Here and there was seen
+a ruined castle looming through the mists of winter; whilst, at the
+distance of seven miles, rose a singular mountain, exhibiting in its
+brow a chasm, or vacuum, just, for all the world, as if a piece had
+been bitten out; a feat which, according to the tradition of the country,
+had actually been performed by his Satanic majesty, who, after flying
+for some leagues with the morsel in his mouth, becoming weary, dropped
+it in the vicinity of Cashel, where it may now be seen in the shape
+of a bold bluff hill, crowned with the ruins of a stately edifice, probably
+built by some ancient Irish king.</p>
+<p>We had been here only a few days, when my brother, who, as I have
+before observed, had become one of his Majesty&rsquo;s officers, was
+sent on detachment to a village at about ten miles&rsquo; distance.&nbsp;
+He was not sixteen, and, though three years older than myself, scarcely
+my equal in stature, for I had become tall and large-limbed for my age;
+but there was a spirit in him which would not have disgraced a general;
+and, nothing daunted at the considerable responsibility which he was
+about to incur, he marched sturdily out of the barrack-yard at the head
+of his party, consisting of twenty light-infantry men, and a tall grenadier
+sergeant, selected expressly by my father, for the soldier-like qualities
+which he possessed, to accompany his son on this his first expedition.&nbsp;
+So out of the barrack-yard, with something of an air, marched my dear
+brother, his single drum and fife playing the inspiring old melody,</p>
+<blockquote><p>Marlbrouk is gone to the wars,<br />
+He&rsquo;ll never return no more!</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>I soon missed my brother, for I was now alone, with no being, at
+all assimilating in age, with whom I could exchange a word.&nbsp; Of
+late years, from being almost constantly at school, I had cast aside,
+in a great degree, my unsocial habits and natural reserve, but in the
+desolate region in which we now were there was no school; and I felt
+doubly the loss of my brother, whom, moreover, I tenderly loved for
+his own sake.&nbsp; Books I had none, at least such &lsquo;as I cared
+about&rsquo;; and with respect to the old volume, the wonders of which
+had first beguiled me into common reading, I had so frequently pored
+over its pages, that I had almost got its contents by heart.&nbsp; I
+was therefore in danger of falling into the same predicament as Murtagh,
+becoming &lsquo;frighted&rsquo; from having nothing to do!&nbsp; Nay,
+I had not even his resources; I cared not for cards, even if I possessed
+them and could find people disposed to play with them.&nbsp; However,
+I made the most of circumstances, and roamed about the desolate fields
+and bogs in the neighbourhood, sometimes entering the cabins of the
+peasantry, with a &lsquo;God&rsquo;s blessing upon you, good people!&rsquo;
+where I would take my seat on the &lsquo;stranger&rsquo;s stone&rsquo;
+at the corner of the hearth, and, looking them full in the face, would
+listen to the carles and carlines talking Irish.</p>
+<p>Ah, that Irish!&nbsp; How frequently do circumstances, at first sight
+the most trivial and unimportant, exercise a mighty and permanent influence
+on our habits and pursuits!&mdash;how frequently is a stream turned
+aside from its natural course by some little rock or knoll, causing
+it to make an abrupt turn!&nbsp; On a wild road in Ireland I had heard
+Irish spoken for the first time; and I was seized with a desire to learn
+Irish, the acquisition of which, in my case, became the stepping-stone
+to other languages.&nbsp; I had previously learnt Latin, or rather Lilly;
+but neither Latin nor Lilly made me a philologist.&nbsp; I had frequently
+heard French and other languages, but had felt little desire to become
+acquainted with them; and what, it may be asked, was there connected
+with the Irish calculated to recommend it to my attention?</p>
+<p>First of all, and principally, I believe, the strangeness and singularity
+of its tones; then there was something mysterious and uncommon associated
+with its use.&nbsp; It was not a school language, to acquire which was
+considered an imperative duty; no, no; nor was it a drawing-room language,
+drawled out occasionally, in shreds and patches, by the ladies of generals
+and other great dignitaries, to the ineffable dismay of poor officers&rsquo;
+wives.&nbsp; Nothing of the kind; but a speech spoken in out-of-the-way
+desolate places, and in cut-throat kens, where thirty ruffians, at the
+sight of the king&rsquo;s minions, would spring up with brandished sticks
+and an &lsquo;ubbubboo like the blowing up of a powder-magazine.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Such were the points connected with the Irish, which first awakened
+in my mind the desire of acquiring it; and by acquiring it I became,
+as I have already said, enamoured of languages.&nbsp; Having learnt
+one by choice, I speedily, as the reader will perceive, learnt others,
+some of which were widely different from Irish.</p>
+<p>Ah, that Irish!&nbsp; I am much indebted to it in more ways than
+one.&nbsp; But I am afraid I have followed the way of the world, which
+is very much wont to neglect original friends and benefactors.&nbsp;
+I frequently find myself, at present, turning up my nose at Irish when
+I hear it in the street; yet I have still a kind of regard for it, the
+fine old language:</p>
+<blockquote><p>A labhair Padruic n&rsquo;insefail nan riogh.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>One of the most peculiar features of this part of Ireland is the
+ruined castles, which are so thick and numerous that the face of the
+country appears studded with them, it being difficult to choose any
+situation from which one, at least, may not be descried.&nbsp; They
+are of various ages and styles of architecture, some of great antiquity,
+like the stately remains which crown the Crag of Cashel; others built
+by the early English conquerors; others, and probably the greater part,
+erections of the times of Elizabeth and Cromwell.&nbsp; The whole speaking
+monuments of the troubled and insecure state of the country, from the
+most remote periods to a comparatively modern time.</p>
+<p>From the windows of the room where I slept I had a view of one of
+these old places&mdash;an indistinct one, it is true, the distance being
+too great to permit me to distinguish more than the general outline.&nbsp;
+I had an anxious desire to explore it.&nbsp; It stood to the south-east;
+in which direction, however, a black bog intervened, which had more
+than once baffled all my attempts to cross it.&nbsp; One morning, however,
+when the sun shone brightly upon the old building, it appeared so near,
+that I felt ashamed at not being able to accomplish a feat seemingly
+so easy; I determined, therefore, upon another trial.&nbsp; I reached
+the bog, and was about to venture upon its black surface, and to pick
+my way amongst its innumerable holes, yawning horribly, and half filled
+with water black as soot, when it suddenly occurred to me that there
+was a road to the south, by following which I might find a more convenient
+route to the object of my wishes.&nbsp; The event justified my expectations,
+for, after following the road for some three miles, seemingly in the
+direction of the Devil&rsquo;s Mountain, I suddenly beheld the castle
+on my left.</p>
+<p>I diverged from the road, and, crossing two or three fields, came
+to a small grassy plain, in the midst of which stood the castle.&nbsp;
+About a gun-shot to the south was a small village, which had, probably,
+in ancient days, sprung up beneath its protection.&nbsp; A kind of awe
+came over me as I approached the old building.&nbsp; The sun no longer
+shone upon it, and it looked so grim, so desolate and solitary; and
+here was I, in that wild country, alone with that grim building before
+me.&nbsp; The village was within sight, it is true; but it might be
+a village of the dead for what I knew; no sound issued from it, no smoke
+was rising from its roofs, neither man nor beast was visible, no life,
+no motion&mdash;it looked as desolate as the castle itself.&nbsp; Yet
+I was bent on the adventure, and moved on towards the castle across
+the green plain, occasionally casting a startled glance around me; and
+now I was close to it.</p>
+<p>It was surrounded by a quadrangular wall, about ten feet in height,
+with a square tower at each corner.&nbsp; At first I could discover
+no entrance; walking round, however, to the northern side, I found a
+wide and lofty gateway with a tower above it, similar to those at the
+angles of the wall; on this side the ground sloped gently down towards
+the bog, which was here skirted by an abundant growth of copse-wood
+and a few evergreen oaks.&nbsp; I passed through the gateway, and found
+myself within a square inclosure of about two acres.&nbsp; On one side
+rose a round and lofty keep, or donjon, with a conical roof, part of
+which had fallen down, strewing the square with its ruins.&nbsp; Close
+to the keep, on the other side, stood the remains of an oblong house,
+built something in the modern style, with various window-holes; nothing
+remained but the bare walls and a few projecting stumps of beams, which
+seemed to have been half burnt.&nbsp; The interior of the walls was
+blackened, as if by fire; fire also appeared at one time to have raged
+out of the window-holes, for the outside about them was black, portentously
+so.&nbsp; &lsquo;I wonder what has been going on here?&rsquo; I exclaimed.</p>
+<p>There were echoes among the walls as I walked about the court.&nbsp;
+I entered the keep by a low and frowning doorway: the lower floor consisted
+of a large dungeon-like room, with a vaulted roof; on the left hand
+was a winding staircase in the thickness of the wall; it looked anything
+but inviting; yet I stole softly up, my heart beating.&nbsp; On the
+top of the first flight of stairs was an arched doorway, to the left
+was a dark passage, to the right, stairs leading still higher.&nbsp;
+I stepped under the arch and found myself in an apartment somewhat similar
+to the one below, but higher.&nbsp; There was an object at the farther
+end.</p>
+<p>An old woman, at least eighty, was seated on a stone, cowering over
+a few sticks burning feebly on what had once been a right noble and
+cheerful hearth; her side-glance was towards the doorway as I entered,
+for she had heard my foot-steps.&nbsp; I stood suddenly still, and her
+haggard glance rested on my face.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is this your house, mother?&rsquo; I at length demanded, in
+the language which I thought she would best understand.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, my house, my own house; the house of the broken-hearted.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Any other person&rsquo;s house?&rsquo; I demanded.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My own house, the beggar&rsquo;s house&mdash;the accursed
+house of Cromwell!&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2>
+<p>A visit&mdash;Figure of a man&mdash;The dog of peace&mdash;The raw
+wound&mdash;The guardroom&mdash;Boy soldier&mdash;Person in authority&mdash;Never
+solitary&mdash;Clergyman and family&mdash;Still-hunting&mdash;Fairy
+man&mdash;Near sunset&mdash;Bagg&mdash;Left-handed hitter&mdash;Irish
+and supernatural&mdash;At Swanton Morley.</p>
+<p>One morning I set out, designing to pay a visit to my brother at
+the place where he was detached; the distance was rather considerable,
+yet I hoped to be back by evening fall, for I was now a shrewd walker,
+thanks to constant practice.&nbsp; I set out early, and, directing my
+course towards the north, I had in less than two hours accomplished
+considerably more than half of the journey.&nbsp; The weather had at
+first been propitious: a slight frost had rendered the ground firm to
+the tread, and the skies were clear; but now a change came over the
+scene, the skies darkened, and a heavy snowstorm came on; the road then
+lay straight through a bog, and was bounded by a deep trench on both
+sides; I was making the best of my way, keeping as nearly as I could
+in the middle of the road, lest, blinded by the snow which was frequently
+borne into my eyes by the wind, I might fall into the dyke, when all
+at once I heard a shout to windward, and turning my eyes I saw the figure
+of a man, and what appeared to be an animal of some kind, coming across
+the bog with great speed, in the direction of myself; the nature of
+the ground seemed to offer but little impediment to these beings, both
+clearing the holes and abysses which lay in their way with surprising
+agility; the animal was, however, some slight way in advance, and, bounding
+over the dyke, appeared on the road just before me.&nbsp; It was a dog,
+of what species I cannot tell, never having seen the like before or
+since; the head was large and round; the ears so tiny as scarcely to
+be discernible; the eyes of a fiery red: in size it was rather small
+than large; and the coat, which was remarkably smooth, as white as the
+falling flakes.&nbsp; It placed itself directly in my path, and showing
+its teeth, and bristling its coat, appeared determined to prevent my
+progress.&nbsp; I had an ashen stick in my hand, with which I threatened
+it; this, however, only served to increase its fury; it rushed upon
+me, and I had the utmost difficulty to preserve myself from its fangs.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What are you doing with the dog, the fairy dog?&rsquo; said
+a man, who at this time likewise cleared the dyke at a bound.</p>
+<p>He was a very tall man, rather well dressed as it should seem; his
+garments, however, were, like my own, so covered with snow that I could
+scarcely discern their quality.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What are ye doing with the dog of peace?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I wish he would show himself one,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;I
+said nothing to him, but he placed himself in my road, and would not
+let me pass.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of course he would not be letting you till he knew where ye
+were going.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He&rsquo;s not much of a fairy,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;or he
+would know that without asking; tell him that I am going to see my brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And who is your brother, little Sas?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What my father is, a royal soldier.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, ye are going then to the detachment at&mdash;; by my shoul,
+I have a good mind to be spoiling your journey.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are doing that already,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;keeping
+me here talking about dogs and fairies; you had better go home and get
+some salve to cure that place over your eye; it&rsquo;s catching cold
+you&rsquo;ll be, in so much snow.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>On one side of the man&rsquo;s forehead there was a raw and staring
+wound, as if from a recent and terrible blow.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Faith, then I&rsquo;ll be going, but it&rsquo;s taking you
+wid me I will be.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And where will you take me?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, then, to Ryan&rsquo;s Castle, little Sas.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You do not speak the language very correctly,&rsquo; said
+I; &lsquo;it is not Sas you should call me&mdash;&rsquo;tis Sassannach,&rsquo;
+and forthwith I accompanied the word with a speech full of flowers of
+Irish rhetoric.</p>
+<p>The man looked upon me for a moment, fixedly, then, bending his head
+towards his breast, he appeared to be undergoing a kind of convulsion,
+which was accompanied by a sound something resembling laughter; presently
+he looked at me, and there was a broad grin on his features.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;By my shoul, it&rsquo;s a thing of peace I&rsquo;m thinking
+ye.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>But now with a whisking sound came running down the road a hare;
+it was nearly upon us before it perceived us; suddenly stopping short,
+however, it sprang into the bog on the right-hand side; after it amain
+bounded the dog of peace, followed by the man, but not until he had
+nodded to me a farewell salutation.&nbsp; In a few moments I lost sight
+of him amidst the snowflakes.</p>
+<p>The weather was again clear and fine before I reached the place of
+detachment.&nbsp; It was a little wooden barrack, surrounded by a wall
+of the same material; a sentinel stood at the gate, I passed by him,
+and, entering the building, found myself in a rude kind of guardroom;
+several soldiers were lying asleep on a wooden couch at one end, others
+lounged on benches by the side of a turf fire.&nbsp; The tall sergeant
+stood before the fire, holding a cooking utensil in his left hand; on
+seeing me, he made the military salutation.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is my brother here?&rsquo; said I, rather timidly, dreading
+to hear that he was out, perhaps for the day.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The ensign is in his room, sir,&rsquo; said Bagg, &lsquo;I
+am now preparing his meal, which will presently be ready; you will find
+the ensign above stairs,&rsquo; and he pointed to a broken ladder which
+led to some place above.</p>
+<p>And there I found him&mdash;the boy soldier&mdash;in a kind of upper
+loft, so low that I could touch with my hands the sooty rafters; the
+floor was of rough boards, through the joints of which you could see
+the gleam of the soldiers&rsquo; fire, and occasionally discern their
+figures as they moved about; in one corner was a camp bedstead, by the
+side of which hung the child&rsquo;s sword, gorget, and sash; a deal
+table stood in the proximity of the rusty grate, where smoked and smouldered
+a pile of black turf from the bog,&mdash;a deal table without a piece
+of baize to cover it, yet fraught with things not devoid of interest:
+a Bible, given by a mother; the <i>Odyssey</i>, the Greek <i>Odyssey</i>;
+a flute, with broad silver keys; crayons, moreover, and water-colours;
+and a sketch of a wild prospect near, which, though but half finished,
+afforded ample proof of the excellence and skill of the boyish hand
+now occupied upon it.</p>
+<p>Ah! he was a sweet being, that boy soldier, a plant of early promise,
+bidding fair to become in after time all that is great, good, and admirable.&nbsp;
+I have read of a remarkable Welshman, of whom it was said, when the
+grave closed over him, that he could frame a harp, and play it; build
+a ship, and sail it; compose an ode, and set it to music.&nbsp; A brave
+fellow that son of Wales&mdash;but I had once a brother who could do
+more and better than this, but the grave has closed over him, as over
+the gallant Welshman of yore; there are now but two that remember him&mdash;the
+one who bore him, and the being who was nurtured at the same breast.&nbsp;
+He was taken, and I was left!&mdash;Truly, the ways of Providence are
+inscrutable.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You seem to be very comfortable, John,&rsquo; said I, looking
+around the room and at the various objects which I have described above:
+&lsquo;you have a good roof over your head, and have all your things
+about you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I am very comfortable, George, in many respects; I am,
+moreover, independent, and feel myself a man for the first time in my
+life&mdash;independent did I say?&mdash;that&rsquo;s not the word, I
+am something much higher than that; here am I, not sixteen yet, a person
+in authority, like the centurion in the book there, with twenty Englishmen
+under me, worth a whole legion of his men, and that fine fellow Bagg
+to wait upon me, and take my orders.&nbsp; Oh! these last six weeks
+have passed like hours of heaven.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But your time must frequently hang heavy on your hands; this
+is a strange wild place, and you must be very solitary?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am never solitary; I have, as you see, all my things about
+me, and there is plenty of company below stairs.&nbsp; Not that I mix
+with the soldiers; if I did, good-bye to my authority; but when I am
+alone I can hear all their discourse through the planks, and I often
+laugh to myself at the funny things they say.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And have you any acquaintance here?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The very best; much better than the Colonel and the rest,
+at their grand Templemore; I had never so many in my whole life before.&nbsp;
+One has just left me, a gentleman who lives at a distance across the
+bog; he comes to talk with me about Greek, and the <i>Odyssey</i>, for
+he is a very learned man, and understands the old Irish, and various
+other strange languages.&nbsp; He has had a dispute with Bagg.&nbsp;
+On hearing his name, he called him to him, and, after looking at him
+for some time with great curiosity, said that he was sure he was a Dane.&nbsp;
+Bagg, however, took the compliment in dudgeon, and said that he was
+no more a Dane than himself, but a true-born Englishman, and a sergeant
+of six years&rsquo; standing.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what other acquaintance have you?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;All kinds; the whole neighbourhood can&rsquo;t make enough
+of me.&nbsp; Amongst others there&rsquo;s the clergyman of the parish
+and his family; such a venerable old man, such fine sons and daughters!&nbsp;
+I am treated by them like a son and a brother&mdash;I might be always
+with them if I pleased; there&rsquo;s one drawback, however, in going
+to see them; there&rsquo;s a horrible creature in the house, a kind
+of tutor, whom they keep more from charity than anything else; he is
+a Papist and, they say, a priest; you should see him scowl sometimes
+at my red coat, for he hates the king, and not unfrequently, when the
+king&rsquo;s health is drunk, curses him between his teeth.&nbsp; I
+once got up to strike him; but the youngest of the sisters, who is the
+handsomest, caught my arm and pointed to her forehead.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what does your duty consist of?&nbsp; Have you nothing
+else to do than pay visits and receive them?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We do what is required of us, we guard this edifice, perform
+our evolutions, and help the excise; I am frequently called up in the
+dead of night to go to some wild place or other in quest of an illicit
+still; this last part of our duty is poor mean work, I don&rsquo;t like
+it, nor more does Bagg; though without it we should not see much active
+service, for the neighbourhood is quiet; save the poor creatures with
+their stills, not a soul is stirring.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis true there&rsquo;s
+Jerry Grant.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And who is Jerry Grant?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Did you never hear of him? that&rsquo;s strange, the whole
+country is talking about him; he is a kind of outlaw, rebel, or robber,
+all three I daresay; there&rsquo;s a hundred pounds offered for his
+head.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And where does he live?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;His proper home, they say, is in the Queen&rsquo;s County,
+where he has a band, but he is a strange fellow, fond of wandering about
+by himself amidst the bogs and mountains, and living in the old castles;
+occasionally he quarters himself in the peasants&rsquo; houses, who
+let him do just what he pleases; he is free of his money, and often
+does them good turns, and can be good-humoured enough, so they don&rsquo;t
+dislike him.&nbsp; Then he is what they call a fairy man, a person in
+league with fairies and spirits, and able to work much harm by supernatural
+means, on which account they hold him in great awe; he is, moreover,
+a mighty strong and tall fellow.&nbsp; Bagg has seen him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Has he?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes! and felt him; he too is a strange one.&nbsp; A few days
+ago he was told that Grant had been seen hovering about an old castle
+some two miles off in the bog; so one afternoon what does he do but,
+without saying a word to me&mdash;for which, by the bye, I ought to
+put him under arrest, though what I should do without Bagg I have no
+idea whatever&mdash;what does he do but walk off to the castle, intending,
+as I suppose, to pay a visit to Jerry.&nbsp; He had some difficulty
+in getting there on account of the turf-holes in the bog, which he was
+not accustomed to; however, thither at last he got and went in.&nbsp;
+It was a strange lonesome place, he says, and he did not much like the
+look of it; however, in he went, and searched about from the bottom
+to the top and down again, but could find no one; he shouted and hallooed,
+but nobody answered, save the rooks and choughs, which started up in
+great numbers.&nbsp; &ldquo;I have lost my trouble,&rdquo; said Bagg,
+and left the castle.&nbsp; It was now late in the afternoon, near sunset,
+when about half-way over the bog he met a man&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And that man was&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Jerry Grant! there&rsquo;s no doubt of it.&nbsp; Bagg says
+it was the most sudden thing in the world.&nbsp; He was moving along,
+making the best of his way, thinking of nothing at all save a public-house
+at Swanton Morley, which he intends to take when he gets home, and the
+regiment is disbanded&mdash;though I hope that will not be for some
+time yet: he had just leaped a turf-hole, and was moving on, when, at
+the distance of about six yards before him, he saw a fellow coming straight
+towards him.&nbsp; Bagg says that he stopped short, as suddenly as if
+he had heard the word halt, when marching at double quick time.&nbsp;
+It was quite a surprise, he says, and he can&rsquo;t imagine how the
+fellow was so close upon him before he was aware.&nbsp; He was an immense
+tall fellow&mdash;Bagg thinks at least two inches taller than himself&mdash;very
+well dressed in a blue coat and buff breeches, for all the world like
+a squire when going out hunting.&nbsp; Bagg, however, saw at once that
+he had a roguish air, and he was on his guard in a moment.&nbsp; &ldquo;Good-evening
+to ye, sodger,&rdquo; says the fellow, stepping close up to Bagg, and
+staring him in the face.&nbsp; &ldquo;Good-evening to you, sir!&nbsp;
+I hope you are well,&rdquo; says Bagg.&nbsp; &ldquo;You are looking
+after some one?&rdquo; says the fellow.&nbsp; &ldquo;Just so, sir,&rdquo;
+says Bagg, and forthwith seized him by the collar; the man laughed,
+Bagg says it was such a strange awkward laugh.&nbsp; &ldquo;Do you know
+whom you have got hold of, sodger?&rdquo; said he.&nbsp; &ldquo;I believe
+I do, sir,&rdquo; said Bagg, &ldquo;and in that belief will hold you
+fast in the name of King George and the quarter sessions&rdquo;; the
+next moment he was sprawling with his heels in the air.&nbsp; Bagg says
+there was nothing remarkable in that; he was only flung by a kind of
+wrestling trick, which he could easily have baffled had he been aware
+of it.&nbsp; &ldquo;You will not do that again, sir,&rdquo; said he,
+as he got up and put himself on his guard.&nbsp; The fellow laughed
+again more strangely and awkwardly than before; then, bending his body
+and moving his head from one side to the other as a cat does before
+she springs, and crying out, &ldquo;Here&rsquo;s for ye, sodger!&rdquo;
+he made a dart at Bagg, rushing in with his head foremost.&nbsp; &ldquo;That
+will do, sir,&rdquo; says Bagg, and, drawing himself back, he put in
+a left-handed blow with all the force of his body and arm, just over
+the fellow&rsquo;s right eye&mdash;Bagg is a left-handed hitter, you
+must know&mdash;and it was a blow of that kind which won him his famous
+battle at Edinburgh with the big Highland sergeant.&nbsp; Bagg says
+that he was quite satisfied with the blow, more especially when he saw
+the fellow reel, fling out his arms, and fall to the ground.&nbsp; &ldquo;And
+now, sir,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll make bold to hand you over
+to the quarter sessions, and, if there is a hundred pounds for taking
+you, who has more right to it than myself?&rdquo;&nbsp; So he went forward,
+but ere he could lay hold of his man the other was again on his legs,
+and was prepared to renew the combat.&nbsp; They grappled each other&mdash;Bagg
+says he had not much fear of the result, as he now felt himself the
+best man, the other seeming half-stunned with the blow&mdash;but just
+then there came on a blast, a horrible roaring wind bearing night upon
+its wings, snow, and sleet, and hail.&nbsp; Bagg says he had the fellow
+by the throat quite fast, as he thought, but suddenly he became bewildered,
+and knew not where he was; and the man seemed to melt away from his
+grasp, and the wind howled more and more, and the night poured down
+darker and darker; the snow and the sleet thicker and more blinding.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Lord have mercy upon us!&rdquo; said Bagg.&rsquo;</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; A strange adventure that; it is well that Bagg
+got home alive.</p>
+<p><i>John</i>.&nbsp; He says that the fight was a fair fight, and that
+the fling he got was a fair fling, the result of a common enough wrestling
+trick.&nbsp; But with respect to the storm, which rose up just in time
+to save the fellow, he is of opinion that it was not fair, but something
+Irish and supernatural.</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; I daresay he&rsquo;s right.&nbsp; I have read
+of witchcraft in the Bible.</p>
+<p><i>John</i>.&nbsp; He wishes much to have one more encounter with
+the fellow; he says that on fair ground, and in fine weather, he has
+no doubt that he could master him, and hand him over to the quarter
+sessions.&nbsp; He says that a hundred pounds would be no bad thing
+to be disbanded upon; for he wishes to take an inn at Swanton Morley,
+keep a cock-pit, and live respectably.</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; He is quite right; and now kiss me, my darling
+brother, for I must go back through the bog to Templemore.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
+<p>Groom and cob&mdash;Strength and symmetry&mdash;Where&rsquo;s the
+saddle?&mdash;The first ride&mdash;No more fatigue&mdash;Love for horses&mdash;Pursuit
+of words&mdash;Philologist and Pegasus&mdash;The smith&mdash;What more,
+agrah?&mdash;Sassannach tenpence.</p>
+<p>And it came to pass that, as I was standing by the door of the barrack
+stable, one of the grooms came out to me, saying, &lsquo;I say, young
+gentleman, I wish you would give the cob a breathing this fine morning.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why do you wish me to mount him?&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;you
+know he is dangerous.&nbsp; I saw him fling you off his back only a
+few days ago.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, that&rsquo;s the very thing, master.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d
+rather see anybody on his back than myself; he does not like me; but,
+to them he does, he can be as gentle as a lamb.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But suppose,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;that he should not like
+me?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We shall soon see that, master,&rsquo; said the groom; &lsquo;and,
+if so be he shows temper, I will be the first to tell you to get down.&nbsp;
+But there&rsquo;s no fear of that; you have never angered or insulted
+him, and to such as you, I say again, he&rsquo;ll be as gentle as a
+lamb.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And how came you to insult him,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;knowing
+his temper as you do?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Merely through forgetfulness, master: I was riding him about
+a month ago, and having a stick in my hand, I struck him, thinking I
+was on another horse, or rather thinking of nothing at all.&nbsp; He
+has never forgiven me, though before that time he was the only friend
+I had in the world; I should like to see you on him, master.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I should soon be off him; I can&rsquo;t ride.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you are all right, master; there&rsquo;s no fear.&nbsp;
+Trust him for not hurting a young gentleman, an officer&rsquo;s son,
+who can&rsquo;t ride.&nbsp; If you were a blackguard dragoon, indeed,
+with long spurs, &lsquo;twere another thing; as it is, he&rsquo;ll treat
+you as if he were the elder brother that loves you.&nbsp; Ride!&nbsp;
+He&rsquo;ll soon teach you to ride if you leave the matter with him.&nbsp;
+He&rsquo;s the best riding-master in all Ireland, and the gentlest.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The cob was led forth; what a tremendous creature!&nbsp; I had frequently
+seen him before, and wondered at him; he was barely fifteen hands, but
+he had the girth of a metropolitan dray-horse; his head was small in
+comparison with his immense neck, which curved down nobly to his wide
+back: his chest was broad and fine, and his shoulders models of symmetry
+and strength; he stood well and powerfully upon his legs, which were
+somewhat short.&nbsp; In a word, he was a gallant specimen of the genuine
+Irish cob, a species at one time not uncommon, but at the present day
+nearly extinct.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There!&rsquo; said the groom, as he looked at him, half admiringly,
+half sorrowfully, &lsquo;with sixteen stone on his back, he&rsquo;ll
+trot fourteen miles in one hour, with your nine stone, some two and
+a half more ay, and clear a six-foot wall at the end of it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I&rsquo;m half afraid,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;I had rather
+you would ride him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I&rsquo;d rather so, too, if he would let me; but he remembers
+the blow.&nbsp; Now, don&rsquo;t be afraid, young master, he&rsquo;s
+longing to go out himself.&nbsp; He&rsquo;s been trampling with his
+feet these three days, and I know what that means; he&rsquo;ll let anybody
+ride him but myself, and thank them; but to me he says, &ldquo;No! you
+struck me.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;where&rsquo;s the saddle?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Never mind the saddle; if you are ever to be a frank rider,
+you must begin without a saddle; besides, if he felt a saddle, he would
+think you don&rsquo;t trust him, and leave you to yourself.&nbsp; Now,
+before you mount, make his acquaintance&mdash;see there, how he kisses
+you and licks your face, and see how he lifts his foot, that&rsquo;s
+to shake hands.&nbsp; You may trust him&mdash;now you are on his back
+at last; mind how you hold the bridle&mdash;gently, gently!&nbsp; It&rsquo;s
+not four pair of hands like yours can hold him if he wishes to be off.&nbsp;
+Mind what I tell you&mdash;leave it all to him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Off went the cob at a slow and gentle trot, too fast and rough, however,
+for so inexperienced a rider.&nbsp; I soon felt myself sliding off,
+the animal perceived it too, and instantly stood stone still till I
+had righted myself; and now the groom came up: &lsquo;When you feel
+yourself going,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;don&rsquo;t lay hold of the mane,
+that&rsquo;s no use; mane never yet saved man from falling, no more
+than straw from drowning; it&rsquo;s his sides you must cling to with
+your calves and feet, till you learn to balance yourself.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s
+it, now abroad with you; I&rsquo;ll bet my comrade a pot of beer that
+you&rsquo;ll be a regular rough-rider by the time you come back.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And so it proved; I followed the directions of the groom, and the
+cob gave me every assistance.&nbsp; How easy is riding, after the first
+timidity is got over, to supple and youthful limbs; and there is no
+second fear.&nbsp; The creature soon found that the nerves of his rider
+were in proper tone.&nbsp; Turning his head half round, he made a kind
+of whining noise, flung out a little foam, and set off.</p>
+<p>In less than two hours I had made the circuit of the Devil&rsquo;s
+Mountain, and was returning along the road, bathed with perspiration,
+but screaming with delight; the cob laughing in his equine way, scattering
+foam and pebbles to the left and right, and trotting at the rate of
+sixteen miles an hour.</p>
+<p>Oh, that ride! that first ride!&mdash;most truly it was an epoch
+in my existence; and I still look back to it with feelings of longing
+and regret.&nbsp; People may talk of first love&mdash;it is a very agreeable
+event, I daresay&mdash;but give me the flush, and triumph, and glorious
+sweat of a first ride, like mine on the mighty cob!&nbsp; My whole frame
+was shaken, it is true; and during one long week I could hardly move
+foot or hand; but what of that?&nbsp; By that one trial I had become
+free, as I may say, of the whole equine species.&nbsp; No more fatigue,
+no more stiffness of joints, after that first ride round the Devil&rsquo;s
+Hill on the cob.</p>
+<p>Oh, that cob! that Irish cob!&mdash;may the sod lie lightly over
+the bones of the strongest, speediest, and most gallant of its kind!&nbsp;
+Oh! the days when, issuing from the barrack-gate of Templemore, we commenced
+our hurry-skurry just as inclination led&mdash;now across the fields&mdash;direct
+over stone walls and running brooks&mdash;mere pastime for the cob!&mdash;sometimes
+along the road to Thurles and Holy Cross, even to distant Cahir!&mdash;what
+was distance to the cob?</p>
+<p>It was thus that the passion for the equine race was first awakened
+within me&mdash;a passion which, up to the present time, has been rather
+on the increase than diminishing.&nbsp; It is no blind passion; the
+horse being a noble and generous creature, intended by the All-Wise
+to be the helper and friend of man, to whom he stands next in the order
+of creation.&nbsp; On many occasions of my life I have been much indebted
+to the horse, and have found in him a friend and coadjutor, when human
+help and sympathy were not to be obtained.&nbsp; It is therefore natural
+enough that I should love the horse; but the love which I entertain
+for him has always been blended with respect; for I soon perceived that,
+though disposed to be the friend and helper of man, he is by no means
+inclined to be his slave; in which respect he differs from the dog,
+who will crouch when beaten; whereas the horse spurns, for he is aware
+of his own worth and that he carries death within the horn of his heel.&nbsp;
+If, therefore, I found it easy to love the horse, I found it equally
+natural to respect him.</p>
+<p>I much question whether philology, or the passion for languages,
+requires so little of an apology as the love for horses.&nbsp; It has
+been said, I believe, that the more languages a man speaks, the more
+a man is he; which is very true, provided he acquires languages as a
+medium for becoming acquainted with the thoughts and feelings of the
+various sections into which the human race is divided; but, in that
+case, he should rather be termed a philosopher than a philologist&mdash;between
+which two the difference is wide indeed!&nbsp; An individual may speak
+and read a dozen languages, and yet be an exceedingly poor creature,
+scarcely half a man; and the pursuit of tongues for their own sake,
+and the mere satisfaction of acquiring them, surely argues an intellect
+of a very low order; a mind disposed to be satisfied with mean and grovelling
+things; taking more pleasure in the trumpery casket than in the precious
+treasure which it contains; in the pursuit of words, than in the acquisition
+of ideas.</p>
+<p>I cannot help thinking that it was fortunate for myself, who am,
+to a certain extent, a philologist, that with me the pursuit of languages
+has been always modified by the love of horses; for scarcely had I turned
+my mind to the former, when I also mounted the wild cob, and hurried
+forth in the direction of the Devil&rsquo;s Hill, scattering dust and
+flint-stones on every side; that ride, amongst other things, taught
+me that a lad with thews and sinews was intended by nature for something
+better than mere word-culling; and if I have accomplished anything in
+after life worthy of mentioning, I believe it may partly be attributed
+to the ideas which that ride, by setting my blood in a glow, infused
+into my brain.&nbsp; I might, otherwise, have become a mere philologist;
+one of those beings who toil night and day in culling useless words
+for some <i>opus magnum</i> which Murray will never publish, and nobody
+ever read; beings without enthusiasm, who, having never mounted a generous
+steed, cannot detect a good point in Pegasus himself; like a certain
+philologist, who, though acquainted with the exact value of every word
+in the Greek and Latin languages, could observe no particular beauty
+in one of the most glorious of Homer&rsquo;s rhapsodies.&nbsp; What
+knew he of Pegasus? he had never mounted a generous steed; the merest
+jockey, had the strain been interpreted to him, would have called it
+a brave song!&mdash;I return to the brave cob.</p>
+<p>On a certain day I had been out on an excursion.&nbsp; In a cross-road,
+at some distance from the Satanic hill, the animal which I rode cast
+a shoe.&nbsp; By good luck a small village was at hand, at the entrance
+of which was a large shed, from which proceeded a most furious noise
+of hammering.&nbsp; Leading the cob by the bridle, I entered boldly.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Shoe this horse, and do it quickly, a gough,&rsquo; said I to
+a wild grimy figure of a man, whom I found alone, fashioning a piece
+of iron.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Arrigod yuit?&rsquo; said the fellow, desisting from his work,
+and staring at me.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh yes, I have money,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;and of the best&rsquo;;
+and I pulled out an English shilling.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Tabhair chugam?&rsquo; said the smith, stretching out his
+grimy hand.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, I shan&rsquo;t,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;some people are
+glad to get their money when their work is done.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The fellow hammered a little longer, and then proceeded to shoe the
+cob, after having first surveyed it with attention.&nbsp; He performed
+his job rather roughly, and more than once appeared to give the animal
+unnecessary pain, frequently making use of loud and boisterous words.&nbsp;
+By the time the work was done, the creature was in a state of high excitement,
+and plunged and tore.&nbsp; The smith stood at a short distance, seeming
+to enjoy the irritation of the animal, and showing, in a remarkable
+manner, a huge fang, which projected from the under jaw of a very wry
+mouth.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You deserve better handling,&rsquo; said I, as I went up to
+the cob and fondled it; whereupon it whinnied, and attempted to touch
+my face with its nose.</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page94b.jpg">
+<img alt="&lsquo;Arrigod yuit?&rsquo; said the fellow, desisting from his work, and staring at me" src="images/page94s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are ye not afraid of that beast?&rsquo; said the smith, showing
+his fang.&nbsp; &lsquo;Arrah, it&rsquo;s vicious that he looks!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It&rsquo;s at you, then!&mdash;I don&rsquo;t fear him&rsquo;;
+and thereupon I passed under the horse, between its hind legs.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And is that all you can do, agrah?&rsquo; said the smith.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I can ride him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ye can ride him, and what else, agrah?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I can leap him over a six-foot wall,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Over a wall, and what more, agrah?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nothing more,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;what more would you have?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Can you do this, agrah?&rsquo; said the smith; and he uttered
+a word which I had never heard before, in a sharp pungent tone.&nbsp;
+The effect upon myself was somewhat extraordinary, a strange thrill
+ran through me; but with regard to the cob it was terrible; the animal
+forthwith became like one mad, and reared and kicked with the utmost
+desperation.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Can you do that, agrah?&rsquo; said the smith.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is it?&rsquo; said I, retreating, &lsquo;I never saw
+the horse so before.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Go between his legs, agrah,&rsquo; said the smith, &lsquo;his
+hinder legs&rsquo;; and he again showed his fang.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I dare not,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;he would kill me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He would kill ye! and how do ye know that, agrah?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I feel he would,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;something tells me
+so.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And it tells ye truth, agrah; but it&rsquo;s a fine beast,
+and it&rsquo;s a pity to see him in such a state: Is agam an&rsquo;t
+leigeas&rsquo;&mdash;and here he uttered another word in a voice singularly
+modified, but sweet and almost plaintive; the effect of it was as instantaneous
+as that of the other, but how different!&mdash;the animal lost all its
+fury, and became at once calm and gentle.&nbsp; The smith went up to
+it, coaxed and patted it, making use of various sounds of equine endearment;
+then turning to me, and holding out once more the grimy hand, he said,
+&lsquo;And now ye will be giving me the Sassannach tenpence, agrah?&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2>
+<p>A fine old city&mdash;Norman master-work&mdash;Lollards&rsquo; Hole&mdash;Good
+blood&mdash;The Spaniard&rsquo;s sword&mdash;Old retired officer&mdash;Writing
+to a duke&mdash;God help the child&mdash;Nothing like Jacob&mdash;Irish
+brigades&mdash;Old Sergeant Meredith&mdash;I have been young&mdash;Idleness&mdash;Only
+course open&mdash;The bookstall&mdash;A portrait&mdash;A banished priest.</p>
+<p>From the wild scenes which I have attempted to describe in the latter
+pages I must now transport the reader to others of a widely different
+character.&nbsp; He must suppose himself no longer in Ireland, but in
+the eastern corner of merry England.&nbsp; Bogs, ruins, and mountains
+have disappeared amidst the vapours of the west: I have nothing more
+to say of them; the region in which we are now is not famous for objects
+of that kind: perhaps it flatters itself that it can produce fairer
+and better things, of some of which let me speak; there is a fine old
+city before us, and first of that let me speak.</p>
+<p>A fine old city, truly, is that, view it from whatever side you will;
+but it shows best from the east, where the ground, bold and elevated,
+overlooks the fair and fertile valley in which it stands.&nbsp; Gazing
+from those heights, the eye beholds a scene which cannot fail to awaken,
+even in the least sensitive bosom, feelings of pleasure and admiration.&nbsp;
+At the foot of the heights flows a narrow and deep river, with an antique
+bridge communicating with a long and narrow suburb, flanked on either
+side by rich meadows of the brightest green, beyond which spreads the
+city; the fine old city, perhaps the most curious specimen at present
+extant of the genuine old English town.&nbsp; Yes, there it spreads
+from north to south, with its venerable houses, its numerous gardens,
+its thrice twelve churches, its mighty mound, which, if tradition speaks
+true, was raised by human hands to serve as the grave-heap of an old
+heathen king, who sits deep within it, with his sword in his hand, and
+his gold and silver treasures about him.&nbsp; There is a gray old castle
+upon the top of that mighty mound; and yonder, rising three hundred
+feet above the soil, from among those noble forest trees, behold that
+old Norman master-work, that cloud-encircled cathedral spire, around
+which a garrulous army of rooks and choughs continually wheel their
+flight.&nbsp; Now, who can wonder that the children of that fine old
+city are proud of her, and offer up prayers for her prosperity?&nbsp;
+I, myself, who was not born within her walls, offer up prayers for her
+prosperity, that want may never visit her cottages, vice her palaces,
+and that the abomination of idolatry may never pollute her temples.&nbsp;
+Ha, idolatry! the reign of idolatry has been over there for many a long
+year, never more, let us hope, to return; brave hearts in that old town
+have borne witness against it, and sealed their testimony with their
+hearts&rsquo; blood&mdash;most precious to the Lord is the blood of
+His saints! we are not far from hallowed ground.&nbsp; Observe ye not
+yon chalky precipice, to the right of the Norman bridge?&nbsp; On this
+side of the stream, upon its brow, is a piece of ruined wall, the last
+relic of what was of old a stately pile, whilst at its foot is a place
+called the Lollards&rsquo; Hole; and with good reason, for many a saint
+of God has breathed his last beneath that white precipice, bearing witness
+against popish idolatry, midst flame and pitch; many a grisly procession
+has advanced along that suburb, across the old bridge, towards the Lollards&rsquo;
+Hole: furious priests in front, a calm pale martyr in the midst, a pitying
+multitude behind.&nbsp; It has had its martyrs, the venerable old town!</p>
+<p>Ah! there is good blood in that old city, and in the whole circumjacent
+region of which it is the capital.&nbsp; The Angles possessed the land
+at an early period, which, however, they were eventually compelled to
+share with hordes of Danes and Northmen, who flocked thither across
+the sea to found hearthsteads on its fertile soil.&nbsp; The present
+race, a mixture of Angles and Danes, still preserve much which speaks
+strongly of their northern ancestry; amongst them ye will find the light-brown
+hair of the north, the strong and burly forms of the north, many a wild
+superstition, ay, and many a wild name connected with the ancient history
+of the north and its sublime mythology; the warm heart and the strong
+heart of the old Danes and Saxons still beats in those regions, and
+there ye will find, if anywhere, old northern hospitality and kindness
+of manner, united with energy, perseverance, and dauntless intrepidity;
+better soldiers or mariners never bled in their country&rsquo;s battles
+than those nurtured in those regions, and within those old walls.&nbsp;
+It was yonder, to the west, that the great naval hero of Britain first
+saw the light; he who annihilated the sea pride of Spain, and dragged
+the humbled banner of France in triumph at his stem.&nbsp; He was born
+yonder, towards the west, and of him there is a glorious relic in that
+old town; in its dark flint guildhouse, the roof of which you can just
+descry rising above that maze of buildings, in the upper hall of justice,
+is a species of glass shrine, in which the relic is to be seen; a sword
+of curious workmanship, the blade is of keen Toledan steel, the heft
+of ivory and mother-of-pearl.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis the sword of Cordova,
+won in bloodiest fray off Saint Vincent&rsquo;s promontory, and presented
+by Nelson to the old capital of the much-loved land of his birth.&nbsp;
+Yes, the proud Spaniard&rsquo;s sword is to be seen in yonder guildhouse,
+in the glass case affixed to the wall: many other relics has the good
+old town, but none prouder than the Spaniard&rsquo;s sword.</p>
+<p>Such was the place to which, when the war was over, my father retired:
+it was here that the old tired soldier set himself down with his little
+family.&nbsp; He had passed the greater part of his life in meritorious
+exertion, in the service of his country, and his chief wish now was
+to spend the remainder of his days in quiet and respectability; his
+means, it is true, were not very ample; fortunate it was that his desires
+corresponded with them; with a small fortune of his own, and with his
+half-pay as a royal soldier, he had no fears for himself or for his
+faithful partner and helpmate; but then his children! how was he to
+provide for them? how launch them upon the wide ocean of the world?&nbsp;
+This was, perhaps, the only thought which gave him uneasiness, and I
+believe that many an old retired officer at that time, and under similar
+circumstances, experienced similar anxiety; had the war continued, their
+children would have been, of course, provided for in the army, but peace
+now reigned, and the military career was closed to all save the scions
+of the aristocracy, or those who were in some degree connected with
+that privileged order, an advantage which few of these old officers
+could boast of; they had slight influence with the great, who gave themselves
+very little trouble either about them or their families.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have been writing to the Duke,&rsquo; said my father one
+day to my excellent mother, after we had been at home somewhat better
+than a year.&nbsp; &lsquo;I have been writing to the Duke of York about
+a commission for that eldest boy of ours.&nbsp; He, however, affords
+me no hopes; he says that his list is crammed with names, and that the
+greater number of the candidates have better claims than my son.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not see how that can be,&rsquo; said my mother.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nor do I,&rsquo; replied my father.&nbsp; &lsquo;I see the
+sons of bankers and merchants gazetted every month, and I do not see
+what claims they have to urge, unless they be golden ones.&nbsp; However,
+I have not served my king fifty years to turn grumbler at this time
+of life.&nbsp; I suppose that the people at the head of affairs know
+what is most proper and convenient; perhaps when the lad sees how difficult,
+nay, how impossible it is that he should enter the army, he will turn
+his mind to some other profession; I wish he may!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I think he has already,&rsquo; said my mother; &lsquo;you
+see how fond he is of the arts, of drawing and painting, and, as far
+as I can judge, what he has already done is very respectable; his mind
+seems quite turned that way, and I heard him say the other day that
+he would sooner be a Michael Angelo than a general officer.&nbsp; But
+you are always talking of him; what do you think of doing with the other
+child?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What, indeed!&rsquo; said my father; &lsquo;that is a consideration
+which gives me no little uneasiness.&nbsp; I am afraid it will be much
+more difficult to settle him in life than his brother.&nbsp; What is
+he fitted for, even were it in my power to provide for him?&nbsp; God
+help the child!&nbsp; I bear him no ill will, on the contrary, all love
+and affection; but I cannot shut my eyes; there is something so strange
+about him!&nbsp; How he behaved in Ireland!&nbsp; I sent him to school
+to learn Greek, and he picked up Irish!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And Greek as well,&rsquo; said my mother.&nbsp; &lsquo;I heard
+him say the other day that he could read St. John in the original tongue.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You will find excuses for him, I know,&rsquo; said my father.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;You tell me I am always talking of my first-born; I might retort
+by saying you are always thinking of the other: but it is the way of
+women always to side with the second-born.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s what&rsquo;s
+her name in the Bible, by whose wiles the old blind man was induced
+to give to his second son the blessing which was the birthright of the
+other.&nbsp; I wish I had been in his place!&nbsp; I should not have
+been so easily deceived! no disguise would ever have caused me to mistake
+an impostor for my first-born.&nbsp; Though I must say for this boy
+that he is nothing like Jacob; he is neither smooth nor sleek, and,
+though my second-born, is already taller and larger than his brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Just so,&rsquo; said my mother; &lsquo;his brother would make
+a far better Jacob than he.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will hear nothing against my first-born,&rsquo; said my
+father, &lsquo;even in the way of insinuation: he is my joy and pride;
+the very image of myself in my youthful days, long before I fought Big
+Ben; though perhaps not quite so tall or strong built.&nbsp; As for
+the other, God bless the child!&nbsp; I love him, I&rsquo;m sure; but
+I must be blind not to see the difference between him and his brother.&nbsp;
+Why, he has neither my hair nor my eyes; and then his countenance! why,
+&rsquo;tis absolutely swarthy, God forgive me!&nbsp; I had almost said
+like that of a gypsy, but I have nothing to say against that; the boy
+is not to be blamed for the colour of his face, nor for his hair and
+eyes; but, then, his ways and manners!&mdash;I confess I do not like
+them, and that they give me no little uneasiness&mdash;I know that he
+kept very strange company when he was in Ireland; people of evil report,
+of whom terrible things were said&mdash;horse-witches and the like.&nbsp;
+I questioned him once or twice upon the matter, and even threatened
+him, but it was of no use; he put on a look as if he did not understand
+me, a regular Irish look, just such a one as those rascals assume when
+they wish to appear all innocence and simplicity, and they full of malice
+and deceit all the time.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t like them; they are no
+friends to old England, or its old king, God bless him!&nbsp; They are
+not good subjects, and never were; always in league with foreign enemies.&nbsp;
+When I was in the Coldstream, long before the Revolution, I used to
+hear enough about the Irish brigades kept by the French kings, to be
+a thorn in the side of the English whenever opportunity served.&nbsp;
+Old Sergeant Meredith once told me that in the time of the Pretender
+there were always, in London alone, a dozen of fellows connected with
+these brigades, with the view of seducing the king&rsquo;s soldiers
+from their allegiance, and persuading them to desert to France to join
+the honest Irish, as they were called.&nbsp; One of these traitors once
+accosted him and proposed the matter to him, offering handfuls of gold
+if he could induce any of his comrades to go over.&nbsp; Meredith appeared
+to consent, but secretly gave information to his colonel; the fellow
+was seized, and certain traitorous papers found upon him; he was hanged
+before Newgate, and died exulting in his treason.&nbsp; His name was
+Michael Nowlan.&nbsp; That ever son of mine should have been intimate
+with the Papist Irish, and have learnt their language!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But he thinks of other things now,&rsquo; said my mother.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Other languages, you mean,&rsquo; said my father.&nbsp; &lsquo;It
+is strange that he has conceived such a zest for the study of languages;
+no sooner did he come home than he persuaded me to send him to that
+old priest to learn French and Italian, and, if I remember right, you
+abetted him; but, as I said before, it is in the nature of women invariably
+to take the part of the second-born.&nbsp; Well, there is no harm in
+learning French and Italian, perhaps much good in his case, as they
+may drive the other tongue out of his head.&nbsp; Irish! why, he might
+go to the university but for that; but how would he look when, on being
+examined with respect to his attainments, it was discovered that he
+understood Irish?&nbsp; How did you learn it? they would ask him; how
+did you become acquainted with the language of Papists and rebels?&nbsp;
+The boy would be sent away in disgrace.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Be under no apprehension, I have no doubt that he has long
+since forgotten it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am glad to hear it,&rsquo; said my father; &lsquo;for, between
+ourselves, I love the poor child; ay, quite as well as my first-born.&nbsp;
+I trust they will do well, and that God will be their shield and guide;
+I have no doubt He will, for I have read something in the Bible to that
+effect.&nbsp; What is that text about the young ravens being fed?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know a better than that,&rsquo; said my mother; &lsquo;one
+of David&rsquo;s own words, &ldquo;I have been young and now am grown
+old, yet never have I seen the righteous man forsaken, or his seed begging
+their bread.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I have heard talk of the pleasures of idleness, yet it is my own
+firm belief that no one ever yet took pleasure in it.&nbsp; Mere idleness
+is the most disagreeable state of existence, and both mind and body
+are continually making efforts to escape from it.&nbsp; It has been
+said that idleness is the parent of mischief, which is very true; but
+mischief itself is merely an attempt to escape from the dreary vacuum
+of idleness.&nbsp; There are many tasks and occupations which a man
+is unwilling to perform, but let no one think that he is therefore in
+love with idleness; he turns to something which is more agreeable to
+his inclination, and doubtless more suited to his nature; but he is
+not in love with idleness.&nbsp; A boy may play the truant from school
+because he dislikes books and study; but, depend upon it, he intends
+doing something the while&mdash;to go fishing, or perhaps to take a
+walk; and who knows but that from such excursions both his mind and
+body may derive more benefit than from books and school?&nbsp; Many
+people go to sleep to escape from idleness; the Spaniards do; and, according
+to the French account, John Bull, the &rsquo;squire, hangs himself in
+the month of November; but the French, who are a very sensible people,
+attribute the action <i>&agrave; une grande envie de se d&eacute;sennuyer</i>;
+he wishes to be doing something, say they, and having nothing better
+to do, he has recourse to the cord.</p>
+<p>It was for want of something better to do that, shortly after my
+return home, I applied myself to the study of languages.&nbsp; By the
+acquisition of Irish, with the first elements of which I had become
+acquainted under the tuition of Murtagh, I had contracted a certain
+zest and inclination for the pursuit.&nbsp; Yet it is probable that
+had I been launched about this time into some agreeable career, that
+of arms for example, for which, being the son of a soldier, I had, as
+was natural, a sort of penchant, I might have thought nothing more of
+the acquisition of tongues of any kind; but, having nothing to do, I
+followed the only course suited to my genius which appeared open to
+me.</p>
+<p>So it came to pass that one day, whilst wandering listlessly about
+the streets of the old town, I came to a small book-stall, and stopping,
+commenced turning over the books; I took up at least a dozen, and almost
+instantly flung them down.&nbsp; What were they to me?&nbsp; At last,
+coming to a thick volume, I opened it, and after inspecting its contents
+for a few minutes, I paid for it what was demanded, and forthwith carried
+it home.</p>
+<p>It was a tessaraglot grammar; a strange old book, printed somewhere
+in Holland, which pretended to be an easy guide to the acquirement of
+the French, Italian, Low Dutch, and English tongues, by means of which
+any one conversant in any one of these languages could make himself
+master of the other three.&nbsp; I turned my attention to the French
+and Italian.&nbsp; The old book was not of much value; I derived some
+benefit from it, however, and, conning it intensely, at the end of a
+few weeks obtained some insight into the structure of these two languages.&nbsp;
+At length I had learnt all that the book was capable of informing me,
+yet was still far from the goal to which it had promised to conduct
+me.&nbsp; &lsquo;I wish I had a master!&rsquo; I exclaimed; and the
+master was at hand.&nbsp; In an old court of the old town lived a certain
+elderly personage, perhaps sixty, or thereabouts; he was rather tall,
+and something of a robust make, with a countenance in which bluffness
+was singularly blended with vivacity and grimace; and with a complexion
+which would have been ruddy, but for a yellow hue which rather predominated.&nbsp;
+His dress consisted of a snuff-coloured coat and drab pantaloons, the
+former evidently seldom subjected to the annoyance of a brush, and the
+latter exhibiting here and there spots of something which, if not grease,
+bore a strong resemblance to it; add to these articles an immense frill,
+seldom of the purest white, but invariably of the finest French cambric,
+and you have some idea of his dress.&nbsp; He had rather a remarkable
+stoop, but his step was rapid and vigorous, and as he hurried along
+the streets, he would glance to the right and left with a pair of big
+eyes like plums, and on recognising any one would exalt a pair of grizzled
+eyebrows, and slightly kiss a tawny and ungloved hand.&nbsp; At certain
+hours of the day be might be seen entering the doors of female boarding-schools,
+generally with a book in his hand, and perhaps another just peering
+from the orifice of a capacious back pocket; and at a certain season
+of the year he might be seen, dressed in white, before the altar of
+a certain small popish chapel, chanting from the breviary in very intelligible
+Latin, or perhaps reading from the desk in utterly unintelligible English.&nbsp;
+Such was my preceptor in the French and Italian tongues.&nbsp; &lsquo;Exul
+sacerdos; vone banished priest.&nbsp; I came into England twenty-five
+year ago, &ldquo;my dear.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2>
+<p>Monsieur Dante&mdash;Condemned musket&mdash;Sporting&mdash;Sweet
+rivulet&mdash;The Earl&rsquo;s Home&mdash;The pool&mdash;The sonorous
+voice&mdash;What dost thou read?&mdash;Man of peace&mdash;Zohar and
+Mishna&mdash;Money-changers.</p>
+<p>So I studied French and Italian under the tuition of the banished
+priest, to whose house I went regularly every evening to receive instruction.&nbsp;
+I made considerable progress in the acquisition of the two languages.&nbsp;
+I found the French by far the most difficult, chiefly on account of
+the accent, which my master himself possessed in no great purity, being
+a Norman by birth.&nbsp; The Italian was my favourite.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Vous serez un jour un grand philologue, mon cher,&rsquo; said
+the old man, on our arriving at the conclusion of Dante&rsquo;s Hell.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I hope I shall be something better,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;before
+I die, or I shall have lived to little purpose.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That&rsquo;s true, my dear! philologist&mdash;one small poor
+dog.&nbsp; What would you wish to be?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Many things sooner than that; for example, I would rather
+be like him who wrote this book.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Quoi, Monsieur Dante?&nbsp; He was a vagabond, my dear, forced
+to fly from his country.&nbsp; No, my dear, if you would be like one
+poet, be like Monsieur Boileau; he is the poet.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t think so.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How, not think so?&nbsp; He wrote very respectable verses;
+lived and died much respected by everybody.&nbsp; T&rsquo;other, one
+bad dog, forced to fly from his country&mdash;died with not enough to
+pay his undertaker.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Were you not forced to flee from your country?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That very true; but there is much difference between me and
+this Dante.&nbsp; He fled from country because he had one bad tongue
+which he shook at his betters.&nbsp; I fly because benefice gone, and
+head going; not on account of the badness of my tongue.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;you can return now; the Bourbons
+are restored.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I find myself very well here; not bad country.&nbsp; Il est
+vrai que la France sera toujours la France; but all are dead there who
+knew me.&nbsp; I find myself very well here.&nbsp; Preach in popish
+chapel, teach schismatic, that is Protestant, child tongues and literature.&nbsp;
+I find myself very well; and why?&nbsp; Because I know how to govern
+my tongue; never call people hard names.&nbsp; Ma foi, il y a beaucoup
+de diff&eacute;rence entre moi et ce sacre de Dante.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Under this old man, who was well versed in the southern languages,
+besides studying French and Italian, I acquired some knowledge of Spanish.&nbsp;
+But I did not devote my time entirely to philology; I had other pursuits.&nbsp;
+I had not forgotten the roving life I had led in former days, nor its
+delights; neither was I formed by Nature to be a pallid indoor student.&nbsp;
+No, no!&nbsp; I was fond of other and, I say it boldly, better things
+than study.&nbsp; I had an attachment to the angle, ay, and to the gun
+likewise.&nbsp; In our house was a condemned musket, bearing somewhere
+on its lock, in rather antique characters, &lsquo;Tower, 1746&rsquo;;
+with this weapon I had already, in Ireland, performed some execution
+among the rooks and choughs, and it was now again destined to be a source
+of solace and amusement to me, in the winter season, especially on occasions
+of severe frost when birds abounded.&nbsp; Sallying forth with it at
+these times, far into the country, I seldom returned at night without
+a string of bullfinches, blackbirds, and linnets hanging in triumph
+round my neck.&nbsp; When I reflect on the immense quantity of powder
+and shot which I crammed down the muzzle of my uncouth fowling-piece,
+I am less surprised at the number of birds which I slaughtered than
+that I never blew my hands, face, and old honeycombed gun, at one and
+the same time, to pieces.</p>
+<p>But the winter, alas! (I speak as a fowler) seldom lasts in England
+more than three or four months; so, during the rest of the year, when
+not occupied with my philological studies, I had to seek for other diversions.&nbsp;
+I have already given a hint that I was also addicted to the angle.&nbsp;
+Of course there is no comparison between the two pursuits, the rod and
+line seeming but very poor trumpery to one who has had the honour of
+carrying a noble firelock.&nbsp; There is a time, however, for all things;
+and we return to any favourite amusement with the greater zest, from
+being compelled to relinquish it for a season.&nbsp; So, if I shot birds
+in winter with my firelock, I caught fish in summer, or attempted so
+to do, with my angle.&nbsp; I was not quite so successful, it is true,
+with the latter as with the former; possibly because it afforded me
+less pleasure.&nbsp; It was, indeed, too much of a listless pastime
+to inspire me with any great interest.&nbsp; I not unfrequently fell
+into a doze, whilst sitting on the bank, and more than once let my rod
+drop from my hands into the water.</p>
+<p>At some distance from the city, behind a range of hilly ground which
+rises towards the south-west, is a small river, the waters of which,
+after many meanderings, eventually enter the principal river of the
+district, and assist to swell the tide which it rolls down to the ocean.&nbsp;
+It is a sweet rivulet, and pleasant is it to trace its course from its
+spring-head, high up in the remote regions of Eastern Anglia, till it
+arrives in the valley behind yon rising ground; and pleasant is that
+valley, truly a goodly spot, but most lovely where yonder bridge crosses
+the little stream.&nbsp; Beneath its arch the waters rush garrulously
+into a blue pool, and are there stilled, for a time, for the pool is
+deep, and they appear to have sunk to sleep.&nbsp; Farther on, however,
+you hear their voice again, where they ripple gaily over yon gravelly
+shallow.&nbsp; On the left, the hill slopes gently down to the margin
+of the stream.&nbsp; On the right is a green level, a smiling meadow,
+grass of the richest decks the side of the slope; mighty trees also
+adorn it, giant elms, the nearest of which, when the sun is nigh its
+meridian, fling a broad shadow upon the face of the pool; through yon
+vista you catch a glimpse of the ancient brick of an old English hall.&nbsp;
+It has a stately look, that old building, indistinctly seen, as it is,
+among those umbrageous trees; you might almost suppose it an earl&rsquo;s
+home; and such it was, or rather upon its site stood an earl&rsquo;s
+home, in days of old, for there some old Kemp, some Sigurd or Thorkild,
+roaming in quest of a hearthstead, settled down in the gray old time,
+when Thor and Freya were yet gods, and Odin was a portentous name.&nbsp;
+Yon old hall is still called the Earl&rsquo;s Home, though the hearth
+of Sigurd is now no more, and the bones of the old Kemp, and of Sigrith
+his dame, have been mouldering for a thousand years in some neighbouring
+knoll; perhaps yonder, where those tall Norwegian pines shoot up so
+boldly into the air.&nbsp; It is said that the old earl&rsquo;s galley
+was once moored where is now that blue pool, for the waters of that
+valley were not always sweet; yon valley was once an arm of the sea,
+a salt lagoon, to which the war-barks of &lsquo;Sigurd, in search of
+a home,&rsquo; found their way.</p>
+<p>I was in the habit of spending many an hour on the banks of that
+rivulet, with my rod in my hand, and, when tired with angling, would
+stretch myself on the grass, and gaze upon the waters as they glided
+past, and not unfrequently, divesting myself of my dress, I would plunge
+into the deep pool which I have already mentioned, for I had long since
+learned to swim.&nbsp; And it came to pass that on one hot summer&rsquo;s
+day, after bathing in the pool, I passed along the meadow till I came
+to a shallow part, and, wading over to the opposite side, I adjusted
+my dress, and commenced fishing in another pool, beside which was a
+small clump of hazels.</p>
+<p>And there I sat upon the bank, at the bottom of the hill which slopes
+down from &lsquo;the Earl&rsquo;s home&rsquo;; my float was on the waters,
+and my back was towards the old hall.&nbsp; I drew up many fish, small
+and great, which I took from off the hook mechanically, and flung upon
+the bank, for I was almost unconscious of what I was about, for my mind
+was not with my fish.&nbsp; I was thinking of my earlier years&mdash;of
+the Scottish crags and the heaths of Ireland&mdash;and sometimes my
+mind would dwell on my studies&mdash;on the sonorous stanzas of Dante,
+rising and falling like the waves of the sea&mdash;or would strive to
+remember a couplet or two of poor Monsieur Boileau.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Canst thou answer to thy conscience for pulling all those
+fish out of the water, and leaving them to gasp in the sun?&rsquo; said
+a voice, clear and sonorous as a bell.</p>
+<p>I started, and looked round.&nbsp; Close behind me stood the tall
+figure of a man, dressed in raiment of quaint and singular fashion,
+but of goodly materials.&nbsp; He was in the prime and vigour of manhood;
+his features handsome and noble, but full of calmness and benevolence;
+at least I thought so, though they were somewhat shaded by a hat of
+finest beaver, with broad drooping eaves.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Surely that is a very cruel diversion in which thou indulgest,
+my young friend?&rsquo; he continued.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am sorry for it, if it be, sir,&rsquo; said I, rising; &lsquo;but
+I do not think it cruel to fish.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What are thy reasons for not thinking so?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Fishing is mentioned frequently in Scripture.&nbsp; Simon
+Peter was a fisherman.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;True; and Andrew and his brother.&nbsp; But thou forgettest:
+they did not follow fishing as a diversion, as I fear thou doest.&mdash;Thou
+readest the Scriptures?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sometimes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sometimes?&mdash;not daily?&mdash;that is to be regretted.&nbsp;
+What profession dost thou make?&mdash;I mean to what religious denomination
+dost thou belong, my young friend.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Church?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is a very good profession&mdash;there is much of Scripture
+contained in its liturgy.&nbsp; Dost thou read aught besides the Scriptures?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sometimes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What dost thou read besides?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Greek, and Dante.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Indeed! then thou hast the advantage over myself; I can only
+read the former.&nbsp; Well, I am rejoiced to find that thou hast other
+pursuits beside thy fishing.&nbsp; Dost thou know Hebrew?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thou shouldst study it.&nbsp; Why dost thou not undertake
+the study?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have no books.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will lend thee books, if thou wish to undertake the study.&nbsp;
+I live yonder at the hall, as perhaps thou knowest.&nbsp; I have a library
+there, in which are many curious books, both in Greek and Hebrew, which
+I will show to thee, whenever thou mayest find it convenient to come
+and see me.&nbsp; Farewell!&nbsp; I am glad to find that thou hast pursuits
+more satisfactory than thy cruel fishing.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And the man of peace departed, and left me on the bank of the stream.&nbsp;
+Whether from the effect of his words, or from want of inclination to
+the sport, I know not, but from that day I became less and less a practitioner
+of that &lsquo;cruel fishing.&rsquo;&nbsp; I rarely flung line and angle
+into the water, but I not unfrequently wandered by the banks of the
+pleasant rivulet.&nbsp; It seems singular to me, on reflection, that
+I never availed myself of his kind invitation.&nbsp; I say singular,
+for the extraordinary, under whatever form, had long had no slight interest
+for me; and I had discernment enough to perceive that yon was no common
+man.&nbsp; Yet I went not near him, certainly not from bashfulness or
+timidity, feelings to which I had long been an entire stranger.&nbsp;
+Am I to regret this? perhaps, for I might have learned both wisdom and
+righteousness from those calm, quiet lips, and my after-course might
+have been widely different.&nbsp; As it was, I fell in with other guess
+companions, from whom I received widely different impressions than those
+I might have derived from him.&nbsp; When many years had rolled on,
+long after I had attained manhood, and had seen and suffered much, and
+when our first interview had long since been effaced from the mind of
+the man of peace, I visited him in his venerable hall, and partook of
+the hospitality of his hearth.&nbsp; And there I saw his gentle partner
+and his fair children, and on the morrow he showed me the books of which
+he had spoken years before by the side of the stream.&nbsp; In the low
+quiet chamber, whose one window, shaded by a gigantic elm, looks down
+the slope towards the pleasant stream, he took from the shelf his learned
+books, Zohar and Mishna, Toldoth Jesu and Abarbenel.&nbsp; &lsquo;I
+am fond of these studies,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;which, perhaps, is
+not to be wondered at, seeing that our people have been compared to
+the Jews.&nbsp; In one respect I confess we are similar to them; we
+are fond of getting money.&nbsp; I do not like this last author, this
+Abarbenel, the worse for having been a money-changer.&nbsp; I am a banker
+myself, as thou knowest.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And would there were many like him, amidst the money-changers of
+princes!&nbsp; The hall of many an earl lacks the bounty, the palace
+of many a prelate the piety and learning, which adorn the quiet quaker&rsquo;s
+home!</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2>
+<p>Fair of horses&mdash;Looks of respect&mdash;The fast trotter&mdash;Pair
+of eyes&mdash;Strange men&mdash;Jasper, your pal&mdash;Force of blood&mdash;Young
+lady with diamonds&mdash;Not quite so beautiful.</p>
+<p>I was standing on the castle hill in the midst of a fair of horses.</p>
+<p>I have already had occasion to mention this castle.&nbsp; It is the
+remains of what was once a Norman stronghold, and is perched upon a
+round mound or monticle, in the midst of the old city.&nbsp; Steep is
+this mound and scarped, evidently by the hand of man; a deep gorge over
+which is flung a bridge, separates it, on the south, from a broad swell
+of open ground called &lsquo;the hill&rsquo;; of old the scene of many
+a tournament and feat of Norman chivalry, but now much used as a show-place
+for cattle, where those who buy and sell beeves and other beasts resort
+at stated periods.</p>
+<p>So it came to pass that I stood upon this hill, observing a fair
+of horses.</p>
+<p>The reader is already aware that I had long since conceived a passion
+for the equine race; a passion in which circumstances had of late not
+permitted me to indulge.&nbsp; I had no horses to ride, but I took pleasure
+in looking at them; and I had already attended more than one of these
+fairs: the present was lively enough, indeed horse fairs are seldom
+dull.&nbsp; There was shouting and whooping, neighing and braying; there
+was galloping and trotting; fellows with highlows and white stockings,
+and with many a string dangling from the knees of their tight breeches,
+were running desperately, holding horses by the halter, and in some
+cases dragging them along; there were long-tailed steeds and dock-tailed
+steeds of every degree and breed; there were droves of wild ponies,
+and long rows of sober cart horses; there were donkeys, and even mules:
+the last rare things to be seen in damp, misty England, for the mule
+pines in mud and rain, and thrives best with a hot sun above and a burning
+sand below.&nbsp; There were&mdash;oh, the gallant creatures!&nbsp;
+I hear their neigh upon the wind; there were&mdash;goodliest sight of
+all&mdash;certain enormous quadrupeds only seen to perfection in our
+native isle, led about by dapper grooms, their manes ribanded and their
+tails curiously clubbed and balled.&nbsp; Ha! ha!&mdash;how distinctly
+do they say, ha! ha!</p>
+<p>An old man draws nigh, he is mounted on a lean pony, and he leads
+by the bridle one of these animals; nothing very remarkable about that
+creature, unless in being smaller than the rest and gentle, which they
+are not; he is not of the sightliest look; he is almost dun, and over
+one eye a thick film has gathered.&nbsp; But stay! there <i>is</i> something
+remarkable about that horse, there is something in his action in which
+he differs from all the rest: as he advances, the clamour is hushed!
+all eyes are turned upon him&mdash;what looks of interest&mdash;of respect&mdash;and,
+what is this? people are taking off their hats&mdash;surely not to that
+steed!&nbsp; Yes, verily! men, especially old men, are taking off their
+hats to that one-eyed steed, and I hear more than one deep-drawn ah!</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What horse is that?&rsquo; said I to a very old fellow, the
+counterpart of the old man on the pony, save that the last wore a faded
+suit of velveteen, and this one was dressed in a white frock.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The best in mother England,&rsquo; said the very old man,
+taking a knobbed stick from his mouth, and looking me in the face, at
+first carelessly, but presently with something like interest; &lsquo;he
+is old like myself, but can still trot his twenty miles an hour.&nbsp;
+You won&rsquo;t live long, my swain; tall and over-grown ones like thee
+never does; yet, if you should chance to reach my years, you may boast
+to thy great-grand-boys thou hast seen Marshland Shales.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Amain I did for the horse what I would neither do for earl nor baron,
+doffed my hat; yes! I doffed my hat to the wondrous horse, the fast
+trotter, the best in mother England; and I too drew a deep ah! and repeated
+the words of the old fellows around.&nbsp; &lsquo;Such a horse as this
+we shall never see again; a pity that he is so old.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Now during all this time I had a kind of consciousness that I had
+been the object of some person&rsquo;s observation; that eyes were fastened
+upon me from somewhere in the crowd.&nbsp; Sometimes I thought myself
+watched from before, sometimes from behind; and occasionally methought
+that, if I just turned my head to the right or left, I should meet a
+peering and inquiring glance; and indeed once or twice I did turn, expecting
+to see somebody whom I knew, yet always without success; though it appeared
+to me that I was but a moment too late, and that some one had just slipped
+away from the direction to which I turned, like the figure in a magic
+lanthorn.&nbsp; Once I was quite sure that there were a pair of eyes
+glaring over my right shoulder; my attention, however, was so fully
+occupied with the objects which I have attempted to describe, that I
+thought very little of this coming and going, this flitting and dodging
+of I knew not whom or what.&nbsp; It was, after all, a matter of sheer
+indifference to me who was looking at me.&nbsp; I could only wish whomsoever
+it might be to be more profitably employed; so I continued enjoying
+what I saw; and now there was a change in the scene, the wondrous old
+horse departed with his aged guardian; other objects of interest are
+at hand; two or three men on horseback are hurrying through the crowd,
+they are widely different in their appearance from the other people
+of the fair; not so much in dress, for they are clad something after
+the fashion of rustic jockeys, but in their look&mdash;no light-brown
+hair have they, no ruddy cheeks, no blue quiet glances belong to them;
+their features are dark, their locks long, black, and shining, and their
+eyes are wild; they are admirable horsemen, but they do not sit the
+saddle in the manner of common jockeys, they seem to float or hover
+upon it, like gulls upon the waves; two of them are mere striplings,
+but the third is a very tall man with a countenance heroically beautiful,
+but wild, wild, wild.&nbsp; As they rush along, the crowd give way on
+all sides, and now a kind of ring or circus is formed, within which
+the strange men exhibit their horsemanship, rushing past each other,
+in and out, after the manner of a reel, the tall man occasionally balancing
+himself upon the saddle, and standing erect on one foot.&nbsp; He had
+just regained his seat after the latter feat, and was about to push
+his horse to a gallop, when a figure started forward close from beside
+me, and laying his hand on his neck, and pulling him gently downward,
+appeared to whisper something into his ear; presently the tall man raised
+his head, and, scanning the crowd for a moment in the direction in which
+I was standing, fixed his eyes full upon me, and anon the countenance
+of the whisperer was turned, but only in part, and the side-glance of
+another pair of wild eyes was directed towards my face, but the entire
+visage of the big black man, half stooping as he was, was turned full
+upon mine.</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page112b.jpg">
+<img alt="A kind of ring or circus is formed, within which the strange men exhibit their horsemanship" src="images/page112s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>But now, with a nod to the figure who had stopped him, and with another
+inquiring glance at myself, the big man once more put his steed into
+motion, and, after riding round the ring a few more times, darted through
+a lane in the crowd, and followed by his two companions disappeared,
+whereupon the figure who had whispered to him, and had subsequently
+remained in the middle of the space, came towards me, and, cracking
+a whip which he held in his hand so loudly that the report was nearly
+equal to that of a pocket pistol, he cried in a strange tone:</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What! the sap-engro?&nbsp; Lor! the sap-engro upon the hill!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I remember that word,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;and I almost think
+I remember you.&nbsp; You can&rsquo;t be&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Jasper, your pal!&nbsp; Truth, and no lie, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is strange that you should have known me,&rsquo; said I.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I am certain, but for the word you used, I should never have
+recognised you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not so strange as you may think, brother; there is something
+in your face which would prevent people from forgetting you, even though
+they might wish it; and your face is not much altered since the time
+you wot of, though you are so much grown.&nbsp; I thought it was you,
+but to make sure I dodged about, inspecting you.&nbsp; I believe you
+felt me, though I never touched you; a sign, brother, that we are akin,
+that we are dui palor&mdash;two relations.&nbsp; Your blood beat when
+mine was near, as mine always does at the coming of a brother; and we
+became brothers in that lane.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And where are you staying?&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;in this town?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not in the town; the like of us don&rsquo;t find it exactly
+wholesome to stay in towns, we keep abroad.&nbsp; But I have little
+to do here&mdash;come with me, and I&rsquo;ll show you where we stay.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>We descended the hill in the direction of the north, and passing
+along the suburb reached the old Norman bridge, which we crossed; the
+chalk precipice, with the ruin on its top, was now before us; but turning
+to the left we walked swiftly along, and presently came to some rising
+ground, which ascending, we found ourselves upon a wild moor or heath.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are one of them,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;whom people call&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Just so,&rsquo; said Jasper; &lsquo;but never mind what people
+call us.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And that tall handsome man on the hill, whom you whispered?&nbsp;
+I suppose he&rsquo;s one of ye.&nbsp; What is his name?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Tawno Chikno,&rsquo; said Jasper, &lsquo;which means the small
+one; we call him such because he is the biggest man of all our nation.&nbsp;
+You say he is handsome, that is not the word, brother; he&rsquo;s the
+beauty of the world.&nbsp; Women run wild at the sight of Tawno.&nbsp;
+An earl&rsquo;s daughter, near London&mdash;a fine young lady with diamonds
+round her neck&mdash;fell in love with Tawno.&nbsp; I have seen that
+lass on a heath, as this may be, kneel down to Tawno, clasp his feet,
+begging to be his wife&mdash;or anything else&mdash;if she might go
+with him.&nbsp; But Tawno would have nothing to do with her: &ldquo;I
+have a wife of my own,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;a lawful rommany wife,
+whom I love better than the whole world, jealous though she sometimes
+be.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And is she very beautiful?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, you know, brother, beauty is frequently a matter of taste;
+however, as you ask my opinion, I should say not quite so beautiful
+as himself.&rsquo;</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page115b.jpg">
+<img alt="&lsquo;There &rsquo;ere woman is Tawno Chikno&rsquo;s wife!&rsquo;" src="images/page115s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>We had now arrived at a small valley between two hills, or downs,
+the sides of which were covered with furze; in the midst of this valley
+were various carts and low tents forming a rude kind of encampment;
+several dark children were playing about, who took no manner of notice
+of us.&nbsp; As we passed one of the tents, however, a canvas screen
+was lifted up, and a woman supported upon a crutch hobbled out.&nbsp;
+She was about the middle age, and, besides being lame, was bitterly
+ugly; she was very slovenly dressed, and on her swarthy features ill
+nature was most visibly stamped.&nbsp; She did not deign me a look,
+but, addressing Jasper in a tongue which I did not understand, appeared
+to put some eager questions to him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He&rsquo;s coming,&rsquo; said Jasper, and passed on.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Poor fellow,&rsquo; said he to me, &lsquo;he has scarcely been
+gone an hour, and she&rsquo;s jealous already.&nbsp; Well,&rsquo; he
+continued, &lsquo;what do you think of her? you have seen her now, and
+can judge for yourself&mdash;that &lsquo;ere woman is Tawno Chikno&rsquo;s
+wife!&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2>
+<p>The tent&mdash;Pleasant discourse&mdash;I am Pharaoh&mdash;Shifting
+for one&rsquo;s self &mdash;Horse-shoes&mdash;This is wonderful&mdash;Bless
+your wisdom&mdash;A pretty manoeuvre&mdash;Ill day to the Romans&mdash;My
+name is Herne&mdash;Singular people&mdash;An original speech&mdash;Word-master&mdash;Speaking
+Romanly.</p>
+<p>We went to the farthest of the tents, which stood at a slight distance
+from the rest, and which exactly resembled the one which I have described
+on a former occasion; we went in and sat down one on each side of a
+small fire, which was smouldering on the ground, there was no one else
+in the tent but a tall tawny woman of middle age, who was busily knitting.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Brother,&rsquo; said Jasper, &lsquo;I wish to hold some pleasant
+discourse with you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As much as you please,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;provided you
+can find anything pleasant to talk about.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Never fear,&rsquo; said Jasper; &lsquo;and first of all we
+will talk of yourself.&nbsp; Where have you been all this long time?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Here and there,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;and far and near, going
+about with the soldiers; but there is no soldiering now, so we have
+sat down, father and family, in the town there.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And do you still hunt snakes?&rsquo; said Jasper.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I have given up that long ago; I
+do better now: read books and learn languages.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, I am sorry you have given up your snake-hunting, many&rsquo;s
+the strange talk I have had with our people about your snake and yourself,
+and how you frightened my father and mother in the lane.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And where are your father and mother?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Where I shall never see them, brother; at least, I hope so.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not dead?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, not dead; they are bitchadey pawdel.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What&rsquo;s that?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sent across&mdash;banished.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah! I understand; I am sorry for them.&nbsp; And so you are
+here alone?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not quite alone, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, not alone; but with the rest&mdash;Tawno Chikno takes
+care of you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Takes care of me, brother!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, stands to you in the place of a father&mdash;keeps you
+out of harm&rsquo;s way.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do you take me for, brother?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For about three years older than myself.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Perhaps; but you are of the Gorgios, and I am a Rommany Chal.&nbsp;
+Tawno Chikno take care of Jasper Petulengro!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is that your name?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t you like it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very much, I never heard a sweeter; it is something like what
+you call me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The horse-shoe master and the snake-fellow, I am the first.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who gave you that name?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ask Pharaoh.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I would, if he were here, but I do not see him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am Pharaoh.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you are a king.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Chachipen Pal.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not understand you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Where are your languages?&nbsp; You want two things, brother:
+mother sense, and gentle Rommany.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What makes you think that I want sense?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That, being so old, you can&rsquo;t yet guide yourself!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I can read Dante, Jasper.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Anan, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I can charm snakes, Jasper.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know you can, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, and horses too; bring me the most vicious in the land,
+if I whisper he&rsquo;ll be tame.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then the more shame for you&mdash;a snake-fellow&mdash;a horse-witch&mdash;and
+a lil-reader&mdash;yet you can&rsquo;t shift for yourself.&nbsp; I laugh
+at you, brother!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you can shift for yourself?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For myself and for others, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what does Chikno?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sells me horses, when I bid him.&nbsp; Those horses on the
+chong were mine.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And has he none of his own?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sometimes he has; but he is not so well off as myself.&nbsp;
+When my father and mother were bitchadey pawdel, which, to tell you
+the truth, they were for chiving wafodo dloovu, they left me all they
+had, which was not a little, and I became the head of our family, which
+was not a small one.&nbsp; I was not older than you when that happened;
+yet our people said they had never a better krallis to contrive and
+plan for them, and to keep them in order.&nbsp; And this is so well
+known that many Rommany Chals, not of our family, come and join themselves
+to us, living with us for a time, in order to better themselves, more
+especially those of the poorer sort, who have little of their own.&nbsp;
+Tawno is one of these.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is that fine fellow poor?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One of the poorest, brother.&nbsp; Handsome as he is, he has
+not a horse of his own to ride on.&nbsp; Perhaps we may put it down
+to his wife, who cannot move about, being a cripple, as you saw.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And you are what is called a Gypsy King?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ay, ay; a Rommany Kral.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are there other kings?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Those who call themselves so; but the true Pharaoh is Petulengro.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Did Pharaoh make horse-shoes?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The first who ever did, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Pharaoh lived in Egypt.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So did we once, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And you left it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My fathers did, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And why did they come here?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They had their reasons, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And you are not English?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We are not gorgios.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And you have a language of your own?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Avali.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This is wonderful.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ha, ha!&rsquo; cried the woman, who had hitherto sat knitting,
+at the farther end of the tent, without saying a word, though not inattentive
+to our conversation, as I could perceive by certain glances which she
+occasionally cast upon us both.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ha, ha!&rsquo; she screamed,
+fixing upon me two eyes, which shone like burning coals, and which were
+filled with an expression both of scorn and malignity, &lsquo;It is
+wonderful, is it, that we should have a language of our own?&nbsp; What,
+you grudge the poor people the speech they talk among themselves?&nbsp;
+That&rsquo;s just like you gorgios; you would have everybody stupid,
+single-tongued idiots, like yourselves.&nbsp; We are taken before the
+Poknees of the gav, myself and sister, to give an account of ourselves.&nbsp;
+So I says to my sister&rsquo;s little boy, speaking Rommany, I says
+to the little boy who is with us, Run to my son Jasper, and the rest,
+and tell them to be off, there are hawks abroad.&nbsp; So the Poknees
+questions us, and lets us go, not being able to make anything of us;
+but, as we are going, he calls us back.&nbsp; &ldquo;Good woman,&rdquo;
+says the Poknees, &ldquo;what was that I heard you say just now to the
+little boy?&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;I was telling him, your worship, to
+go and see the time of day, and to save trouble, I said it in our language.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Where did you get that language?&rdquo; says the Poknees.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis our own language, sir,&rdquo; I tells him, &ldquo;we
+did not steal it.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Shall I tell you what it is, my
+good woman?&rdquo; says the Poknees.&nbsp; &ldquo;I would thank you,
+sir,&rdquo; says I, &ldquo;for &rsquo;tis often we are asked about it.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Well, then,&rdquo; says the Poknees, &ldquo;it is no language
+at all, merely a made-up gibberish.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh, bless your
+wisdom,&rdquo; says I, with a curtsey, &ldquo;you can tell us what our
+language is, without understanding it!&rdquo;&nbsp; Another time we
+meet a parson.&nbsp; &ldquo;Good woman,&rdquo; says he, &ldquo;what&rsquo;s
+that you are talking?&nbsp; Is it broken language?&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Of
+course, your reverence,&rdquo; says I, &ldquo;we are broken people;
+give a shilling, your reverence, to the poor broken woman.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+Oh, these gorgios! they grudge us our very language!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;She called you her son, Jasper?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am her son, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I thought you said your parents were&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Bitchadey pawdel; you thought right, brother.&nbsp; This is
+my wife&rsquo;s mother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you are married, Jasper?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ay, truly; I am husband and father.&nbsp; You will see wife
+and chabo anon.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Where are they now?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In the gav, penning dukkerin.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We were talking of language, Jasper?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;True, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yours must be a rum one?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&rsquo;Tis called Rommany.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I would gladly know it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You need it sorely.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Would you teach it me?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;None sooner.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Suppose we begin now?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Suppose we do, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not whilst I am here,&rsquo; said the woman, flinging her
+knitting down, and starting upon her feet; &lsquo;not whilst I am here
+shall this gorgio learn Rommany.&nbsp; A pretty manoeuvre, truly; and
+what would be the end of it?&nbsp; I goes to the farming ker with my
+sister, to tell a fortune, and earn a few sixpences for the chabes.&nbsp;
+I sees a jolly pig in the yard, and I says to my sister, speaking Rommany,
+&ldquo;Do so and so,&rdquo; says I; which the farming man hearing, asks
+what we are talking about. &ldquo;Nothing at all, master,&rdquo; says
+I; &ldquo;something about the weather&rdquo;; when who should start
+up from behind a pale, where he has been listening, but this ugly gorgio,
+crying out, &ldquo;They are after poisoning your pigs, neighbour!&rdquo;
+so that we are glad to run, I and my sister, with perhaps the farm-engro
+shouting after us.&nbsp; Says my sister to me, when we have got fairly
+off, &ldquo;How came that ugly one to know what you said to me?&rdquo;&nbsp;
+Whereupon I answers, &ldquo;It all comes of my son Jasper, who brings
+the gorgio to our fire, and must needs be teaching him.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Who was fool there?&rdquo; says my sister.&nbsp; &ldquo;Who,
+indeed, but my son Jasper,&rdquo; I answers.&nbsp; And here should I
+be a greater fool to sit still and suffer it; which I will not do.&nbsp;
+I do not like the look of him; he looks over-gorgeous.&nbsp; An ill
+day to the Romans when he masters Rommany; and, when I says that, I
+pens a true dukkerin.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do you call God, Jasper?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You had better be jawing,&rsquo; said the woman, raising her
+voice to a terrible scream; &lsquo;you had better be moving off, my
+gorgio; hang you for a keen one, sitting there by the fire, and stealing
+my language before my face.&nbsp; Do you know whom you have to deal
+with?&nbsp; Do you know that I am dangerous?&nbsp; My name is Herne,
+and I comes of the hairy ones!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And a hairy one she looked!&nbsp; She wore her hair clubbed upon
+her head, fastened with many strings and ligatures; but now, tearing
+these off, her locks, originally jet black, but now partially grizzled
+with age, fell down on every side of her, covering her face and back
+as far down as her knees.&nbsp; No she-bear of Lapland ever looked more
+fierce and hairy than did that woman, as standing in the open part of
+the tent, with her head bent down, and her shoulders drawn up, seemingly
+about to precipitate herself upon me, she repeated, again and again,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My name is Herne, and I comes of the hairy ones!&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I call God Duvel, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It sounds very like Devil.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It doth, brother, it doth.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what do you call divine, I mean godly?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh!&nbsp; I call that duvelskoe.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am thinking of something, Jasper.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What are you thinking of, brother?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Would it not be a rum thing if divine and devilish were originally
+one and the same word?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It would, brother, it would&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>. . .</p>
+<p>From this time I had frequent interviews with Jasper, sometimes in
+his tent, sometimes on the heath, about which we would roam for hours,
+discoursing on various matters.&nbsp; Sometimes, mounted on one of his
+horses, of which he had several, I would accompany him to various fairs
+and markets in the neighbourhood, to which he went on his own affairs,
+or those of his tribe.&nbsp; I soon found that I had become acquainted
+with a most singular people, whose habits and pursuits awakened within
+me the highest interest.&nbsp; Of all connected with them, however,
+their language was doubtless that which exercised the greatest influence
+over my imagination.&nbsp; I had at first some suspicion that it would
+prove a mere made-up gibberish; but I was soon undeceived.&nbsp; Broken,
+corrupted, and half in ruins as it was, it was not long before I found
+that it was an original speech, far more so, indeed, than one or two
+others of high name and celebrity, which, up to that time, I had been
+in the habit of regarding with respect and veneration.&nbsp; Indeed
+many obscure points connected with the vocabulary of these languages,
+and to which neither classic nor modern lore afforded any clue, I thought
+I could now clear up by means of this strange broken tongue, spoken
+by people who dwelt amongst thickets and furze bushes, in tents as tawny
+as their faces, and whom the generality of mankind designated, and with
+much semblance of justice, as thieves and vagabonds.&nbsp; But where
+did this speech come from, and who were they who spoke it?&nbsp; These
+were questions which I could not solve, and which Jasper himself, when
+pressed, confessed his inability to answer.&nbsp; &lsquo;But, whoever
+we be, brother,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;we are an old people, and not
+what folks in general imagine, broken gorgios; and, if we are not Egyptians,
+we are at any rate Rommany Chals!&rsquo;</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page122b.jpg">
+<img alt="&lsquo;My name is Herne, and I comes of the hairy ones!&rsquo;" src="images/page122s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>&lsquo;Rommany Chals!&nbsp; I should not wonder after all,&rsquo;
+said I, &lsquo;that these people had something to do with the founding
+of Rome.&nbsp; Rome, it is said, was built by vagabonds, who knows but
+that some tribe of the kind settled down thereabouts, and called the
+town which they built after their name; but whence did they come originally?
+ah! there is the difficulty.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>But abandoning these questions, which at that time were far too profound
+for me, I went on studying the language, and at the same time the characters
+and manners of these strange people.&nbsp; My rapid progress in the
+former astonished, while it delighted, Jasper.&nbsp; &lsquo;We&rsquo;ll
+no longer call you Sap-engro, brother,&rsquo; said he; but rather Lav-engro,
+which in the language of the gorgios meaneth Word-master.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Nay, brother,&rsquo; said Tawno Chikno, with whom I had become
+very intimate, &lsquo;you had better call him Cooro-mengro, I have put
+on <i>the gloves</i> with him, and find him a pure fist-master; I like
+him for that, for I am a Cooro-mengro myself, and was born at Brummagem.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I likes him for his modesty,&rsquo; said Mrs. Chikno; &lsquo;I
+never hears any ill words come from his mouth, but, on the contrary,
+much sweet language.&nbsp; His talk is golden, and he has taught my
+eldest to say his prayers in Rommany, which my rover had never the grace
+to do.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;He is the pal of my rom,&rsquo; said Mrs.
+Petulengro, who was a very handsome woman, &lsquo;and therefore I likes
+him, and not the less for his being a rye; folks calls me high-minded,
+and perhaps I have reason to be so; before I married Pharaoh I had an
+offer from a lord&mdash;I likes the young rye, and, if he chooses to
+follow us, he shall have my sister.&nbsp; What say you, mother? should
+not the young rye have my sister Ursula?&rsquo;</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page124b.jpg">
+<img alt="&lsquo;To gain a bad brother, ye have lost a good mother.&rsquo;" src="images/page124s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am going to my people,&rsquo; said Mrs. Herne, placing a
+bundle upon a donkey, which was her own peculiar property; &lsquo;I
+am going to Yorkshire, for I can stand this no longer.&nbsp; You say
+you like him: in that we differs; I hates the gorgio, and would like,
+speaking Romanly, to mix a little poison with his waters.&nbsp; And
+now go to Lundra, my children, I goes to Yorkshire.&nbsp; Take my blessing
+with ye, and a little bit of a gillie to cheer your hearts with when
+ye are weary.&nbsp; In all kinds of weather have we lived together;
+but now we are parted.&nbsp; I goes broken-hearted&mdash;I can&rsquo;t
+keep you company; ye are no longer Rommany.&nbsp; To gain a bad brother,
+ye have lost a good mother.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2>
+<p>What profession?&mdash;Not fitted for a Churchman&mdash;Erratic course&mdash;The
+bitter draught&mdash;Principle of woe&mdash;Thou wouldst be joyous&mdash;What
+ails you?&mdash;Poor child of clay.</p>
+<p>So the gypsies departed; Mrs. Herne to Yorkshire, and the rest to
+London: as for myself, I continued in the house of my parents, passing
+my time in much the same manner as I have already described, principally
+in philological pursuits; but I was now sixteen, and it was highly necessary
+that I should adopt some profession, unless I intended to fritter away
+my existence, and to be a useless burden to those who had given me birth;
+but what profession was I to choose? there being none in the wide world
+perhaps for which I was suited; nor was there any one for which I felt
+any decided inclination, though perhaps there existed within me a lurking
+penchant for the profession of arms, which was natural enough, as, from
+my earliest infancy, I had been accustomed to military sights and sounds;
+but this profession was then closed, as I have already hinted, and,
+as I believe, it has since continued, to those who, like myself, had
+no better claims to urge than the services of a father.</p>
+<p>My father, who, for certain reasons of his own, had no very high
+opinion of the advantages resulting from this career, would have gladly
+seen me enter the Church.&nbsp; His desire was, however, considerably
+abated by one or two passages of my life, which occurred to his recollection.&nbsp;
+He particularly dwelt on the unheard-of manner in which I had picked
+up the Irish language, and drew from thence the conclusion that I was
+not fitted by nature to cut a respectable figure at an English university.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;He will fly off in a tangent,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;and, when
+called upon to exhibit his skill in Greek, will be found proficient
+in Irish; I have observed the poor lad attentively, and really do not
+know what to make of him; but I am afraid he will never make a churchman!&rsquo;&nbsp;
+And I have no doubt that my excellent father was right, both in his
+premisses and the conclusion at which he arrived.&nbsp; I had undoubtedly,
+at one period of my life, forsaken Greek for Irish, and the instructions
+of a learned Protestant divine for those of a Papist gossoon, the card-fancying
+Murtagh; and of late, though I kept it a strict secret, I had abandoned
+in a great measure the study of the beautiful Italian, and the recitation
+of the sonorous terzets of the Divine Comedy, in which at one time I
+took the greatest delight, in order to become acquainted with the broken
+speech, and yet more broken songs, of certain houseless wanderers whom
+I had met at a horse fair.&nbsp; Such an erratic course was certainly
+by no means in consonance with the sober and unvarying routine of college
+study.&nbsp; And my father, who was a man of excellent common sense,
+displayed it in not pressing me to adopt a profession which required
+qualities of mind which he saw I did not possess.</p>
+<p>Other professions were talked of, amongst which the law; but now
+an event occurred which had nearly stopped my career, and merged all
+minor points of solicitude in anxiety for my life.&nbsp; My strength
+and appetite suddenly deserted me, and I began to pine and droop.&nbsp;
+Some said that I had overgrown myself, and that these were the symptoms
+of a rapid decline; I grew worse and worse, and was soon stretched upon
+my bed, from which it seemed scarcely probable that I should ever more
+rise, the physicians themselves giving but slight hopes of my recovery:
+as for myself, I made up my mind to die, and felt quite resigned.&nbsp;
+I was sadly ignorant at that time, and, when I thought of death, it
+appeared to me little else than a pleasant sleep, and I wished for sleep,
+of which I got but little.&nbsp; It was well that I did not die that
+time, for I repeat that I was sadly ignorant of many important things.&nbsp;
+I did not die, for somebody coming gave me a strange, bitter draught;
+a decoction, I believe, of a bitter root which grows on commons and
+desolate places: and the person who gave it me was an ancient female,
+a kind of doctress, who had been my nurse in my infancy, and who, hearing
+of my state, had come to see me; so I drank the draught, and became
+a little better, and I continued taking draughts made from the bitter
+root till I manifested symptoms of convalescence.</p>
+<p>But how much more quickly does strength desert the human frame than
+return to it!&nbsp; I had become convalescent, it is true, but my state
+of feebleness was truly pitiable.&nbsp; I believe it is in that state
+that the most remarkable feature of human physiology frequently exhibits
+itself.&nbsp; Oh, how dare I mention the dark feeling of mysterious
+dread which comes over the mind, and which the lamp of reason, though
+burning bright the while, is unable to dispel!&nbsp; Art thou, as leeches
+say, the concomitant of disease&mdash;the result of shattered nerves?&nbsp;
+Nay, rather the principle of woe itself, the fountain-head of all sorrow
+coexistent with man, whose influence he feels when yet unborn, and whose
+workings he testifies with his earliest cries, when, &lsquo;drowned
+in tears,&rsquo; he first beholds the light; for, as the sparks fly
+upward, so is man born to trouble, and woe doth he bring with him into
+the world, even thyself, dark one, terrible one, causeless, unbegotten,
+without a father.&nbsp; Oh, how unfrequently dost thou break down the
+barriers which divide thee from the poor soul of man, and overcast its
+sunshine with thy gloomy shadow.&nbsp; In the brightest days of prosperity&mdash;in
+the midst of health and wealth&mdash;how sentient is the poor human
+creature of thy neighbourhood! how instinctively aware that the flood-gates
+of horror may be cast open, and the dark stream engulf him for ever
+and ever!&nbsp; Then is it not lawful for man to exclaim, &lsquo;Better
+that I had never been born!&rsquo;&nbsp; Fool, for thyself thou wast
+not born, but to fulfil the inscrutable decrees of thy Creator; and
+how dost thou know that this dark principle is not, after all, thy best
+friend; that it is not that which tempers the whole mass of thy corruption?&nbsp;
+It may be, for what thou knowest, the mother of wisdom, and of great
+works: it is the dread of the horror of the night that makes the pilgrim
+hasten on his way.&nbsp; When thou feelest it nigh, let thy safety word
+be &lsquo;Onward&rsquo;; if thou tarry, thou art overwhelmed.&nbsp;
+Courage! build great works&mdash;&rsquo;tis urging thee&mdash;it is
+ever nearest the favourites of God&mdash;the fool knows little of it.&nbsp;
+Thou wouldst be joyous, wouldst thou? then be a fool.&nbsp; What great
+work was ever the result of joy, the puny one?&nbsp; Who have been the
+wise ones, the mighty ones, the conquering ones of this earth? the joyous?&nbsp;
+I believe not.&nbsp; The fool is happy, or comparatively so&mdash;certainly
+the least sorrowful, but he is still a fool: and whose notes are sweetest,
+those of the nightingale, or of the silly lark?</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What ails you, my child?&rsquo; said a mother to her son,
+as he lay on a couch under the influence of the dreadful one; &lsquo;what
+ails you? you seem afraid!&rsquo;</p>
+<p><i>Boy</i>.&nbsp; And so I am; a dreadful fear is upon me.</p>
+<p><i>Mother</i>.&nbsp; But of what?&nbsp; There is no one can harm
+you; of what are you apprehensive?</p>
+<p><i>Boy</i>.&nbsp; Of nothing that I can express; I know not what
+I am afraid of, but afraid I am.</p>
+<p><i>Mother</i>.&nbsp; Perhaps you see sights and visions; I knew a
+lady once who was continually thinking that she saw an armed man threaten
+her, but it was only an imagination, a phantom of the brain.</p>
+<p><i>Boy</i>.&nbsp; No armed man threatens me; and &rsquo;tis not a
+thing like that would cause me any fear.&nbsp; Did an armed man threaten
+me, I would get up and fight him; weak as I am, I would wish for nothing
+better, for then, perhaps, I should lose this fear; mine is a dread
+of I know not what, and there the horror lies.</p>
+<p><i>Mother</i>.&nbsp; Your forehead is cool, and your speech collected.&nbsp;
+Do you know where you are?</p>
+<p><i>Boy</i>.&nbsp; I know where I am, and I see things just as they
+are; you are beside me, and upon the table there is a book which was
+written by a Florentine; all this I see, and that there is no ground
+for being afraid.&nbsp; I am, moreover, quite cool, and feel no pain&mdash;but,
+but&mdash;</p>
+<p>And then there was a burst of &lsquo;gemiti, sospiri ed alti guai.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Alas, alas, poor child of clay! as the sparks fly upward, so wast thou
+born to sorrow&mdash;Onward!</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2>
+<p>Agreeable delusions&mdash;Youth&mdash;A profession&mdash;Ab Gwilym&mdash;Glorious
+English law&mdash;There they pass&mdash;My dear old master&mdash;The
+deal desk&mdash;Language of the tents&mdash;Where is Morfydd?&mdash;Go
+to&mdash;only once.</p>
+<p>It has been said by this or that writer, I scarcely know by whom,
+that, in proportion as we grow old, and our time becomes short, the
+swifter does it pass, until at last, as we approach the borders of the
+grave, it assumes all the speed and impetuosity of a river about to
+precipitate itself into an abyss; this is doubtless the case, provided
+we can carry to the grave those pleasant thoughts and delusions, which
+alone render life agreeable, and to which even to the very last we would
+gladly cling; but what becomes of the swiftness of time, when the mind
+sees the vanity of human pursuits? which is sure to be the case when
+its fondest, dearest hopes have been blighted at the very moment when
+the harvest was deemed secure.&nbsp; What becomes from that moment,
+I repeat, of the shortness of time?&nbsp; I put not the question to
+those who have never known that trial, they are satisfied with themselves
+and all around them, with what they have done, and yet hope to do; some
+carry their delusions with them to the borders of the grave, ay, to
+the very moment when they fall into it; a beautiful golden cloud surrounds
+them to the last, and such talk of the shortness of time: through the
+medium of that cloud the world has ever been a pleasant world to them;
+their only regret is that they are so soon to quit it; but oh, ye dear
+deluded hearts, it is not every one who is so fortunate!</p>
+<p>To the generality of mankind there is no period like youth.&nbsp;
+The generality are far from fortunate; but the period of youth, even
+to the least so, offers moments of considerable happiness, for they
+are not only disposed but able to enjoy most things within their reach.&nbsp;
+With what trifles at that period are we content; the things from which
+in after-life we should turn away in disdain please us then, for we
+are in the midst of a golden cloud, and everything seems decked with
+a golden hue.&nbsp; Never during any portion of my life did time flow
+on more speedily than during the two or three years immediately succeeding
+the period to which we arrived in the preceding chapter: since then
+it has flagged often enough; sometimes it has seemed to stand entirely
+still; and the reader may easily judge how it fares at the present,
+from the circumstance of my taking pen in hand, and endeavouring to
+write down the passages of my life&mdash;a last resource with most people.&nbsp;
+But at the period to which I allude I was just, as I may say, entering
+upon life; I had adopted a profession, and, to keep up my character,
+simultaneously with that profession&mdash;the study of a new language.&nbsp;
+I speedily became a proficient in the one, but ever remained a novice
+in the other: a novice in the law, but a perfect master in the Welsh
+tongue.</p>
+<p>Yes; very pleasant times were those, when within the womb of a lofty
+deal desk, behind which I sat for some eight hours every day, transcribing
+(when I imagined eyes were upon me) documents of every description in
+every possible hand. Blackstone kept company with Ab Gwilym&mdash;the
+polished English lawyer of the last century, who wrote long and prosy
+chapters on the rights of things&mdash;with a certain wild Welshman,
+who some four hundred years before that time indited immortal cowydds
+and odes to the wives of Cambrian chieftains&mdash;more particularly
+to one Morfydd, the wife of a certain hunchbacked dignitary called by
+the poet facetiously Bwa Bach&mdash;generally terminating with the modest
+request of a little private parlance beneath the greenwood bough, with
+no other witness than the eos, or nightingale, a request which, if the
+poet himself may be believed, rather a doubtful point, was seldom, very
+seldom, denied.&nbsp; And by what strange chance had Ab Gwilym and Blackstone,
+two personages so exceedingly different, been thus brought together?&nbsp;
+From what the reader already knows of me, he may be quite prepared to
+find me reading the former; but what could have induced me to take up
+Blackstone, or rather the law?</p>
+<p>I have ever loved to be as explicit as possible; on which account,
+perhaps, I never attained to any proficiency in the law, the essence
+of which is said to be ambiguity; most questions may be answered in
+a few words, and this among the rest, though connected with the law.&nbsp;
+My parents deemed it necessary that I should adopt some profession,
+they named the law; the law was as agreeable to me as any other profession
+within my reach, so I adopted the law, and the consequence was, that
+Blackstone, probably for the first time, found himself in company with
+Ab Gwilym.&nbsp; By adopting the law I had not ceased to be Lavengro.</p>
+<p>So I sat behind a desk many hours in the day, ostensibly engaged
+in transcribing documents of various kinds; the scene of my labours
+was a strange old house, occupying one side of a long and narrow court,
+into which, however, the greater number of the windows looked not, but
+into an extensive garden, filled with fruit trees, in the rear of a
+large, handsome house, belonging to a highly respectable gentleman,
+who, moyennant un douceur considerable, had consented to instruct my
+father&rsquo;s youngest son in the mysteries of glorious English law.&nbsp;
+Ah! would that I could describe the good gentleman in the manner which
+he deserves; he has long since sunk to his place in a respectable vault,
+in the aisle of a very respectable church, whilst an exceedingly respectable
+marble slab against the neighbouring wall tells on a Sunday some eye
+wandering from its prayer-book that his dust lies below; to secure such
+respectabilities in death, he passed a most respectable life.&nbsp;
+Let no one sneer, he accomplished much; his life was peaceful, so was
+his death.&nbsp; Are these trifles?&nbsp; I wish I could describe him,
+for I loved the man, and with reason, for he was ever kind to me, to
+whom kindness has not always been shown; and he was, moreover, a choice
+specimen of a class which no longer exists&mdash;a gentleman lawyer
+of the old school.&nbsp; I would fain describe him, but figures with
+which he has nought to do press forward and keep him from my mind&rsquo;s
+eye; there they pass, Spaniard and Moor, Gypsy, Turk, and livid Jew.&nbsp;
+But who is that? what that thick pursy man in the loose, snuff-coloured
+greatcoat, with the white stockings, drab breeches, and silver buckles
+on his shoes; that man with the bull neck, and singular head, immense
+in the lower part, especially about the jaws, but tapering upward like
+a pear; the man with the bushy brows, small gray eyes replete with catlike
+expression, whose grizzled hair is cut close, and whose ear-lobes are
+pierced with small golden rings?&nbsp; Oh! that is not my dear old master,
+but a widely different personage.&nbsp; Bon jour, Monsieur Vidocq! expressions
+de ma part &agrave; Monsieur Le Baron Taylor.&nbsp; But here he comes
+at last, my veritable old master!</p>
+<p>A more respectable-looking individual was never seen; he really looked
+what he was, a gentleman of the law&mdash;there was nothing of the pettifogger
+about him: somewhat under the middle size, and somewhat rotund in person,
+he was always dressed in a full suit of black, never worn long enough
+to become threadbare.&nbsp; His face was rubicund, and not without keenness;
+but the most remarkable thing about him was the crown of his head, which
+was bald, and shone like polished ivory, nothing more white, smooth,
+and lustrous.&nbsp; Some people have said that he wore false calves,
+probably because his black silk stockings never exhibited a wrinkle;
+they might just as well have said that he waddled, because his shoes
+creaked; for these last, which were always without a speck, and polished
+as his crown, though of a different hue, did creak, as he walked rather
+slowly.&nbsp; I cannot say that I ever saw him walk fast.</p>
+<p>He had a handsome practice, and might have died a very rich man,
+much richer than he did, had he not been in the habit of giving rather
+expensive dinners to certain great people, who gave him nothing in return
+except their company; I could never discover his reasons for doing so,
+as he always appeared to me a remarkably quiet man, by nature averse
+to noise and bustle; but in all dispositions there are anomalies: I
+have already said that he lived in a handsome house, and I may as well
+here add that he had a very handsome wife, who both dressed and talked
+exceedingly well.</p>
+<p>So I sat behind the deal desk, engaged in copying documents of various
+kinds; and in the apartment in which I sat, and in the adjoining ones,
+there were others, some of whom likewise copied documents, while some
+were engaged in the yet more difficult task of drawing them up; and
+some of these, sons of nobody, were paid for the work they did, whilst
+others, like myself, sons of somebody, paid for being permitted to work,
+which, as our principal observed, was but reasonable, forasmuch as we
+not unfrequently utterly spoiled the greater part of the work intrusted
+to our hands.</p>
+<p>There was one part of the day when I generally found myself quite
+alone, I mean at the hour when the rest went home to their principal
+meal; I, being the youngest, was left to take care of the premises,
+to answer the bell, and so forth, till relieved, which was seldom before
+the expiration of an hour and a half, when I myself went home; this
+period, however, was anything but disagreeable to me, for it was then
+that I did what best pleased me, and, leaving off copying the documents,
+I sometimes indulged in a fit of musing, my chin resting on both my
+hands, and my elbows planted on the desk; or, opening the desk aforesaid,
+I would take out one of the books contained within it, and the book
+which I took out was almost invariably, not Blackstone, but Ab Gwilym.</p>
+<p>Ah, that Ab Gwilym!&nbsp; I am much indebted to him, and it were
+ungrateful on my part not to devote a few lines to him and his songs
+in this my history.&nbsp; Start not, reader, I am not going to trouble
+you with a poetical dissertation; no, no; I know my duty too well to
+introduce anything of the kind; but I, who imagine I know several things,
+and amongst others the workings of your mind at this moment, have an
+idea that you are anxious to learn a little, a very little, more about
+Ab Gwilym than I have hitherto told you, the two or three words that
+I have dropped having awakened within you a languid kind of curiosity.&nbsp;
+I have no hesitation in saying that he makes one of the some half-dozen
+really great poets whose verses, in whatever language they wrote, exist
+at the present day, and are more or less known.&nbsp; It matters little
+how I first became acquainted with the writings of this man, and how
+the short thick volume, stuffed full with his immortal imaginings, first
+came into my hands.&nbsp; I was studying Welsh, and I fell in with Ab
+Gwilym by no very strange chance.&nbsp; But, before I say more about
+Ab Gwilym, I must be permitted&mdash;I really must&mdash;to say a word
+or two about the language in which he wrote, that same &lsquo;Sweet
+Welsh.&rsquo;&nbsp; If I remember right, I found the language a difficult
+one; in mastering it, however, I derived unexpected assistance from
+what of Irish remained in my head, and I soon found that they were cognate
+dialects, springing from some old tongue which itself, perhaps, had
+sprung from one much older.&nbsp; And here I cannot help observing cursorily
+that I every now and then, whilst studying this Welsh, generally supposed
+to be the original tongue of Britain, encountered words which, according
+to the lexicographers, were venerable words highly expressive, showing
+the wonderful power and originality of the Welsh, in which, however,
+they were no longer used in common discourse, but were relics, precious
+relics, of the first speech of Britain, perhaps of the world; with which
+words, however, I was already well acquainted, and which I had picked
+up, not in learned books, classic books, and in tongues of old renown,
+but whilst listening to Mr. Petulengro and Tawno Chikno talking over
+their everyday affairs in the language of the tents; which circumstance
+did not fail to give rise to deep reflection in those moments when,
+planting my elbows on the deal desk, I rested my chin upon my hands.&nbsp;
+But it is probable that I should have abandoned the pursuit of the Welsh
+language, after obtaining a very superficial acquaintance with it, had
+it not been for Ab Gwilym.</p>
+<p>A strange songster was that who, pretending to be captivated by every
+woman he saw, was, in reality, in love with nature alone&mdash;wild,
+beautiful, solitary nature&mdash;her mountains and cascades, her forests
+and streams, her birds, fishes, and wild animals.&nbsp; Go to, Ab Gwilym,
+with thy pseudo-amatory odes, to Morfydd, or this or that other lady,
+fair or ugly; little didst thou care for any of them, Dame Nature was
+thy love, however thou mayest seek to disguise the truth.&nbsp; Yes,
+yes, send thy love-message to Morfydd, the fair wanton.&nbsp; By whom
+dost thou send it, I would know? by the salmon forsooth, which haunts
+the rushing stream! the glorious salmon which bounds and gambols in
+the flashing water, and whose ways and circumstances thou so well describest&mdash;see,
+there he hurries upwards through the flashing water.&nbsp; Halloo! what
+a glimpse of glory&mdash;but where is Morfydd the while?&nbsp; What,
+another message to the wife of Bwa Bach?&nbsp; Ay, truly; and by whom?&mdash;the
+wind! the swift wind, the rider of the world, whose course is not to
+be stayed; who gallops o&rsquo;er the mountain, and, when he comes to
+broadest river, asks neither for boat nor ferry; who has described the
+wind so well&mdash;his speed and power?&nbsp; But where is Morfydd?&nbsp;
+And now thou art awaiting Morfydd, the wanton, the wife of the Bwa Bach;
+thou art awaiting her beneath the tall trees, amidst the underwood;
+but she comes not; no Morfydd is there.&nbsp; Quite right, Ab Gwilym;
+what wantest thou with Morfydd? But another form is nigh at hand, that
+of red Reynard, who, seated upon his chine at the mouth of his cave,
+looks very composedly at thee; thou startest, bendest thy bow, thy cross-bow,
+intending to hit Reynard with the bolt just about the jaw; but the bow
+breaks, Reynard barks and disappears into his cave, which by thine own
+account reaches hell&mdash;and then thou ravest at the misfortune of
+thy bow, and the non-appearance of Morfydd, and abusest Reynard.&nbsp;
+Go to, thou carest neither for thy bow nor for Morfydd, thou merely
+seekest an opportunity to speak of Reynard; and who has described him
+like thee? the brute with the sharp shrill cry, the black reverse of
+melody, whose face sometimes wears a smile like the devil&rsquo;s in
+the Evangile.&nbsp; But now thou art actually with Morfydd; yes, she
+has stolen from the dwelling of the Bwa Bach and has met thee beneath
+those rocks&mdash;she is actually with thee, Ab Gwilym; but she is not
+long with thee, for a storm comes on, and thunder shatters the rocks&mdash;Morfydd
+flees!&nbsp; Quite right, Ab Gwilym; thou hadst no need of her, a better
+theme for song is the voice of the Lord&mdash;the rock-shatterer&mdash;than
+the frail wife of the Bwa Bach.&nbsp; Go to, Ab Gwilym, thou wast a
+wiser and a better man than thou wouldst fain have had people believe.</p>
+<p>But enough of thee and thy songs!&nbsp; Those times passed rapidly;
+with Ab Gwilym in my hand, I was in the midst of enchanted ground, in
+which I experienced sensations akin to those I had felt of yore whilst
+spelling my way through the wonderful book&mdash;the delight of my childhood.&nbsp;
+I say akin, for perhaps only once in our lives do we experience unmixed
+wonder and delight; and these I had already known.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2>
+<p>Silver gray&mdash;Good word for everybody&mdash;A remarkable youth&mdash;Clients&mdash;Grades
+in society&mdash;The archdeacon&mdash;Reading the Bible.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am afraid that I have not acted very wisely in putting this
+boy of ours to the law,&rsquo; said my father to my mother, as they
+sat together one summer evening in their little garden, beneath the
+shade of some tall poplars.</p>
+<p>Yes, there sat my father in the garden chair which leaned against
+the wall of his quiet home, the haven in which he had sought rest, and,
+praise be to God, found it, after many a year of poorly-requited toil;
+there he sat, with locks of silver gray which set off so nobly his fine
+bold but benevolent face, his faithful consort at his side, and his
+trusty dog at his feet&mdash;an eccentric animal of the genuine regimental
+breed, who, born amongst red coats, had not yet become reconciled to
+those of any other hue, barking and tearing at them when they drew near
+the door, but testifying his fond reminiscence of the former by hospitable
+waggings of the tail whenever a uniform made its appearance&mdash;at
+present a very unfrequent occurrence.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am afraid I have not done right in putting him to the law,&rsquo;
+said my father, resting his chin upon his gold-headed bamboo cane.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, what makes you think so?&rsquo; said my mother.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have been taking my usual evening walk up the road, with
+the animal here,&rsquo; said my father; &lsquo;and, as I walked along,
+I overtook the boy&rsquo;s master, Mr. S---.&nbsp; We shook hands, and,
+after walking a little way farther, we turned back together, talking
+about this and that; the state of the country, the weather, and the
+dog, which he greatly admired; for he is a good-natured man, and has
+a good word for everybody, though the dog all but bit him when he attempted
+to coax his head; after the dog, we began talking about the boy; it
+was myself who introduced that subject: I thought it was a good opportunity
+to learn how he was getting on, so I asked what he thought of my son;
+he hesitated at first, seeming scarcely to know what to say; at length
+he came out with &ldquo;Oh, a very extraordinary youth, a most remarkable
+youth indeed, captain!&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Indeed,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;I
+am glad to hear it, but I hope you find him steady?&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Steady,
+steady,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;why, yes, he&rsquo;s steady, I cannot
+say that he is not steady.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Come, come,&rdquo; said
+I, beginning to be rather uneasy, &ldquo;I see plainly that you are
+not altogether satisfied with him; I was afraid you would not be, for,
+though he is my own son, I am anything but blind to his imperfections;
+but do tell me what particular fault you have to find with him; and
+I will do my best to make him alter his conduct.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;No
+fault to find with him, captain, I assure you, no fault whatever; the
+youth is a remarkable youth, an extraordinary youth, only&mdash;&rdquo;&nbsp;
+As I told you before, Mr. S--- is the best-natured man in the world,
+and it was only with the greatest difficulty that I could get him to
+say a single word to the disadvantage of the boy, for whom he seems
+to entertain a very great regard.&nbsp; At last I forced the truth from
+him, and grieved I was to hear it; though I must confess that I was
+somewhat prepared for it.&nbsp; It appears that the lad has a total
+want of discrimination.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t understand you,&rsquo; said my mother.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You can understand nothing that would seem for a moment to
+impugn the conduct of that child.&nbsp; I am not, however, so blind;
+want of discrimination was the word, and it both sounds well, and is
+expressive.&nbsp; It appears that, since he has been placed where is,
+he has been guilty of the grossest blunders; only the other day, Mr.
+S--- told me, as he was engaged in close conversation with one of his
+principal clients, the boy came to tell him that a person wanted particularly
+to speak with him; and, on going out, he found a lamentable figure with
+one eye, who came to ask for charity; whom, nevertheless, the lad had
+ushered into a private room, and installed in an arm-chair, like a justice
+of the peace, instead of telling him to go about his business&mdash;now
+what did that show, but a total want of discrimination?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I wish we may never have anything worse to reproach him with,&rsquo;
+said my mother.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know what worse we could reproach him with,&rsquo;
+said my father; &lsquo;I mean of course as far as his profession is
+concerned; discrimination is the very keystone; if he treated all people
+alike, he would soon become a beggar himself; there are grades in society
+as well as in the army; and according to those grades we should fashion
+our behaviour, else there would instantly be an end of all order and
+discipline.&nbsp; I am afraid that the child is too condescending to
+his inferiors, whilst to his superiors he is apt to be unbending enough;
+I don&rsquo;t believe that would do in the world; I am sure it would
+not in the army.&nbsp; He told me another anecdote with respect to his
+behaviour, which shocked me more than the other had done.&nbsp; It appears
+that his wife, who by the bye, is a very fine woman, and highly fashionable,
+gave him permission to ask the boy to tea one evening, for she is herself
+rather partial to the lad; there had been a great dinner party there
+that day, and there were a great many fashionable people, so the boy
+went and behaved very well and modestly for some time, and was rather
+noticed, till, unluckily, a very great gentleman, an archdeacon I think,
+put some questions to him, and, finding that he understood the languages,
+began talking to him about the classics.&nbsp; What do you think? the
+boy had the impertinence to say that the classics were much overvalued,
+and amongst other things that some horrid fellow or other, some Welshman
+I think (thank God it was not an Irishman), was a better poet than Ovid;
+the company were of course horrified; the archdeacon, who is seventy
+years of age, and has seven thousand a year, took snuff and turned away.&nbsp;
+Mrs. S--- turned up her eyes, Mr. S---, however, told me with his usual
+good-nature (I suppose to spare my feelings) that he rather enjoyed
+the thing, and thought it a capital joke.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I think so too,&rsquo; said my mother.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not,&rsquo; said my father; &lsquo;that a boy of his
+years should entertain an opinion of his own&mdash;I mean one which
+militates against all established authority&mdash;is astounding; as
+well might a raw recruit pretend to offer an unfavourable opinion on
+the manual and platoon exercise; the idea is preposterous; the lad is
+too independent by half.&nbsp; I never yet knew one of an independent
+spirit get on in the army, the secret of success in the army is the
+spirit of subordination.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Which is a poor spirit after all,&rsquo; said my mother; &lsquo;but
+the child is not in the army.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And it is well for him that he is not,&rsquo; said my father;
+&lsquo;but you do not talk wisely, the world is a field of battle, and
+he who leaves the ranks, what can he expect but to be cut down?&nbsp;
+I call his present behaviour leaving the ranks, and going vapouring
+about without orders; his only chance lies in falling in again as quick
+as possible; does he think he can carry the day by himself? an opinion
+of his own at these years&mdash;I confess I am exceedingly uneasy about
+the lad.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You make me uneasy too,&rsquo; said my mother; &lsquo;but
+I really think you are too hard upon the child; he is not a bad child,
+after all, though not, perhaps, all you could wish him; he is always
+ready to read the Bible.&nbsp; Let us go in; he is in the room above
+us; at least he was two hours ago, I left him there bending over his
+books; I wonder what he has been doing all this time, it is now getting
+late; let us go in, and he shall read to us.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am getting old,&rsquo; said my father; &lsquo;and I love
+to hear the Bible read to me, for my own sight is something dim; yet
+I do not wish the child to read to me this night, I cannot so soon forget
+what I have heard; but I hear my eldest son&rsquo;s voice, he is now
+entering the gate; he shall read the Bible to us this night.&nbsp; What
+say you?&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2>
+<p>The eldest son&mdash;Saying of wild Finland&mdash;The critical time&mdash;Vaunting
+polls&mdash;One thing wanted&mdash;A father&rsquo;s blessing&mdash;Miracle
+of art&mdash;The Pope&rsquo;s house&mdash;Young enthusiast&mdash;Pictures
+of England&mdash;Persist and wrestle&mdash;The little dark man.</p>
+<p>The eldest son!&nbsp; The regard and affection which my father entertained
+for his first-born were natural enough, and appeared to none more so
+than myself, who cherished the same feelings towards him.&nbsp; What
+he was as a boy the reader already knows, for the reader has seen him
+as a boy; fain would I describe him at the time of which I am now speaking,
+when he had attained the verge of manhood, but the pen fails me, and
+I attempt not the task; and yet it ought to be an easy one, for how
+frequently does his form visit my mind&rsquo;s eye in slumber and in
+wakefulness, in the light of day and in the night watches; but last
+night I saw him in his beauty and his strength; he was about to speak,
+and my ear was on the stretch, when at once I awoke, and there was I
+alone, and the night storm was howling amidst the branches of the pines
+which surround my lonely dwelling: &lsquo;Listen to the moaning of the
+pine, at whose root thy hut is fastened,&rsquo;&mdash;a saying that,
+of wild Finland, in which there is wisdom; I listened and thought of
+life and death. . . . Of all human beings that I have ever known, that
+elder brother was the most frank and generous, ay, and the quickest
+and readiest, and the best adapted to do a great thing needful at the
+critical time, when the delay of a moment would be fatal.&nbsp; I have
+known him dash from a steep bank into a stream in his full dress, and
+pull out a man who was drowning; yet there were twenty others bathing
+in the water, who might have saved him by putting out a hand, without
+inconvenience to themselves, which, however, they did not do, but stared
+with stupid surprise at the drowning one&rsquo;s struggles.&nbsp; Yes,
+whilst some shouted from the bank to those in the water to save the
+drowning one, and those in the water did nothing, my brother neither
+shouted nor stood still, but dashed from the bank and did the one thing
+needful, which, under such circumstances, not one man in a million would
+have done.&nbsp; Now, who can wonder that a brave old man should love
+a son like this, and prefer him to any other?</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My boy, my own boy, you are the very image of myself, the
+day I took off my coat in the park to fight Big Ben,&rsquo; said my
+father, on meeting his son wet and dripping, immediately after his bold
+feat.&nbsp; And who cannot excuse the honest pride of the old man&mdash;the
+stout old man?</p>
+<p>Ay, old man, that son was worthy of thee, and thou wast worthy of
+such a son; a noble specimen wast thou of those strong single-minded
+Englishmen, who, without making a parade either of religion or loyalty,
+feared God and honoured their king, and were not particularly friendly
+to the French, whose vaunting polls they occasionally broke, as at Minden
+and at Malplaquet, to the confusion vast of the eternal foes of the
+English land.&nbsp; I, who was so little like thee that thou understoodst
+me not, and in whom with justice thou didst feel so little pride, had
+yet perception enough to see all thy worth, and to feel it an honour
+to be able to call myself thy son; and if at some no distant time, when
+the foreign enemy ventures to insult our shore, I be permitted to break
+some vaunting poll, it will be a triumph to me to think that, if thou
+hadst lived, thou wouldst have hailed the deed, and mightest yet discover
+some distant resemblance to thyself, the day when thou didst all but
+vanquish the mighty Brain.</p>
+<p>I have already spoken of my brother&rsquo;s taste for painting, and
+the progress he had made in that beautiful art.&nbsp; It is probable
+that, if circumstances had not eventually diverted his mind from the
+pursuit, he would have attained excellence, and left behind him some
+enduring monument of his powers, for he had an imagination to conceive,
+and that yet rarer endowment, a hand capable of giving life, body, and
+reality to the conceptions of his mind; perhaps he wanted one thing,
+the want of which is but too often fatal to the sons of genius, and
+without which genius is little more than a splendid toy in the hands
+of the possessor&mdash;perseverance, dogged perseverance, in his proper
+calling; otherwise, though the grave had closed over him, he might still
+be living in the admiration of his fellow-creatures.&nbsp; O ye gifted
+ones, follow your calling, for, however various your talents may be,
+ye can have but one calling capable of leading ye to eminence and renown;
+follow resolutely the one straight path before you, it is that of your
+good angel, let neither obstacles nor temptations induce ye to leave
+it; bound along if you can; if not, on hands and knees follow it, perish
+in it, if needful; but ye need not fear that; no one ever yet died in
+the true path of his calling before he had attained the pinnacle.&nbsp;
+Turn into other paths, and for a momentary advantage or gratification
+ye have sold your inheritance, your immortality.&nbsp; Ye will never
+be heard of after death.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My father has given me a hundred and fifty pounds,&rsquo;
+said my brother to me one morning, &lsquo;and something which is better&mdash;his
+blessing.&nbsp; I am going to leave you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And where are you going?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Where? to the great city; to London, to be sure.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I should like to go with you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Pooh,&rsquo; said my brother, &lsquo;what should you do there?&nbsp;
+But don&rsquo;t be discouraged, I daresay a time will come when you
+too will go to London.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And, sure enough, so it did, and all but too soon.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what do you purpose doing there?&rsquo; I demanded.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, I go to improve myself in art, to place myself under some
+master of high name, at least I hope to do so eventually.&nbsp; I have,
+however, a plan in my head, which I should wish first to execute; indeed,
+I do not think I can rest till I have done so; every one talks so much
+about Italy, and the wondrous artists which it has produced, and the
+wondrous pictures which are to be found there; now I wish to see Italy,
+or rather Rome, the great city, for I am told that in a certain room
+there is contained the grand miracle of art.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what do you call it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Transfiguration, painted by one Rafael, and it is said
+to be the greatest work of the greatest painter whom the world has ever
+known.&nbsp; I suppose it is because everybody says so, that I have
+such a strange desire to see it.&nbsp; I have already made myself well
+acquainted with its locality, and think that I could almost find my
+way to it blindfold.&nbsp; When I have crossed the Tiber, which, as
+you are aware, runs through Rome, I must presently turn to the right,
+up a rather shabby street, which communicates with a large square, the
+farther end of which is entirely occupied by the front of an immense
+church, with a dome which ascends almost to the clouds, and this church
+they call St. Peter&rsquo;s.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ay, ay,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I have read about that in Keysler&rsquo;s
+Travels.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Before the church, in the square, are two fountains, one on
+either side, casting up water in showers; between them, in the midst,
+is an obelisk, brought from Egypt, and covered with mysterious writing;
+on your right rises an edifice, not beautiful nor grand, but huge and
+bulky, where lives a strange kind of priest whom men call the Pope,
+a very horrible old individual, who would fain keep Christ in leading
+strings, calls the Virgin Mary the Queen of Heaven, and himself God&rsquo;s
+Lieutenant-General upon earth.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ay, ay,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I have read of him in Foxe&rsquo;s
+<i>Book of Martyrs</i>.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, I do not go straight forward up the flight of steps
+conducting into the church, but I turn to the right, and, passing under
+the piazza, find myself in a court of the huge bulky house; and then
+ascend various staircases, and pass along various corridors and galleries,
+all of which I could describe to you, though I have never seen them;
+at last a door is unlocked, and we enter a room rather high, but not
+particularly large, communicating with another room, into which, however,
+I do not go, though there are noble things in that second room&mdash;immortal
+things, by immortal artists; amongst others, a grand piece of Correggio;
+I do not enter it, for the grand picture of the world is not there;
+but I stand still immediately on entering the first room, and I look
+straight before me, neither to the right nor left, though there are
+noble things both on the right and left, for immediately before me at
+the farther end, hanging against the wall, is a picture which arrests
+me, and I can see nothing else, for that picture at the farther end
+hanging against the wall is the picture of the world. . . .&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Yes, go thy way, young enthusiast, and, whether to London town or
+to old Rome, may success attend thee; yet strange fears assail me and
+misgivings on thy account.&nbsp; Thou canst not rest, thou say&rsquo;st,
+till thou hast seen the picture in the chamber at old Rome hanging over
+against the wall; ay, and thus thou dust exemplify thy weakness&mdash;thy
+strength too, it may be&mdash;for the one idea, fantastic yet lovely,
+which now possesses thee, could only have originated in a genial and
+fervent brain.&nbsp; Well, go, if thou must go; yet it perhaps were
+better for thee to bide in thy native land, and there, with fear and
+trembling, with groanings, with straining eyeballs, toil, drudge, slave,
+till thou hast made excellence thine own; thou wilt scarcely acquire
+it by staring at the picture over against the door in the high chamber
+of old Rome.&nbsp; Seekest thou inspiration? thou needest it not, thou
+hast it already; and it was never yet found by crossing the sea.&nbsp;
+What hast thou to do with old Rome, and thou an Englishman?&nbsp; &lsquo;Did
+thy blood never glow at the mention of thy native land?&rsquo; as an
+artist merely?&nbsp; Yes, I trow, and with reason, for thy native land
+need not grudge old Rome her &lsquo;pictures of the world&rsquo;; she
+has pictures of her own, &lsquo;pictures of England&rsquo;; and is it
+a new thing to toss up caps and shout&mdash;England against the world?&nbsp;
+Yes, against the world in all, in all; in science and in arms, in minstrel
+strain, and not less in the art &lsquo;which enables the hand to deceive
+the intoxicated soul by means of pictures.&rsquo; <a name="citation143"></a><a href="#footnote143">{143}</a>&nbsp;
+Seek&rsquo;st models? to Gainsborough and Hogarth turn, not names of
+the world, maybe, but English names&mdash;and England against the world!&nbsp;
+A living master? why, there he comes! thou hast had him long, he has
+long guided thy young hand towards the excellence which is yet far from
+thee, but which thou canst attain if thou shouldst persist and wrestle,
+even as he has done, &rsquo;midst gloom and despondency&mdash;ay, and
+even contempt; he who now comes up the creaking stair to thy little
+studio in the second floor to inspect thy last effort before thou departest,
+the little stout man whose face is very dark, and whose eye is vivacious;
+that man has attained excellence, destined some day to be acknowledged,
+though not till he is cold, and his mortal part returned to its kindred
+clay.&nbsp; He has painted, not pictures of the world, but English pictures,
+such as Gainsborough himself might have done; beautiful rural pieces,
+with trees which might well tempt the wild birds to perch upon them,
+thou needest not run to Rome, brother, where lives the old Mariolater,
+after pictures of the world, whilst at home there are pictures of England;
+nor needest thou even go to London, the big city, in search of a master,
+for thou hast one at home in the old East Anglian town who can instruct
+thee whilst thou needest instruction: better stay at home, brother,
+at least for a season, and toil and strive &rsquo;midst groanings and
+despondency till thou hast attained excellence even as he has done&mdash;the
+little dark man with the brown coat and the top-boots, whose name will
+one day be considered the chief ornament of the old town, and whose
+works will at no distant period rank amongst the proudest pictures of
+England&mdash;and England against the world!&mdash;thy master, my brother,
+thy, at present, all too little considered master&mdash;Crome.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2>
+<p>Desire for novelty&mdash;Lives of the lawless&mdash;Countenances&mdash;Old
+yeoman and dame&mdash;We live near the sea&mdash;Uncouth-looking volume&mdash;The
+other condition&mdash;Draoitheac&mdash;A dilemma&mdash;The Antinomian&mdash;Lodowick
+Muggleton&mdash;Almost blind&mdash;Anders Vedel.</p>
+<p>But to proceed with my own story: I now ceased all at once to take
+much pleasure in the pursuits which formerly interested me, I yawned
+over Ab Gwilym, even as I now in my mind&rsquo;s eye perceive the reader
+yawning over the present pages.&nbsp; What was the cause of this? Constitutional
+lassitude, or a desire for novelty?&nbsp; Both it is probable had some
+influence in the matter, but I rather think that the latter feeling
+was predominant.&nbsp; The parting words of my brother had sunk into
+my mind.&nbsp; He had talked of travelling in strange regions and seeing
+strange and wonderful objects, and my imagination fell to work, and
+drew pictures of adventures wild and fantastic, and I thought what a
+fine thing it must be to travel, and I wished that my father would give
+me his blessing, and the same sum that he had given my brother, and
+bid me go forth into the world; always forgetting that I had neither
+talents nor energies at this period which would enable me to make any
+successful figure on its stage.</p>
+<p>And then I again sought up the book which had so captivated me in
+my infancy, and I read it through; and I sought up others of a similar
+character, and in seeking for them I met books also of adventure, but
+by no means of a harmless description, lives of wicked and lawless men,
+Murray and Latroon&mdash;books of singular power, but of coarse and
+prurient imagination&mdash;books at one time highly in vogue; now deservedly
+forgotten, and most difficult to be found.</p>
+<p>And when I had gone through these books, what was my state of mind?&nbsp;
+I had derived entertainment from their perusal, but they left me more
+listless and unsettled than before, and really knew not what to do to
+pass my time.&nbsp; My philological studies had become distasteful,
+and I had never taken any pleasure in the duties of my profession.&nbsp;
+I sat behind my desk in a state of torpor, my mind almost as blank as
+the paper before me, on which I rarely traced a line.&nbsp; It was always
+a relief to hear the bell ring, as it afforded me an opportunity of
+doing something which I was yet capable of doing, to rise and open the
+door and stare in the countenances of the visitors.&nbsp; All of a sudden
+I fell to studying countenances, and soon flattered myself that I had
+made considerable progress in the science.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There is no faith in countenances,&rsquo; said some Roman
+of old; &lsquo;trust anything but a person&rsquo;s countenance.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Not trust a man&rsquo;s countenance?&rsquo; say some moderns,
+&lsquo;why, it is the only thing in many people that we can trust; on
+which account they keep it most assiduously out of the way.&nbsp; Trust
+not a man&rsquo;s words if you please, or you may come to very erroneous
+conclusions; but at all times place implicit confidence in a man&rsquo;s
+countenance, in which there is no deceit; and of necessity there can
+be none.&nbsp; If people would but look each other more in the face,
+we should have less cause to complain of the deception of the world;
+nothing so easy as physiognomy nor so useful.&rsquo;&nbsp; Somewhat
+in this latter strain I thought at the time of which I am speaking.&nbsp;
+I am now older, and, let us hope, less presumptuous.&nbsp; It is true
+that in the course of my life I have scarcely ever had occasion to repent
+placing confidence in individuals whose countenances have prepossessed
+me in their favour; though to how many I may have been unjust, from
+whose countenances I may have drawn unfavourable conclusions, is another
+matter.</p>
+<p>But it had been decreed by that Fate which governs our every action
+that I was soon to return to my old pursuits.&nbsp; It was written that
+I should not yet cease to be Lav-engro, though I had become, in my own
+opinion, a kind of Lavater.&nbsp; It is singular enough that my renewed
+ardour for philology seems to have been brought about indirectly by
+my physiognomical researches, in which had I not indulged, the event
+which I am about to relate, as far as connected with myself, might never
+have occurred.&nbsp; Amongst the various countenances which I admitted
+during the period of my answering the bell, there were two which particularly
+pleased me, and which belonged to an elderly yeoman and his wife, whom
+some little business had brought to our law sanctuary.&nbsp; I believe
+they experienced from me some kindness and attention, which won the
+old people&rsquo;s hearts.&nbsp; So, one day, when their little business
+had been brought to a conclusion, and they chanced to be alone with
+me, who was seated as usual behind the deal desk in the outer room,
+the old man with some confusion began to tell me how grateful himself
+and dame felt for the many attentions I had shown them, and how desirous
+they were to make me some remuneration.&nbsp; &lsquo;Of course,&rsquo;
+said the old man, &lsquo;we must be cautious what we offer to so fine
+a young gentleman as yourself; we have, however, something we think
+will just suit the occasion, a strange kind of thing which people say
+is a book, though no one that my dame or myself have shown it to can
+make anything out of it; so as we are told that you are a fine young
+gentleman, who can read all the tongues of the earth and stars, as the
+Bible says, we thought, I and my dame, that it would be just the thing
+you would like and my dame has it now at the bottom of her basket.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A book!&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;how did you come by it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We live near the sea,&rsquo; said the old man; &lsquo;so near
+that sometimes our thatch is wet with the spray; and it may now be a
+year ago that there was a fearful storm, and a ship was driven ashore
+during the night, and ere the morn was a complete wreck.&nbsp; When
+we got up at daylight, there were the poor shivering crew at our door;
+they were foreigners, red-haired men, whose speech we did not understand;
+but we took them in, and warmed them, and they remained with us three
+days; and when they went away they left behind them this thing, here
+it is, part of the contents of a box which was washed ashore.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And did you learn who they were?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, yes; they made us understand that they were Danes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Danes! thought I, Danes! and instantaneously, huge and grisly, appeared
+to rise up before my vision the skull of the old pirate Dane, even as
+I had seen it of yore in the pent-house of the ancient church to which,
+with my mother and my brother, I had wandered on the memorable summer
+eve.</p>
+<p>And now the old man handed me the book; a strange and uncouth-looking
+volume enough.&nbsp; It was not very large, but instead of the usual
+covering was bound in wood, and was compressed with strong iron clasps.&nbsp;
+It was a printed book, but the pages were not of paper, but vellum,
+and the characters were black, and resembled those generally termed
+Gothic.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is certainly a curious book,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;and
+I should like to have it, but I can&rsquo;t think of taking it as a
+gift, I must give you an equivalent, I never take presents from anybody.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The old man whispered with his dame and chuckled, and then turned
+his face to me, and said, with another chuckle, &lsquo;Well, we have
+agreed about the price, but, maybe, you will not consent.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;what do you demand?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, that you shake me by the hand, and hold out your cheek
+to my old dame, she has taken an affection to you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I shall be very glad to shake you by the hand,&rsquo; said
+I, &lsquo;but as for the other condition, it requires consideration.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No consideration at all,&rsquo; said the old man, with something
+like a sigh; &lsquo;she thinks you like her son, our only child, that
+was lost twenty years ago in the waves of the North Sea.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, that alters the case altogether,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;and
+of course I can have no objection.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And now at once I shook off my listlessness, to enable me to do which
+nothing could have happened more opportune than the above event.&nbsp;
+The Danes, the Danes!&nbsp; And was I at last to become acquainted,
+and in so singular a manner, with the speech of a people which had as
+far back as I could remember exercised the strongest influence over
+my imagination, as how should they not!&mdash;in infancy there was the
+summer-eve adventure, to which I often looked back, and always with
+a kind of strange interest with respect to those to whom such gigantic
+and wondrous bones could belong as I had seen on that occasion; and,
+more than this, I had been in Ireland, and there, under peculiar circumstances,
+this same interest was increased tenfold.&nbsp; I had mingled much whilst
+there with the genuine Irish&mdash;a wild but kind-hearted race, whose
+conversation was deeply imbued with traditionary lore, connected with
+the early history of their own romantic land, and from them I heard
+enough of the Danes, but nothing commonplace, for they never mentioned
+them but in terms which tallied well with my own preconceived ideas.&nbsp;
+For at an early period the Danes had invaded Ireland, and had subdued
+it, and, though eventually driven out, had left behind them an enduring
+remembrance in the minds of the people, who loved to speak of their
+strength and their stature, in evidence of which they would point to
+the ancient raths or mounds where the old Danes were buried, and where
+bones of extraordinary size were occasionally exhumed.&nbsp; And as
+the Danes surpassed other people in strength, so, according to my narrators,
+they also excelled all others in wisdom, or rather in Draoitheac, or
+magic, for they were powerful sorcerers, they said, compared with whom
+the fairy men of the present day knew nothing at all, at all; and, amongst
+other wonderful things, they knew how to make strong beer from the heather
+that grows upon the bogs.&nbsp; Little wonder if the interest, the mysterious
+interest, which I had early felt about the Danes, was increased tenfold
+by my sojourn in Ireland.</p>
+<p>And now I had in my possession a Danish book, which, from its appearance,
+might be supposed to have belonged to the very old Danes indeed; but
+how was I to turn it to any account?&nbsp; I had the book, it is true,
+but I did not understand the language, and how was I to overcome that
+difficulty? hardly by poring over the book; yet I did pore over the
+book, daily and nightly, till my eyes were dim, and it appeared to me
+that every now and then I encountered words which I understood&mdash;English
+words, though strangely disguised; and I said to myself, Courage!&nbsp;
+English and Danish are cognate dialects, a time will come when I shall
+understand this Danish; and then I pored over the book again, but with
+all my poring I could not understand it; and then I became angry, and
+I bit my lips till the blood came; and I occasionally tore a handful
+from my hair, and flung it upon the floor, but that did not mend the
+matter, for still I did not understand the book, which, however, I began
+to see was written in rhyme&mdash;a circumstance rather difficult to
+discover at first, the arrangement of the lines not differing from that
+which is employed in prose; and its being written in rhyme made me only
+the more eager to understand it.</p>
+<p>But I toiled in vain, for I had neither grammar nor dictionary of
+the language; and when I sought for them could procure neither; and
+I was much dispirited, till suddenly a bright thought came into my head,
+and I said, although I cannot obtain a dictionary or grammar, I can
+perhaps obtain a Bible in this language, and if I can procure a Bible,
+I can learn the language, for the Bible in every tongue contains the
+same thing, and I have only to compare the words of the Danish Bible
+with those of the English, and, if I persevere, I shall in time acquire
+the language of the Danes; and I was pleased with the thought, which
+I considered to be a bright one, and I no longer bit my lips, or tore
+my hair, but I took my hat, and, going forth, I flung my hat into the
+air.</p>
+<p>And when my hat came down, I put it on my head and commenced running,
+directing my course to the house of the Antinomian preacher, who sold
+books, and whom I knew to have Bibles in various tongues amongst the
+number, and I arrived out of breath, and I found the Antinomian in his
+little library, dusting his books; and the Antinomian clergyman was
+a tall man of about seventy, who wore a hat with a broad brim and a
+shallow crown, and whose manner of speaking was exceedingly nasal; and
+when I saw him, I cried, out of breath, &lsquo;Have you a Danish Bible?&rsquo;
+and he replied, &lsquo;What do you want it for, friend?&rsquo; and I
+answered, &lsquo;To learn Danish by&rsquo;; &lsquo;And maybe to learn
+thy duty,&rsquo; replied the Antinomian preacher.&nbsp; &lsquo;Truly,
+I have it not, but, as you are a customer of mine, I will endeavour
+to procure you one, and I will write to that laudable society which
+men call the Bible Society, an unworthy member of which I am, and I
+hope by next week to procure what you desire.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And when I heard these words of the old man, I was very glad, and
+my heart yearned towards him, and I would fain enter into conversation
+with him; and I said, &lsquo;Why are you an Antinomian?&nbsp; For my
+part I would rather be a dog than belong to such a religion.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Nay, friend,&rsquo; said the Antinomian, &lsquo;thou forejudgest
+us; know that those who call us Antinomians call us so despitefully,
+we do not acknowledge the designation.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Then you
+do not set all law at nought?&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;Far be it
+from us,&rsquo; said the old man, &lsquo;we only hope that, being sanctified
+by the Spirit from above, we have no need of the law to keep us in order.&nbsp;
+Did you ever hear tell of Lodowick Muggleton?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Not
+I.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;That is strange; know then that he was the founder
+of our poor society, and after him we are frequently, though opprobriously,
+termed Muggletonians, for we are Christians.&nbsp; Here is his book,
+which, perhaps, you can do no better than purchase, you are fond of
+rare books, and this is both curious and rare; I will sell it cheap.&nbsp;
+Thank you, and now be gone, I will do all I can to procure the Bible.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And in this manner I procured the Danish Bible, and I commenced my
+task; first of all, however, I locked up in a closet the volume which
+had excited my curiosity, saying, &lsquo;Out of this closet thou comest
+not till I deem myself competent to read thee,&rsquo; and then I sat
+down in right earnest, comparing every line in the one version with
+the corresponding one in the other; and I passed entire nights in this
+manner, till I was almost blind, and the task was tedious enough at
+first, but I quailed not, and soon began to make progress: and at first
+I had a misgiving that the old book might not prove a Danish book, but
+was soon reassured by reading many words in the Bible which I remembered
+to have seen in the book; and then I went on right merrily, and I found
+that the language which I was studying was by no means a difficult one,
+and in less than a month I deemed myself able to read the book.</p>
+<p>Anon, I took the book from the closet, and proceeded to make myself
+master of its contents; I had some difficulty, for the language of the
+book, though in the main the same as the language of the Bible, differed
+from it in some points, being apparently a more ancient dialect; by
+degrees, however, I overcame this difficulty, and I understood the contents
+of the book, and well did they correspond with all those ideas in which
+I had indulged connected with the Danes.&nbsp; For the book was a book
+of ballads, about the deeds of knights and champions, and men of huge
+stature; ballads which from time immemorial had been sung in the North,
+and which some two centuries before the time of which I am speaking
+had been collected by one Anders Vedel, who lived with a certain Tycho
+Brahe, and assisted him in making observations upon the heavenly bodies,
+at a place called Uranias Castle, on the little island of Hveen, in
+the Cattegat.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2>
+<p>The two individuals&mdash;The long pipe&mdash;The Germans&mdash;Werther&mdash;The
+female Quaker&mdash;Suicide&mdash;Gibbon&mdash;Jesus of Bethlehem&mdash;Fill
+your glass&mdash;Shakespeare&mdash;English at Minden&mdash;Melancholy
+Swayne Vonved&mdash;The fifth dinner&mdash;Strange doctrines&mdash;Are
+you happy?&mdash;Improve yourself in German.</p>
+<p>It might be some six months after the events last recorded, that
+two individuals were seated together in a certain room, in a certain
+street of the old town which I have so frequently had occasion to mention
+in the preceding pages; one of them was an elderly, and the other a
+very young man, and they sat on either side of a fireplace, beside a
+table on which were fruit and wine; the room was a small one, and in
+its furniture exhibited nothing remarkable.&nbsp; Over the mantelpiece,
+however, hung a small picture with naked figures in the foreground,
+and with much foliage behind.&nbsp; It might not have struck every beholder,
+for it looked old and smoke-dried; but a connoisseur, on inspecting
+it closely, would have pronounced it to be a judgment of Paris, and
+a masterpiece of the Flemish school.</p>
+<p>The forehead of the elder individual was high, and perhaps appeared
+more so than it really was, from the hair being carefully brushed back,
+as if for the purpose of displaying to the best advantage that part
+of the cranium; his eyes were large and full, and of a light brown,
+and might have been called heavy and dull, had they not been occasionally
+lighted up by a sudden gleam&mdash;not so brilliant however as that
+which at every inhalation shone from the bowl of the long clay pipe
+which he was smoking, but which, from a certain sucking sound which
+about this time began to be heard from the bottom, appeared to be giving
+notice that it would soon require replenishment from a certain canister,
+which, together with a lighted taper, stood upon the table beside him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You do not smoke?&rsquo; said he, at length, laying down his
+pipe, and directing his glance to his companion.</p>
+<p>Now there was at least one thing singular connected with this last,
+namely, the colour of his hair, which, notwithstanding his extreme youth,
+appeared to be rapidly becoming gray.&nbsp; He had very long limbs,
+and was apparently tall of stature, in which he differed from his elderly
+companion, who must have been somewhat below the usual height.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, I can&rsquo;t smoke,&rsquo; said the youth, in reply to
+the observation of the other; &lsquo;I have often tried, but could never
+succeed to my satisfaction.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is it possible to become a good German without smoking?&rsquo;
+said the senior, half speaking to himself.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I daresay not,&rsquo; said the youth; &lsquo;but I shan&rsquo;t
+break my heart on that account.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As for breaking your heart, of course you would never think
+of such a thing; he is a fool who breaks his heart on any account; but
+it is good to be a German, the Germans are the most philosophic people
+in the world, and the greatest smokers: now I trace their philosophy
+to their smoking.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have heard say their philosophy is all smoke&mdash;is that
+your opinion?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, no; but smoking has a sedative effect upon the nerves,
+and enables a man to bear the sorrows of this life (of which every one
+has his share) not only decently, but dignifiedly.&nbsp; Suicide is
+not a national habit in Germany as it is in England.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But that poor creature, Werther, who committed suicide, was
+a German.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Werther is a fictitious character, and by no means a felicitous
+one; I am no admirer either of Werther or his author.&nbsp; But I should
+say that, if there ever was a Werther in Germany, he did not smoke.&nbsp;
+Werther, as you very justly observe, was a poor creature.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And a very sinful one; I have heard my parents say that suicide
+is a great crime.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Broadly, and without qualification, to say that suicide is
+a crime, is speaking somewhat unphilosophically.&nbsp; No doubt suicide,
+under many circumstances, is a crime, a very heinous one.&nbsp; When
+the father of a family, for example, to escape from certain difficulties,
+commits suicide, he commits a crime; there are those around him who
+look to him for support, by the law of nature, and he has no right to
+withdraw himself from those who have a claim upon his exertions; he
+is a person who decamps with other people&rsquo;s goods as well as his
+own.&nbsp; Indeed, there can be no crime which is not founded upon the
+depriving others of something which belongs to them.&nbsp; A man is
+hanged for setting fire to his house in a crowded city, for he burns
+at the same time or damages those of other people; but if a man who
+has a house on a heath sets fire to it, he is not hanged, for he has
+not damaged or endangered any other individual&rsquo;s property, and
+the principle of revenge, upon which all punishment is founded, has
+not been aroused.&nbsp; Similar to such a case is that of the man who,
+without any family ties, commits suicide; for example, were I to do
+the thing this evening, who would have a right to call me to account?&nbsp;
+I am alone in the world, have no family to support, and, so far from
+damaging any one, should even benefit my heir by my accelerated death.&nbsp;
+However, I am no advocate for suicide under any circumstances; there
+is something undignified in it, unheroic, un-Germanic.&nbsp; But if
+you must commit suicide&mdash;and there is no knowing to what people
+may be brought&mdash;always contrive to do it as decorously as possible;
+the decencies, whether of life or of death, should never be lost sight
+of.&nbsp; I remember a female Quaker who committed suicide by cutting
+her throat, but she did it decorously and decently: kneeling down over
+a pail, so that not one drop fell upon the floor; thus exhibiting in
+her last act that nice sense of neatness for which Quakers are distinguished.&nbsp;
+I have always had a respect for that woman&rsquo;s memory.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And here, filling his pipe from the canister, and lighting it at
+the taper, he recommenced smoking calmly and sedately.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But is not suicide forbidden in the Bible?&rsquo; the youth
+demanded.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, no; but what though it were!&mdash;the Bible is a respectable
+book, but I should hardly call it one whose philosophy is of the soundest.&nbsp;
+I have said that it is a respectable book; I mean respectable from its
+antiquity, and from containing, as Herder says, &ldquo;the earliest
+records of the human race,&rdquo; though those records are far from
+being dispassionately written, on which account they are of less value
+than they otherwise might have been.&nbsp; There is too much passion
+in the Bible, too much violence; now, to come to all truth, especially
+historic truth, requires cool dispassionate investigation, for which
+the Jews do not appear to have ever been famous.&nbsp; We are ourselves
+not famous for it, for we are a passionate people; the Germans are not&mdash;they
+are not a passionate people&mdash;a people celebrated for their oaths;
+we are.&nbsp; The Germans have many excellent historic writers, we .
+. . &rsquo;tis true we have Gibbon . . . You have been reading Gibbon&mdash;what
+do you think of him?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I think him a very wonderful writer.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He is a wonderful writer&mdash;one <i>sui generis</i>&mdash;uniting
+the perspicuity of the English&mdash;for we are perspicuous&mdash;with
+the cool dispassionate reasoning of the Germans.&nbsp; Gibbon sought
+after the truth, found it, and made it clear.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you think Gibbon a truthful writer?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, yes; who shall convict Gibbon of falsehood?&nbsp; Many
+people have endeavoured to convict Gibbon of falsehood; they have followed
+him in his researches, and have never found him once tripping.&nbsp;
+Oh, he is a wonderful writer! his power of condensation is admirable;
+the lore of the whole world is to be found in his pages.&nbsp; Sometimes
+in a single note he has given us the result of the study of years; or,
+to speak metaphorically, &ldquo;he has ransacked a thousand Gulistans,
+and has condensed all his fragrant booty into a single drop of otto.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But was not Gibbon an enemy to the Christian faith?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, no; he was rather an enemy to priestcraft, so am I; and
+when I say the philosophy of the Bible is in many respects unsound,
+I always wish to make an exception in favour of that part of it which
+contains the life and sayings of Jesus of Bethlehem, to which I must
+always concede my unqualified admiration&mdash;of Jesus, mind you; for
+with his followers and their dogmas I have nothing to do.&nbsp; Of all
+historic characters Jesus is the most beautiful and the most heroic.&nbsp;
+I have always been a friend to hero-worship, it is the only rational
+one, and has always been in use amongst civilised people&mdash;the worship
+of spirits is synonymous with barbarism&mdash;it is mere fetish; the
+savages of West Africa are all spirit-worshippers.&nbsp; But there is
+something philosophic in the worship of the heroes of the human race,
+and the true hero is the benefactor.&nbsp; Brahma, Jupiter, Bacchus,
+were all benefactors, and, therefore, entitled to the worship of their
+respective peoples.&nbsp; The Celts worshipped Hesus, who taught them
+to plough, a highly useful art.&nbsp; We, who have attained a much higher
+state of civilisation than the Celts ever did, worship Jesus, the first
+who endeavoured to teach men to behave decently and decorously under
+all circumstances; who was the foe of vengeance, in which there is something
+highly indecorous; who had first the courage to lift his voice against
+that violent dogma, &ldquo;an eye for an eye&rdquo;; who shouted conquer,
+but conquer with kindness; who said put up the sword, a violent unphilosophic
+weapon; and who finally died calmly and decorously in defence of his
+philosophy.&nbsp; He must be a savage who denies worship to the hero
+of Golgotha.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But he was something more than a hero; he was the Son of God,
+wasn&rsquo;t he?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The elderly individual made no immediate answer; but, after a few
+more whiffs from his pipe, exclaimed, &lsquo;Come, fill your glass!&nbsp;
+How do you advance with your translation of <i>Tell</i>&rsquo;?</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is nearly finished; but I do not think I shall proceed
+with it; I begin to think the original somewhat dull.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There you are wrong; it is the masterpiece of Schiller, the
+first of German poets.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It may be so,&rsquo; said the youth.&nbsp; &lsquo;But, pray
+excuse me, I do not think very highly of German poetry.&nbsp; I have
+lately been reading Shakespeare; and, when I turn from him to the Germans&mdash;even
+the best of them&mdash;they appear mere pigmies.&nbsp; You will pardon
+the liberty I perhaps take in saying so.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I like that every one should have an opinion of his own,&rsquo;
+said the elderly individual; &lsquo;and, what is more, declare it.&nbsp;
+Nothing displeases me more than to see people assenting to everything
+that they hear said; I at once come to the conclusion that they are
+either hypocrites, or there is nothing in them.&nbsp; But, with respect
+to Shakespeare, whom I have not read for thirty years, is he not rather
+given to bombast, &ldquo;crackling bombast,&rdquo; as I think I have
+said in one of my essays?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I daresay he is,&rsquo; said the youth; &lsquo;but I can&rsquo;t
+help thinking him the greatest of all poets, not even excepting Homer.&nbsp;
+I would sooner have written that series of plays, founded on the fortunes
+of the House of Lancaster, than the <i>Iliad</i> itself.&nbsp; The events
+described are as lofty as those sung by Homer in his great work, and
+the characters brought upon the stage still more interesting.&nbsp;
+I think Hotspur as much of a hero as Hector, and young Henry more of
+a man than Achilles; and then there is the fat knight, the quintessence
+of fun, wit, and rascality.&nbsp; Falstaff is a creation beyond the
+genius even of Homer.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You almost tempt me to read Shakespeare again&mdash;but the
+Germans?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t admire the Germans,&rsquo; said the youth, somewhat
+excited.&nbsp; &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t admire them in any point of view.&nbsp;
+I have heard my father say that, though good sharpshooters, they can&rsquo;t
+be much depended upon as soldiers; and that old Sergeant Meredith told
+him that Minden would never have been won but for the two English regiments,
+who charged the French with fixed bayonets, and sent them to the right-about
+in double-quick time.&nbsp; With respect to poetry, setting Shakespeare
+and the English altogether aside, I think there is another Gothic nation,
+at least, entitled to dispute with them the palm.&nbsp; Indeed, to my
+mind, there is more genuine poetry contained in the old Danish book
+which I came so strangely by, than has been produced in Germany from
+the period of the Niebelungen lay to the present.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, the Koempe Viser?&rsquo; said the elderly individual,
+breathing forth an immense volume of smoke, which he had been collecting
+during the declamation of his young companion.&nbsp; &lsquo;There are
+singular things in that book, I must confess; and I thank you for showing
+it to me, or rather your attempt at translation.&nbsp; I was struck
+with that ballad of Orm Ungarswayne, who goes by night to the grave-hill
+of his father to seek for counsel.&nbsp; And then, again, that strange
+melancholy Swayne Vonved, who roams about the world propounding people
+riddles; slaying those who cannot answer, and rewarding those who can
+with golden bracelets.&nbsp; Were it not for the violence, I should
+say that ballad has a philosophic tendency.&nbsp; I thank you for making
+me acquainted with the book, and I thank the Jew Mousha for making me
+acquainted with you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That Mousha was a strange customer,&rsquo; said the youth,
+collecting himself.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He <i>was</i> a strange customer,&rsquo; said the elder individual,
+breathing forth a gentle cloud.&nbsp; &lsquo;I love to exercise hospitality
+to wandering strangers, especially foreigners; and when he came to this
+place, pretending to teach German and Hebrew, I asked him to dinner.&nbsp;
+After the first dinner, he asked me to lend him five pounds; I <i>did</i>
+lend him five pounds.&nbsp; After the fifth dinner, he asked me to lend
+him fifty pounds; I did <i>not</i> lend him the fifty pounds.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He was as ignorant of German as of Hebrew,&rsquo; said the
+youth; &lsquo;on which account he was soon glad, I suppose, to transfer
+his pupil to some one else.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He told me,&rsquo; said the elder individual, &lsquo;that
+he intended to leave a town where he did not find sufficient encouragement;
+and, at the same time, expressed regret at being obliged to abandon
+a certain extraordinary pupil, for whom he had a particular regard.&nbsp;
+Now I, who have taught many people German from the love which I bear
+to it, and the desire which I feel that it should be generally diffused,
+instantly said that I should be happy to take his pupil off his hands,
+and afford him what instruction I could in German, for, as to Hebrew,
+I have never taken much interest in it.&nbsp; Such was the origin of
+our acquaintance.&nbsp; You have been an apt scholar.&nbsp; Of late,
+however, I have seen little of you&mdash;what is the reason?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The youth made no answer.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You think, probably, that you have learned all I can teach
+you?&nbsp; Well, perhaps you are right.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not so, not so,&rsquo; said the young man eagerly; &lsquo;before
+I knew you I knew nothing, and am still very ignorant; but of late my
+father&rsquo;s health has been very much broken, and he requires attention;
+his spirits also have become low, which, to tell you the truth, he attributes
+to my misconduct.&nbsp; He says that I have imbibed all kinds of strange
+notions and doctrines, which will, in all probability, prove my ruin,
+both here and hereafter; which&mdash;which&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&nbsp; I understand,&rsquo; said the elder, with another
+calm whiff.&nbsp; &lsquo;I have always had a kind of respect for your
+father, for there is something remarkable in his appearance, something
+heroic, and I would fain have cultivated his acquaintance; the feeling,
+however, has not been reciprocated.&nbsp; I met him, the other day,
+up the road, with his cane and dog, and saluted him; he did not return
+my salutation.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He has certain opinions of his own,&rsquo; said the youth,
+&lsquo;which are widely different from those which he has heard that
+you profess.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I respect a man for entertaining an opinion of his own,&rsquo;
+said the elderly individual.&nbsp; &lsquo;I hold certain opinions; but
+I should not respect an individual the more for adopting them.&nbsp;
+All I wish for is tolerance, which I myself endeavour to practise.&nbsp;
+I have always loved the truth, and sought it; if I have not found it,
+the greater my misfortune.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are you happy?&rsquo; said the young man.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, no!&nbsp; And, between ourselves, it is that which induces
+me to doubt sometimes the truth of my opinions.&nbsp; My life, upon
+the whole, I consider a failure; on which account, I would not counsel
+you, or any one, to follow my example too closely.&nbsp; It is getting
+late, and you had better be going, especially as your father, you say,
+is anxious about you.&nbsp; But, as we may never meet again, I think
+there are three things which I may safely venture to press upon you.&nbsp;
+The first is, that the decencies and gentlenesses should never be lost
+sight of, as the practice of the decencies and gentlenesses is at all
+times compatible with independence of thought and action.&nbsp; The
+second thing which I would wish to impress upon you is, that there is
+always some eye upon us; and that it is impossible to keep anything
+we do from the world, as it will assuredly be divulged by somebody as
+soon as it is his interest to do so.&nbsp; The third thing which I would
+wish to press upon you&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the youth, eagerly bending forward.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is&mdash;&rsquo; and here the elderly individual laid down
+his pipe upon the table&mdash;&lsquo;that it will be as well to go on
+improving yourself in German!&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2>
+<p>The alehouse-keeper&mdash;Compassion for the rich&mdash;Old English
+gentleman&mdash;How is this?&mdash;Madeira&mdash;The Greek Parr&mdash;Twenty
+languages&mdash;Whiter&rsquo;s health&mdash;About the fight&mdash;A
+sporting gentleman&mdash;The flattened nose&mdash;Lend us that pightle&mdash;The
+surly nod.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Holloa, master! can you tell us where the fight is likely
+to be?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Such were the words shouted out to me by a short thick fellow, in
+brown top-boots, and bareheaded, who stood, with his hands in his pockets,
+at the door of a country alehouse as I was passing by.</p>
+<p>Now, as I knew nothing about the fight, and as the appearance of
+the man did not tempt me greatly to enter into conversation with him,
+I merely answered in the negative, and continued my way.</p>
+<p>It was a fine lovely morning in May, the sun shone bright above,
+and the birds were carolling in the hedgerows.&nbsp; I was wont to be
+cheerful at such seasons, for, from my earliest recollection, sunshine
+and the song of birds have been dear to me; yet, about that period,
+I was not cheerful, my mind was not at rest; I was debating within myself,
+and the debate was dreary and unsatisfactory enough.&nbsp; I sighed,
+and turning my eyes upward, I ejaculated, &lsquo;What is truth?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>But suddenly, by a violent effort breaking away from my meditations,
+I hastened forward; one mile, two miles, three miles were speedily left
+behind; and now I came to a grove of birch and other trees, and opening
+a gate I passed up a kind of avenue, and soon arriving before a large
+brick house, of rather antique appearance, knocked at the door.</p>
+<p>In this house there lived a gentleman with whom I had business.&nbsp;
+He was said to be a genuine old English gentleman, and a man of considerable
+property; at this time, however, he wanted a thousand pounds, as gentlemen
+of considerable property every now and then do.&nbsp; I had brought
+him a thousand pounds in my pocket, for it is astonishing how many eager
+helpers the rich find, and with what compassion people look upon their
+distresses.&nbsp; He was said to have good wine in his cellar.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is your master at home?&rsquo; said I, to a servant who appeared
+at the door.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;His worship is at home, young man,&rsquo; said the servant,
+as he looked at my shoes, which bore evidence that I had come walking.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I beg your pardon, sir,&rsquo; he added, as he looked me in the
+face.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ay, ay, servants,&rsquo; thought I, as I followed the man
+into the house, &lsquo;always look people in the face when you open
+the door, and do so before you look at their shoes, or you may mistake
+the heir of a Prime Minister for a shopkeeper&rsquo;s son.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I found his worship a jolly, red-faced gentleman, of about fifty-five;
+he was dressed in a green coat, white corduroy breeches, and drab gaiters,
+and sat on an old-fashioned leather sofa, with two small, thoroughbred,
+black English terriers, one on each side of him.&nbsp; He had all the
+appearance of a genuine old English gentleman who kept good wine in
+his cellar.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sir,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I have brought you a thousand pounds&rsquo;;
+and I said this after the servant had retired, and the two terriers
+had ceased the barking which is natural to all such dogs at the sight
+of a stranger.</p>
+<p>And when the magistrate had received the money, and signed and returned
+a certain paper which I handed to him, he rubbed his hands, and looking
+very benignantly at me, exclaimed&mdash;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And now, young gentleman, that our business is over, perhaps
+you can tell me where the fight is to take place?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am sorry, sir,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;that I can&rsquo;t
+inform you, but everybody seems to be anxious about it&rsquo;; and then
+I told him what had occurred to me on the road with the alehouse-keeper.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know him,&rsquo; said his worship; &lsquo;he&rsquo;s a tenant
+of mine, and a good fellow, somewhat too much in my debt though.&nbsp;
+But how is this, young gentleman, you look as if you had been walking;
+you did not come on foot?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, sir, I came on foot.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;On foot! why it is sixteen miles.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I shan&rsquo;t be tired when I have walked back.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You can&rsquo;t ride, I suppose?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Better than I can walk.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then why do you walk?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have frequently to make journeys connected with my profession;
+sometimes I walk, sometimes I ride, just as the whim takes me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Will you take a glass of wine?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That&rsquo;s right; what shall it be?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Madeira!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The magistrate gave a violent slap on his knee; &lsquo;I like your
+taste,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;I am fond of a glass of Madeira myself,
+and can give you such a one as you will not drink every day; sit down,
+young gentleman, you shall have a glass of Madeira, and the best I have.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Thereupon he got up, and, followed by his two terriers, walked slowly
+out of the room.</p>
+<p>I looked round the room, and, seeing nothing which promised me much
+amusement, I sat down, and fell again into my former train of thought.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;What is truth?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Here it is,&rsquo; said the magistrate, returning at the end
+of a quarter of an hour, followed by the servant with a tray; &lsquo;here&rsquo;s
+the true thing, or I am no judge, far less a justice.&nbsp; It has been
+thirty years in my cellar last Christmas.&nbsp; There,&rsquo; said he
+to the servant, &lsquo;put it down, and leave my young friend and me
+to ourselves.&nbsp; Now, what do you think of it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is very good,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Did you ever taste better Madeira?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I never before tasted Madeira.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you ask for a wine without knowing what it is?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I ask for it, sir, that I may know what it is.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, there is logic in that, as Parr would say; you have
+heard of Parr?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Old Parr?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, old Parr, but not that Parr; you mean the English, I
+the Greek Parr, as people call him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Perhaps not&mdash;rather too young for that, but were you
+of my age, you might have cause to know him, coming from where you do.&nbsp;
+He kept school there, I was his first scholar; he flogged Greek into
+me till I loved him&mdash;and he loved me: he came to see me last year,
+and sat in that chair; I honour Parr&mdash;he knows much, and is a sound
+man.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Does he know the truth?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Know the truth! he knows what&rsquo;s good, from an oyster
+to an ostrich&mdash;he&rsquo;s not only sound, but round.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Suppose we drink his health?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thank you, boy: here&rsquo;s Parr&rsquo;s health, and Whiter&rsquo;s.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who is Whiter?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t you know Whiter?&nbsp; I thought everybody knew
+Reverend Whiter the philologist, though I suppose you scarcely know
+what that means.&nbsp; A man fond of tongues and languages, quite out
+of your way&mdash;he understands some twenty; what do you say to that?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is he a sound man?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, as to that, I scarcely know what to say: he has got queer
+notions in his head&mdash;wrote a book to prove that all words came
+originally from the earth&mdash;who knows?&nbsp; Words have roots, and
+roots live in the earth; but, upon the whole, I should not call him
+altogether a sound man, though he can talk Greek nearly as fast as Parr.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is he a round man?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ay, boy, rounder than Parr; I&rsquo;ll sing you a song, if
+you like, which will let you into his character:&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;Give me the haunch of a buck to eat, and to drink
+Madeira old,<br />
+And a gentle wife to rest with, and in my arms to fold,<br />
+An Arabic book to study, a Norfolk cob to ride,<br />
+And a house to live in shaded with trees, and near to a river side;<br />
+With such good things around me, and blessed with good health withal,<br />
+Though I should live for a hundred years, for death I would not call.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>Here&rsquo;s to Whiter&rsquo;s health&mdash;so you know nothing about
+the fight?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, sir; the truth is, that of late I have been very much
+occupied with various matters, otherwise I should, perhaps, have been
+able to afford you some information&mdash;boxing is a noble art.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Can you box?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A little.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I tell you what, my boy; I honour you, and provided your education
+had been a little less limited, I should have been glad to see you here
+in company with Parr and Whiter; both can box.&nbsp; Boxing is, as you
+say, a noble art&mdash;a truly English art; may I never see the day
+when Englishmen shall feel ashamed of it, or blacklegs and blackguards
+bring it into disgrace.&nbsp; I am a magistrate, and, of course, cannot
+patronise the thing very openly, yet I sometimes see a prize fight:
+I saw the Game Chicken beat Gulley.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Did you ever see Big Ben?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No; why do you ask?&rsquo;&nbsp; But here we heard a noise,
+like that of a gig driving up to the door, which was immediately succeeded
+by a violent knocking and ringing, and after a little time the servant
+who had admitted me made his appearance in the room.&nbsp; &lsquo;Sir,&rsquo;
+said he, with a certain eagerness of manner, &lsquo;here are two gentlemen
+waiting to speak to you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Gentlemen waiting to speak to me! who are they?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know, sir,&rsquo; said the servant; &lsquo;but
+they look like sporting gentlemen, and&mdash;and&rsquo;&mdash;here he
+hesitated; &lsquo;from a word or two they dropped, I almost think that
+they come about the fight.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;About the fight!&rsquo; said the magistrate.&nbsp; &lsquo;No;
+that can hardly be; however, you had better show them in.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Heavy steps were now heard ascending the stairs, and the servant
+ushered two men into the apartment.&nbsp; Again there was a barking,
+but louder than that which had been directed against myself, for here
+were two intruders; both of them were remarkable-looking men, but to
+the foremost of them the most particular notice may well be accorded:
+he was a man somewhat under thirty, and nearly six feet in height.&nbsp;
+He was dressed in a blue coat, white corduroy breeches, fastened below
+the knee with small golden buttons; on his legs he wore white lamb&rsquo;s-wool
+stockings, and on his feet shoes reaching to the ankles; round his neck
+was a handkerchief of the blue and bird&rsquo;s eye pattern; he wore
+neither whiskers nor moustaches, and appeared not to delight in hair,
+that of his head, which was of a light brown, being closely cropped;
+the forehead was rather high, but somewhat narrow; the face neither
+broad nor sharp, perhaps rather sharp than broad; the nose was almost
+delicate; the eyes were gray, with an expression in which there was
+sternness blended with something approaching to feline; his complexion
+was exceedingly pale, relieved, however, by certain pock-marks, which
+here and there studded his countenance; his form was athletic, but lean;
+his arms long.&nbsp; In the whole appearance of the man there was a
+blending of the bluff and the sharp.&nbsp; You might have supposed him
+a bruiser; his dress was that of one in all its minutiae; something
+was wanting, however, in his manner&mdash;the quietness of the professional
+man; he rather looked like one performing the part&mdash;well&mdash;very
+well&mdash;but still performing a part.&nbsp; His companion!&mdash;there,
+indeed, was the bruiser&mdash;no mistake about him: a tall massive man,
+with a broad countenance and a flattened nose; dressed like a bruiser,
+but not like a bruiser going into the ring; he wore white-topped boots,
+and a loose brown jockey coat.</p>
+<p>As the first advanced towards the table, behind which the magistrate
+sat, he doffed a white castor from his head, and made rather a genteel
+bow; looking at me, who sat somewhat on one side, he gave a kind of
+nod of recognition.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;May I request to know who you are, gentlemen?&rsquo; said
+the magistrate.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sir,&rsquo; said the man in a deep, but not unpleasant voice,
+&lsquo;allow me to introduce to you my friend, Mr. ---, the celebrated
+pugilist&rsquo;; and he motioned with his hand towards the massive man
+with the flattened nose.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And your own name, sir?&rsquo; said the magistrate.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My name is no matter,&rsquo; said the man; &lsquo;were I to
+mention it to you, it would awaken within you no feeling of interest.&nbsp;
+It is neither Kean nor Belcher, and I have as yet done nothing to distinguish
+myself like either of those individuals, or even like my friend here.&nbsp;
+However, a time may come&mdash;we are not yet buried; and whensoever
+my hour arrives, I hope I shall prove myself equal to my destiny, however
+high&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;Like bird that&rsquo;s bred amongst the Helicons.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>And here a smile half theatrical passed over his features.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In what can I oblige you, sir?&rsquo; said the magistrate.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, sir; the soul of wit is brevity; we want a place for
+an approaching combat between my friend here and a brave from town.&nbsp;
+Passing by your broad acres this fine morning we saw a pightle, which
+we deemed would suit.&nbsp; Lend us that pightle, and receive our thanks;
+&lsquo;twould be a favour, though not much to grant: we neither ask
+for Stonehenge nor for Tempe.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>My friend looked somewhat perplexed; after a moment, however, he
+said, with a firm but gentlemanly air, &lsquo;Sir, I am sorry that I
+cannot comply with your request.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not comply!&rsquo; said the man, his brow becoming dark as
+midnight; and with a hoarse and savage tone, &lsquo;Not comply! why
+not?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is impossible, sir; utterly impossible!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why so?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am not compelled to give my reasons to you, sir, nor to
+any man.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Let me beg of you to alter your decision,&rsquo; said the
+man, in a tone of profound respect.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Utterly impossible, sir; I am a magistrate.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Magistrate! then fare ye well, for a green-coated buffer and
+a Harmanbeck.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sir!&rsquo; said the magistrate, springing up with a face
+fiery with wrath.</p>
+<p>But, with a surly nod to me, the man left the apartment; and in a
+moment more the heavy footsteps of himself and his companion were heard
+descending the staircase.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who is that man?&rsquo; said my friend, turning towards me.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A sporting gentleman, well known in the place from which I
+come.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He appeared to know you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have occasionally put on the gloves with him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is his name?&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2>
+<p>Doubts&mdash;Wise king of Jerusalem&mdash;Let me see&mdash;A thousand
+years&mdash;Nothing new&mdash;The crowd&mdash;The hymn&mdash;Faith&mdash;Charles
+Wesley&mdash;There he stood&mdash;Farewell, brother&mdash;Death&mdash;Sun,
+moon, and stars&mdash;Wind on the heath.</p>
+<p>There was one question which I was continually asking myself at this
+period, and which has more than once met the eyes of the reader who
+has followed me through the last chapter: &lsquo;What is truth?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+I had involved myself imperceptibly in a dreary labyrinth of doubt,
+and, whichever way I turned, no reasonable prospect of extricating myself
+appeared.&nbsp; The means by which I had brought myself into this situation
+may be very briefly told; I had inquired into many matters, in order
+that I might become wise, and I had read and pondered over the words
+of the wise, so called, till I had made myself master of the sum of
+human wisdom; namely, that everything is enigmatical and that man is
+an enigma to himself; thence the cry of &lsquo;What is truth?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+I had ceased to believe in the truth of that in which I had hitherto
+trusted, and yet could find nothing in which I could put any fixed or
+deliberate belief&mdash;I was, indeed, in a labyrinth!&nbsp; In what
+did I not doubt?&nbsp; With respect to crime and virtue I was in doubt;
+I doubted that the one was blamable and the other praiseworthy.&nbsp;
+Are not all things subjected to the law of necessity?&nbsp; Assuredly
+time and chance govern all things: Yet how can this be? alas!</p>
+<p>Then there was myself; for what was I born?&nbsp; Are not all things
+born to be forgotten?&nbsp; That&rsquo;s incomprehensible: yet is it
+not so?&nbsp; Those butterflies fall and are forgotten.&nbsp; In what
+is man better than a butterfly?&nbsp; All then is born to be forgotten.&nbsp;
+Ah! that was a pang indeed; &rsquo;tis at such a moment that a man wishes
+to die.&nbsp; The wise king of Jerusalem, who sat in his shady arbours
+beside his sunny fish-pools, saying so many fine things, wished to die,
+when he saw that not only all was vanity, but that he himself was vanity.&nbsp;
+Will a time come when all will be forgotten that now is beneath the
+sun?&nbsp; If so, of what profit is life?</p>
+<p>In truth it was a sore vexation of spirit to me when I saw, as the
+wise man saw of old, that whatever I could hope to perform must necessarily
+be of very temporary duration; and if so, why do it?&nbsp; I said to
+myself, whatever name I can acquire, will it endure for eternity? scarcely
+so.&nbsp; A thousand years?&nbsp; Let me see! what have I done already?&nbsp;
+I have learnt Welsh, and have translated the songs of Ab Gwilym, some
+ten thousand lines, into English rhyme; I have also learnt Danish, and
+have rendered the old book of ballads cast by the tempest upon the beach
+into corresponding English metre.&nbsp; Good! have I done enough already
+to secure myself a reputation of a thousand years?&nbsp; No, no! certainly
+not; I have not the slightest ground for hoping that my translations
+from the Welsh and Danish will be read at the end of a thousand years.&nbsp;
+Well, but I am only eighteen, and I have not stated all that I have
+done; I have learnt many other tongues, and have acquired some knowledge
+even of Hebrew and Arabic.&nbsp; Should I go on in this way till I am
+forty, I must then be very learned; and perhaps, among other things,
+may have translated the Talmud, and some of the great works of the Arabians.&nbsp;
+Pooh! all this is mere learning and translation, and such will never
+secure immortality.&nbsp; Translation is at best an echo, and it must
+be a wonderful echo to be heard after the lapse of a thousand years.&nbsp;
+No! all I have already done, and all I may yet do in the same way, I
+may reckon as nothing&mdash;mere pastime; something else must be done.&nbsp;
+I must either write some grand original work, or conquer an empire;
+the one just as easy as the other.&nbsp; But am I competent to do either?&nbsp;
+Yes, I think I am, under favourable circumstances.&nbsp; Yes, I think
+I may promise myself a reputation of a thousand years, if I do but give
+myself the necessary trouble.&nbsp; Well! but what&rsquo;s a thousand
+years after all, or twice a thousand years?&nbsp; Woe is me!&nbsp; I
+may just as well sit still.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Would I had never been born!&rsquo; I said to myself; and
+a thought would occasionally intrude: But was I ever born?&nbsp; Is
+not all that I see a lie&mdash;a deceitful phantom?&nbsp; Is there a
+world, and earth, and sky?&nbsp; Berkeley&rsquo;s doctrine&mdash;Spinoza&rsquo;s
+doctrine!&nbsp; Dear reader, I had at that time never read either Berkeley
+or Spinoza.&nbsp; I have still never read them; who are they, men of
+yesterday?&nbsp; &lsquo;All is a lie&mdash;all a deceitful phantom,&rsquo;
+are old cries; they come naturally from the mouths of those who, casting
+aside that choicest shield against madness, simplicity, would fain be
+wise as God, and can only know that they are naked.&nbsp; This doubting
+in the &lsquo;universal all&rsquo; is almost coeval with the human race:
+wisdom, so called, was early sought after.&nbsp; All is a lie&mdash;a
+deceitful phantom&mdash;was said when the world was yet young; its surface,
+save a scanty portion, yet untrodden by human foot, and when the great
+tortoise yet crawled about.&nbsp; All is a lie, was the doctrine of
+Buddh; and Buddh lived thirty centuries before the wise king of Jerusalem,
+who sat in his arbours, beside his sunny fish-pools, saying many fine
+things, and, amongst others, &lsquo;There is nothing new under the sun!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>* * * * *</p>
+<p>One day, whilst I bent my way to the heath of which I have spoken
+on a former occasion, at the foot of the hills which formed it I came
+to a place where a wagon was standing, but without horses, the shafts
+resting on the ground; there was a crowd about it, which extended half-way
+up the side of the neighbouring hill.&nbsp; The wagon was occupied by
+some half a dozen men; some sitting, others standing&mdash;they were
+dressed in sober-coloured habiliments of black or brown, cut in a plain
+and rather uncouth fashion, and partially white with dust; their hair
+was short, and seemed to have been smoothed down by the application
+of the hand; all were bareheaded&mdash;sitting or standing, all were
+bareheaded.&nbsp; One of them, a tall man, was speaking as I arrived;
+ere, however, I could distinguish what he was saying, he left off, and
+then there was a cry for a hymn &lsquo;to the glory of God&rsquo;&mdash;that
+was the word.&nbsp; It was a strange-sounding hymn, as well it might
+be, for everybody joined in it: there were voices of all kinds, of men,
+of women, and of children&mdash;of those who could sing and of those
+who could not&mdash;a thousand voices all joined, and all joined heartily;
+no voice of all the multitude was silent save mine.&nbsp; The crowd
+consisted entirely of the lower classes, labourers and mechanics, and
+their wives and children&mdash;dusty people, unwashed people, people
+of no account whatever, and yet they did not look a mob.&nbsp; And when
+that hymn was over&mdash;and here let me observe that, strange as it
+sounded, I have recalled that hymn to mind, and it has seemed to tingle
+in my ears on occasions when all that pomp and art could do to enhance
+religious solemnity was being done&mdash;in the Sistine Chapel, what
+time the papal band was in full play, and the choicest choristers of
+Italy poured forth their mellowest tones in presence of Batuschca and
+his cardinals&mdash;on the ice of the Neva, what time the long train
+of stately priests, with their noble beards and their flowing robes
+of crimson and gold, with their ebony and ivory staves, stalked along,
+chanting their Sclavonian litanies in advance of the mighty Emperor
+of the North and his Priberjensky guard of giants, towards the orifice
+through which the river, running below in its swiftness, is to receive
+the baptismal lymph:&mdash;when the hymn was over, another man in the
+wagon proceeded to address the people; he was a much younger man than
+the last speaker; somewhat square built and about the middle height;
+his face was rather broad, but expressive of much intelligence, and
+with a peculiar calm and serious look; the accent in which he spoke
+indicated that he was not of these parts, but from some distant district.&nbsp;
+The subject of his address was faith, and how it could remove mountains.&nbsp;
+It was a plain address, without any attempt at ornament, and delivered
+in a tone which was neither loud nor vehement.&nbsp; The speaker was
+evidently not a practised one&mdash;once or twice he hesitated as if
+for words to express his meaning, but still he held on, talking of faith,
+and how it could remove mountains: &lsquo;It is the only thing we want,
+brethren, in this world; if we have that, we are indeed rich, as it
+will enable us to do our duty under all circumstances, and to bear our
+lot, however hard it may be&mdash;and the lot of all mankind is hard&mdash;the
+lot of the poor is hard, brethren&mdash;and who knows more of the poor
+than I?&mdash;a poor man myself, and the son of a poor man: but are
+the rich better off? not so, brethren, for God is just.&nbsp; The rich
+have their trials too: I am not rich myself, but I have seen the rich
+with careworn countenances; I have also seen them in madhouses; from
+which you may learn, brethren, that the lot of all mankind is hard;
+that is, till we lay hold of faith, which makes us comfortable under
+all circumstances; whether we ride in gilded chariots or walk barefooted
+in quest of bread; whether we be ignorant, whether we be wise&mdash;for
+riches and poverty, ignorance and wisdom, brethren, each brings with
+it its peculiar temptations.&nbsp; Well, under all these troubles, the
+thing which I would recommend you to seek is one and the same&mdash;faith;
+faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, who made us and allotted to each his
+station.&nbsp; Each has something to do, brethren.&nbsp; Do it, therefore,
+but always in faith; without faith we shall find ourselves sometimes
+at fault; but with faith never&mdash;for faith can remove the difficulty.&nbsp;
+It will teach us to love life, brethren, when life is becoming bitter,
+and to prize the blessings around us; for as every man has his cares,
+brethren, so has each man his blessings.&nbsp; It will likewise teach
+us not to love life over much, seeing that we must one day part with
+it.&nbsp; It will teach us to face death with resignation, and will
+preserve us from sinking amidst the swelling of the river Jordan.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And when he had concluded his address, he said, &lsquo;Let us sing
+a hymn, one composed by Master Charles Wesley&mdash;he was my countryman,
+brethren.</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;Jesus, I cast my soul on Thee,<br />
+Mighty and merciful to save;<br />
+Thou shalt to death go down with me,<br />
+And lay me gently in the grave.<br />
+This body then shall rest in hope,<br />
+This body which the worms destroy;<br />
+For Thou shalt surely raise me up<br />
+To glorious life and endless joy.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>Farewell, preacher with the plain coat and the calm serious look!&nbsp;
+I saw thee once again, and that was lately&mdash;only the other day.&nbsp;
+It was near a fishing hamlet, by the sea-side, that I saw the preacher
+again.&nbsp; He stood on the top of a steep monticle, used by pilots
+as a look-out for vessels approaching that coast, a dangerous one, abounding
+in rocks and quick-sands.&nbsp; There he stood on the monticle, preaching
+to weather-worn fishermen and mariners gathered below upon the sand.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Who is he?&rsquo; said I to an old fisherman who stood beside
+me with a book of hymns in his hand; but the old man put his hand to
+his lips, and that was the only answer I received.&nbsp; Not a sound
+was heard but the voice of the preacher and the roaring of the waves;
+but the voice was heard loud above the roaring of the sea, for the preacher
+now spoke with power, and his voice was not that of one who hesitates.&nbsp;
+There he stood&mdash;no longer a young man, for his black locks were
+become gray, even like my own; but there was the intelligent face, and
+the calm serious look which had struck me of yore.&nbsp; There stood
+the preacher, one of those men&mdash;and, thank God, their number is
+not few&mdash;who, animated by the spirit of Christ, amidst much poverty,
+and, alas! much contempt, persist in carrying the light of the Gospel
+amidst the dark parishes of what, but for their instrumentality, would
+scarcely be Christian England.&nbsp; I would have waited till he had
+concluded, in order that I might speak to him, and endeavour to bring
+back the ancient scene to his recollection, but suddenly a man came
+hurrying towards the monticle, mounted on a speedy horse, and holding
+by the bridle one yet more speedy, and he whispered to me, &lsquo;Why
+loiterest thou here?&mdash;knowest thou not all that is to be done before
+midnight?&rsquo; and he flung me the bridle; and I mounted on the horse
+of great speed, and I followed the other, who had already galloped off.&nbsp;
+And as I departed, I waved my hand to him on the monticle, and I shouted,
+&lsquo;Farewell, brother! the seed came up at last, after a long period!&rsquo;
+and then I gave the speedy horse his way, and leaning over the shoulder
+of the galloping horse, I said, &lsquo;Would that my life had been like
+his&mdash;even like that man&rsquo;s!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I now wandered along the heath, till I came to a place where, beside
+a thick furze, sat a man, his eyes fixed intently on the red ball of
+the setting sun.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That&rsquo;s not you, Jasper?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Indeed, brother!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I&rsquo;ve not seen you for years.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How should you, brother?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What brings you here?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The fight, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Where are the tents?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;On the old spot, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Any news since we parted?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Two deaths, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who are dead, Jasper?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Father and mother, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Where did they die?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Where they were sent, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And Mrs. Herne?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;She&rsquo;s alive, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Where is she now?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In Yorkshire, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is your opinion of death, Mr. Petulengro?&rsquo; said
+I, as I sat down beside him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My opinion of death, brother, is much the same as that in
+the old song of Pharaoh, which I have heard my grandam sing&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>Cana marel o manus chivios and&eacute; puv,<br />
+Ta rovel pa leste o chavo ta romi.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>When a man dies, he is cast into the earth, and his wife and child
+sorrow over him.&nbsp; If he has neither wife nor child, then his father
+and mother, I suppose; and if he is quite alone in the world, why, then,
+he is cast into the earth, and there is an end of the matter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page171b.jpg">
+<img alt="&lsquo;There&rsquo;s the wind on the heath, brother; if I could only feel that, I would gladly live for ever.&rsquo;" src="images/page171s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>&lsquo;And do you think that is the end of a man?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There&rsquo;s an end of him, brother, more&rsquo;s the pity.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why do you say so?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Life is sweet, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you think so?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Think so!&mdash;There&rsquo;s night and day, brother, both
+sweet things; sun, moon, and stars, brother, all sweet things; there&rsquo;s
+likewise a wind on the heath.&nbsp; Life is very sweet, brother; who
+would wish to die?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I would wish to die&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You talk like a gorgio&mdash;which is the same as talking
+like a fool&mdash;were you a Rommany Chal you would talk wiser.&nbsp;
+Wish to die, indeed!&mdash;A Rommany Chal would wish to live for ever!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In sickness, Jasper?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There&rsquo;s the sun and stars, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In blindness, Jasper?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There&rsquo;s the wind on the heath, brother; if I could only
+feel that, I would gladly live for ever.&nbsp; Dosta, we&rsquo;ll now
+go to the tents and put on the gloves; and I&rsquo;ll try to make you
+feel what a sweet thing it is to be alive, brother!&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2>
+<p>The flower of the grass&mdash;Days of pugilism&mdash;The rendezvous&mdash;Jews&mdash;Bruisers
+of England&mdash;Winter, spring&mdash;Well-earned bays&mdash;The fight&mdash;Huge
+black cloud&mdash;Frame of adamant&mdash;The storm&mdash;Dukkeripens&mdash;The
+barouche&mdash;The rain-gushes.</p>
+<p>How for everything there is a time and a season, and then how does
+the glory of a thing pass from it, even like the flower of the grass.&nbsp;
+This is a truism, but it is one of those which are continually forcing
+themselves upon the mind.&nbsp; Many years have not passed over my head,
+yet, during those which I can recall to remembrance, how many things
+have I seen flourish, pass away, and become forgotten, except by myself,
+who, in spite of all my endeavours, never can forget anything.&nbsp;
+I have known the time when a pugilistic encounter between two noted
+champions was almost considered in the light of a national affair; when
+tens of thousands of individuals, high and low, meditated and brooded
+upon it, the first thing in the morning and the last at night, until
+the great event was decided.&nbsp; But the time is past, and many people
+will say, thank God that it is; all I have to say is, that the French
+still live on the other side of the water, and are still casting their
+eyes hitherward&mdash;and that in the days of pugilism it was no vain
+blast to say that one Englishman was a match for two of t&rsquo;other
+race; at present it would be a vain boast to say so, for these are not
+the days of pugilism.</p>
+<p>But those to which the course of my narrative has carried me were
+the days of pugilism; it was then at its height, and consequently near
+its decline, for corruption had crept into the ring; and how many things,
+states and sects among the rest, owe their decline to this cause!&nbsp;
+But what a bold and vigorous aspect pugilism wore at that time! and
+the great battle was just then coming off: the day had been decided
+upon, and the spot&mdash;a convenient distance from the old town; and
+to the old town were now flocking the bruisers of England, men of tremendous
+renown.&nbsp; Let no one sneer at the bruisers of England&mdash;what
+were the gladiators of Rome, or the bull-fighters of Spain, in its palmiest
+days, compared to England&rsquo;s bruisers?&nbsp; Pity that ever corruption
+should have crept in amongst them&mdash;but of that I wish not to talk;
+let us still hope that a spark of the old religion, of which they were
+the priests, still lingers in the breasts of Englishmen.&nbsp; There
+they come, the bruisers, from far London, or from wherever else they
+might chance to be at the time, to the great rendezvous in the old city;
+some came one way, some another: some of tip-top reputation came with
+peers in their chariots, for glory and fame are such fair things that
+even peers are proud to have those invested therewith by their sides;
+others came in their own gigs, driving their own bits of blood, and
+I heard one say: &lsquo;I have driven through at a heat the whole hundred
+and eleven miles, and only stopped to bait twice.&rsquo;&nbsp; Oh, the
+blood-horses of old England! but they, too, have had their day&mdash;for
+everything beneath the sun there is a season and a time.&nbsp; But the
+greater number come just as they can contrive; on the tops of coaches,
+for example; and amongst these there are fellows with dark sallow faces
+and sharp shining eyes; and it is these that have planted rottenness
+in the core of pugilism, for they are Jews, and, true to their kind,
+have only base lucre in view.</p>
+<p>It was fierce old Cobbett, I think, who first said that the Jews
+first introduced bad faith amongst pugilists.&nbsp; He did not always
+speak the truth, but at any rate he spoke it when he made that observation.&nbsp;
+Strange people the Jews&mdash;endowed with every gift but one, and that
+the highest, genius divine&mdash;genius which can alone make of men
+demigods, and elevate them above earth and what is earthy and grovelling;
+without which a clever nation&mdash;and, who more clever than the Jews?&mdash;may
+have Rambams in plenty, but never a Fielding nor a Shakespeare.&nbsp;
+A Rothschild and a Mendoza, yes&mdash;but never a Kean nor a Belcher.</p>
+<p>So the bruisers of England are come to be present at the grand fight
+speedily coming off; there they are met in the precincts of the old
+town, near the field of the chapel, planted with tender saplings at
+the restoration of sporting Charles, which are now become venerable
+elms, as high as many a steeple; there they are met at a fitting rendezvous,
+where a retired coachman, with one leg, keeps an hotel and a bowling-green.&nbsp;
+I think I now see them upon the bowling-green, the men of renown, amidst
+hundreds of people with no renown at all, who gaze upon them with timid
+wonder.&nbsp; Fame, after all, is a glorious thing, though it lasts
+only for a day.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s Cribb, the champion of England,
+and perhaps the best man in England; there he is, with his huge massive
+figure, and face wonderfully like that of a lion.&nbsp; There is Belcher,
+the younger, not the mighty one, who is gone to his place, but the Teucer
+Belcher, the most scientific pugilist that ever entered a ring, only
+wanting strength to be, I won&rsquo;t say what.&nbsp; He appears to
+walk before me now, as he did that evening, with his white hat, white
+greatcoat, thin genteel figure, springy step, and keen, determined eye.&nbsp;
+Crosses him, what a contrast! grim, savage Shelton, who has a civil
+word for nobody, and a hard blow for anybody&mdash;hard! one blow, given
+with the proper play of his athletic arm, will unsense a giant.&nbsp;
+Yonder individual, who strolls about with his hands behind him, supporting
+his brown coat lappets, under-sized, and who looks anything but what
+he is, is the king of the light weights, so called&mdash;Randall! the
+terrible Randall, who has Irish blood in his veins; not the better for
+that, nor the worse; and not far from him is his last antagonist, Ned
+Turner, who, though beaten by him, still thinks himself as good a man,
+in which he is, perhaps, right, for it was a near thing; and &lsquo;a
+better shentleman,&rsquo; in which he is quite right, for he is a Welshman.&nbsp;
+But how shall I name them all? they were there by dozens, and all tremendous
+in their way.&nbsp; There was Bulldog Hudson, and fearless Scroggins,
+who beat the conqueror of Sam the Jew.&nbsp; There was Black Richmond&mdash;no,
+he was not there, but I knew him well; he was the most dangerous of
+blacks, even with a broken thigh.&nbsp; There was Purcell, who could
+never conquer till all seemed over with him.&nbsp; There was&mdash;what!
+shall I name thee last? ay, why not?&nbsp; I believe that thou art the
+last of all that strong family still above the sod, where mayst thou
+long continue&mdash;true piece of English stuff, Tom of Bedford&mdash;sharp
+as Winter, kind as Spring.</p>
+<p>Hail to thee, Tom of Bedford, or by whatever name it may please thee
+to be called, Spring or Winter.&nbsp; Hail to thee, six-foot Englishman
+of the brown eye, worthy to have carried a six-foot bow at Flodden,
+where England&rsquo;s yeomen triumphed over Scotland&rsquo;s king, his
+clans and chivalry.&nbsp; Hail to thee, last of England&rsquo;s bruisers,
+after all the many victories which thou hast achieved&mdash;true English
+victories, unbought by yellow gold; need I recount them? nay, nay! they
+are already well known to fame&mdash;sufficient to say that Bristol&rsquo;s
+Bull and Ireland&rsquo;s Champion were vanquished by thee, and one mightier
+still, gold itself, thou didst overcome; for gold itself strove in vain
+to deaden the power of thy arm; and thus thou didst proceed till men
+left off challenging thee, the unvanquishable, the incorruptible.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis a treat to see thee, Tom of Bedford, in thy &lsquo;public&rsquo;
+in Holborn way, whither thou hast retired with thy well-earned bays.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis Friday night, and nine by Holborn clock.&nbsp; There sits
+the yeoman at the end of his long room, surrounded by his friends; glasses
+are filled, and a song is the cry, and a song is sung well suited to
+the place; it finds an echo in every heart&mdash;fists are clenched,
+arms are waved, and the portraits of the mighty fighting men of yore,
+Broughton, and Slack, and Ben, which adorn the walls, appear to smile
+grim approbation, whilst many a manly voice joins in the bold chorus:</p>
+<blockquote><p>Here&rsquo;s a health to old honest John Bull,<br />
+When he&rsquo;s gone we shan&rsquo;t find such another,<br />
+And with hearts and with glasses brim full,<br />
+We will drink to old England, his mother.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>But the fight! with respect to the fight, what shall I say?&nbsp;
+Little can be said about it&mdash;it was soon over; some said that the
+brave from town, who was reputed the best man of the two, and whose
+form was a perfect model of athletic beauty, allowed himself, for lucre
+vile, to be vanquished by the massive champion with the flattened nose.&nbsp;
+One thing is certain, that the former was suddenly seen to sink to the
+earth before a blow of by no means extraordinary power.&nbsp; Time,
+time! was called; but there he lay upon the ground apparently senseless,
+and from thence he did not lift his head till several seconds after
+the umpires had declared his adversary victor.</p>
+<p>There were shouts; indeed there&rsquo;s never a lack of shouts to
+celebrate a victory, however acquired; but there was also much grinding
+of teeth, especially amongst the fighting men from town.&nbsp; &lsquo;Tom
+has sold us,&rsquo; said they, &lsquo;sold us to the yokels; who would
+have thought it?&rsquo;&nbsp; Then there was fresh grinding of teeth,
+and scowling brows were turned to the heaven; but what is this? is it
+possible, does the heaven scowl too? why, only a quarter of an hour
+ago . . . but what may not happen in a quarter of an hour?&nbsp; For
+many weeks the weather had been of the most glorious description, the
+eventful day, too, had dawned gloriously, and so it had continued till
+some two hours after noon; the fight was then over; and about that time
+I looked up&mdash;what a glorious sky of deep blue, and what a big fierce
+sun swimming high above in the midst of that blue; not a cloud&mdash;there
+had not been one for weeks&mdash;not a cloud to be seen, only in the
+far west, just on the horizon, something like the extremity of a black
+wing; that was only a quarter of an hour ago, and now the whole northern
+side of the heaven is occupied by a huge black cloud, and the sun is
+only occasionally seen amidst masses of driving vapour; what a change!
+but another fight is at hand, and the pugilists are clearing the outer
+ring;&mdash;how their huge whips come crashing upon the heads of the
+yokels; blood flows, more blood than in the fight; those blows are given
+with right good-will, those are not sham blows, whether of whip or fist;
+it is with fist that grim Shelton strikes down the big yokel; he is
+always dangerous, grim Shelton, but now particularly so, for he has
+lost ten pounds betted on the brave who sold himself to the yokels;
+but the outer ring is cleared: and now the second fight commences; it
+is between two champions of less renown than the others, but is perhaps
+not the worse on that account.&nbsp; A tall thin boy is fighting in
+the ring with a man somewhat under the middle size, with a frame of
+adamant; that&rsquo;s a gallant boy! he&rsquo;s a yokel, but he comes
+from Brummagem, and he does credit to his extraction; but his adversary
+has a frame of adamant: in what a strange light they fight, but who
+can wonder, on looking at that frightful cloud usurping now one-half
+of heaven, and at the sun struggling with sulphurous vapour; the face
+of the boy, which is turned towards me, looks horrible in that light,
+but he is a brave boy, he strikes his foe on the forehead, and the report
+of the blow is like the sound of a hammer against a rock; but there
+is a rush and a roar overhead, a wild commotion, the tempest is beginning
+to break loose; there&rsquo;s wind and dust, a crash, rain and hail;
+is it possible to fight amidst such a commotion? yes! the fight goes
+on; again the boy strikes the man full on the brow, but it is of no
+use striking that man, his frame is of adamant.&nbsp; &lsquo;Boy, thy
+strength is beginning to give way, and thou art becoming confused&rsquo;;
+the man now goes to work, amidst rain and hail.&nbsp; &lsquo;Boy, thou
+wilt not hold out ten minutes longer against rain, hail, and the blows
+of such an antagonist.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And now the storm was at its height; the black thunder-cloud had
+broken into many, which assumed the wildest shapes and the strangest
+colours, some of them unspeakably glorious; the rain poured in a deluge,
+and more than one waterspout was seen at no great distance: an immense
+rabble is hurrying in one direction; a multitude of men of all ranks,
+peers and yokels, prize-fighters and Jews, and the last came to plunder,
+and are now plundering amidst that wild confusion of hail and rain,
+men and horses, carts and carriages.&nbsp; But all hurry in one direction,
+through mud and mire; there&rsquo;s a town only three miles distant,
+which is soon reached, and soon filled, it will not contain one-third
+of that mighty rabble; but there&rsquo;s another town farther on&mdash;the
+good old city is farther on, only twelve miles; what&rsquo;s that! who
+will stay here? onward to the old town.</p>
+<p>Hurry-skurry, a mixed multitude of men and horses, carts and carriages,
+all in the direction of the old town; and, in the midst of all that
+mad throng, at a moment when the rain-gushes were coming down with particular
+fury, and the artillery of the sky was pealing as I had never heard
+it peal before, I felt some one seize me by the arm&mdash;I turned round,
+and beheld Mr. Petulengro.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I can&rsquo;t hear you, Mr. Petulengro,&rsquo; said I; for
+the thunder drowned the words which he appeared to be uttering.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Dearginni,&rsquo; I heard Mr. Petulengro say, &lsquo;it thundreth.&nbsp;
+I was asking, brother, whether you believe in dukkeripens?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not, Mr. Petulengro; but this is strange weather to be
+asking me whether I believe in fortunes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Grondinni,&rsquo; said Mr. Petulengro, &lsquo;it haileth.&nbsp;
+I believe in dukkeripens, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And who has more right,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;seeing that
+you live by them?&nbsp; But this tempest is truly horrible.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Dearginni, grondinni ta villaminni!&nbsp; It thundreth, it
+haileth, and also flameth,&rsquo; said Mr. Petulengro.&nbsp; &lsquo;Look
+up there, brother!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I looked up.&nbsp; Connected with this tempest there was one feature
+to which I have already alluded&mdash;the wonderful colours of the clouds.&nbsp;
+Some were of vivid green; others of the brightest orange; others as
+black as pitch.&nbsp; The gypsy&rsquo;s finger was pointed to a particular
+part of the sky.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do you see there, brother?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A strange kind of cloud.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What does it look like, brother?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Something like a stream of blood.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That cloud foreshoweth a bloody dukkeripen.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A bloody fortune!&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;And whom may
+it betide?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who knows!&rsquo; said the gypsy.</p>
+<p>Down the way, dashing and splashing, and scattering man, horse, and
+cart to the left and right, came an open barouche, drawn by four smoking
+steeds, with postilions in scarlet jackets and leather skull-caps.&nbsp;
+Two forms were conspicuous in it; that of the successful bruiser, and
+of his friend and backer, the sporting gentleman of my acquaintance.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;His!&rsquo; said the gypsy, pointing to the latter, whose
+stern features wore a smile of triumph, as, probably recognising me
+in the crowd, he nodded in the direction of where I stood, as the barouche
+hurried by.</p>
+<p>There went the barouche, dashing through the rain-gushes, and in
+it one whose boast it was that he was equal to &lsquo;either fortune.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Many have heard of that man&mdash;many may be desirous of knowing yet
+more of him.&nbsp; I have nothing to do with that man&rsquo;s after
+life&mdash;he fulfilled his dukkeripen.&nbsp; &lsquo;A bad, violent
+man!&rsquo;&nbsp; Softly, friend; when thou wouldst speak harshly of
+the dead, remember that thou hast not yet fulfilled thy own dukkeripen!</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page179b.jpg">
+<img alt="&lsquo;That cloud foreshoweth a bloody dukkeripen.&rsquo;" src="images/page179s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2>
+<p>My father&mdash;Premature decay&mdash;The easy-chair&mdash;A few
+questions&mdash;So you told me&mdash;A difficult language&mdash;They
+can it Haik&mdash;Misused opportunities&mdash;Saul&mdash;Want of candour&mdash;Don&rsquo;t
+weep&mdash;Heaven forgive me&mdash;Dated from Paris&mdash;I wish he
+were here&mdash;A father&rsquo;s reminiscences&mdash;Farewell to vanities.</p>
+<p>My father, as I have already informed the reader, had been endowed
+by nature with great corporeal strength; indeed, I have been assured
+that, at the period of his prime, his figure had denoted the possession
+of almost Herculean powers.&nbsp; The strongest forms, however, do not
+always endure the longest, the very excess of the noble and generous
+juices which they contain being the cause of their premature decay.&nbsp;
+But, be that as it may, the health of my father, some few years after
+his retirement from the service to the quiet of domestic life, underwent
+a considerable change; his constitution appeared to be breaking up;
+and he was subject to severe attacks from various disorders, with which,
+till then, he had been utterly unacquainted.&nbsp; He was, however,
+wont to rally, more or less, after his illnesses, and might still occasionally
+be seen taking his walk, with his cane in his hand, and accompanied
+by his dog, who sympathised entirely with him, pining as he pined, improving
+as he improved, and never leaving the house save in his company; and
+in this manner matters went on for a considerable time, no very great
+apprehension with respect to my father&rsquo;s state being raised either
+in my mother&rsquo;s breast or my own.&nbsp; But, about six months after
+the period at which I have arrived in my last chapter, it came to pass
+that my father experienced a severer attack than on any previous occasion.</p>
+<p>He had the best medical advice; but it was easy to see, from the
+looks of his doctors, that they entertained but slight hopes of his
+recovery.&nbsp; His sufferings were great, yet he invariably bore them
+with unshaken fortitude.&nbsp; There was one thing remarkable connected
+with his illness; notwithstanding its severity, it never confined him
+to his bed.&nbsp; He was wont to sit in his little parlour, in his easy-chair,
+dressed in a faded regimental coat, his dog at his feet, who would occasionally
+lift his head from the hearth-rug on which he lay, and look his master
+wistfully in the face.&nbsp; And thus my father spent the greater part
+of his time, sometimes in prayer, sometimes in meditation, and sometimes
+in reading the Scriptures.&nbsp; I frequently sat with him, though,
+as I entertained a great awe for my father, I used to feel rather ill
+at ease, when, as sometimes happened, I found myself alone with him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I wish to ask you a few questions,&rsquo; said he to me one
+day, after my mother had left the room.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will answer anything you may please to ask me, my dear father.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What have you been about lately?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have been occupied as usual, attending at the office at
+the appointed hours.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what do you there?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Whatever I am ordered.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And nothing else?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh yes! sometimes I read a book.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Connected with your profession?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not always; I have been lately reading Armenian&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What&rsquo;s that?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The language of a people whose country is a region on the
+other side of Asia Minor.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A region abounding with mountains.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Amongst which is Mount Ararat.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Upon which, as the Bible informs us, the ark rested.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is the language of the people of those regions&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So you told me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And I have been reading the Bible in their language.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Or rather, I should say, in the ancient language of these
+people; from which I am told the modem Armenian differs considerably.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As much as the Italian from the Latin.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So I have been reading the Bible in ancient Armenian.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You told me so before.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I found it a highly difficult language.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Differing widely from the languages in general with which
+I am acquainted.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Exhibiting, however, some features in common with them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And sometimes agreeing remarkably in words with a certain
+strange wild speech with which I became acquainted&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Irish?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, father, not Irish&mdash;with which I became acquainted
+by the greatest chance in the world.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But of which I need say nothing farther at present, and which
+I should not have mentioned but for that fact.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Which I consider remarkable.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Armenian is copious.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;With an alphabet of thirty-nine letters, but it is harsh and
+guttural.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Like the language of most mountainous people&mdash;the Armenians
+call it Haik.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do they?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And themselves, Haik, also; they are a remarkable people,
+and, though their original habitation is the Mountain of Ararat, they
+are to be found, like the Jews, all over the world.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, father, that&rsquo;s all I can tell you about the Haiks,
+or Armenians.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what does it all amount to?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very little, father; indeed, there is very little known about
+the Armenians; their early history, in particular, is involved in considerable
+mystery.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And, if you knew all that it was possible to know about them,
+to what would it amount? to what earthly purpose could you turn it?
+have you acquired any knowledge of your profession?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very little, father.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very little!&nbsp; Have you acquired all in your power?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I can&rsquo;t say that I have, father.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And yet it was your duty to have done so.&nbsp; But I see
+how it is, you have shamefully misused your opportunities; you are like
+one who, sent into the field to labour, passes his time in flinging
+stones at the birds of heaven.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I would scorn to fling a stone at a bird, father.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You know what I mean, and all too well, and this attempt to
+evade deserved reproof by feigned simplicity is quite in character with
+your general behaviour.&nbsp; I have ever observed about you a want
+of frankness, which has distressed me; you never speak of what you are
+about, your hopes, or your projects, but cover yourself with mystery.&nbsp;
+I never knew till the present moment that you were acquainted with Armenian.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because you never asked me, father; there&rsquo;s nothing
+to conceal in the matter&mdash;I will tell you in a moment how I came
+to learn Armenian.&nbsp; A lady whom I met at one of Mrs. ---&rsquo;s
+parties took a fancy to me, and has done me the honour to allow me to
+go and see her sometimes.&nbsp; She is the widow of a rich clergyman,
+and on her husband&rsquo;s death came to this place to live, bringing
+her husband&rsquo;s library with her: I soon found my way to it, and
+examined every book.&nbsp; Her husband must have been a learned man,
+for amongst much Greek and Hebrew I found several volumes in Armenian,
+or relating to the language.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And why did you not tell me of this before?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because you never questioned me; but, I repeat, there is nothing
+to conceal in the matter.&nbsp; The lady took a fancy to me, and, being
+fond of the arts, drew my portrait; she said the expression of my countenance
+put her in mind of Alfieri&rsquo;s Saul.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And do you still visit her?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, she soon grew tired of me, and told people that she found
+me very stupid; she gave me the Armenian books, however.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Saul,&rsquo; said my father, musingly, &lsquo;Saul.&nbsp;
+I am afraid she was only too right there; he disobeyed the commands
+of his master, and brought down on his head the vengeance of Heaven&mdash;he
+became a maniac, prophesied, and flung weapons about him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He was, indeed, an awful character&mdash;I hope I shan&rsquo;t
+turn out like him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;God forbid!&rsquo; said my father, solemnly; &lsquo;but in
+many respects you are headstrong and disobedient like him.&nbsp; I placed
+you in a profession, and besought you to make yourself master of it
+by giving it your undivided attention.&nbsp; This, however, you did
+not do, you know nothing of it, but tell me that you are acquainted
+with Armenian; but what I dislike most is your want of candour&mdash;you
+are my son, but I know little of your real history, you may know fifty
+things for what I am aware: you may know how to shoe a horse for what
+I am aware.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not only to shoe a horse, father, but to make horse-shoes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Perhaps so,&rsquo; said my father; &lsquo;and it only serves
+to prove what I was just saying, that I know little about you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But you easily may, my dear father; I will tell you anything
+that you may wish to know&mdash;shall I inform you how I learnt to make
+horse-shoes?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said my father; &lsquo;as you kept it a secret
+so long, it may as well continue so still.&nbsp; Had you been a frank,
+open-hearted boy, like one I could name, you would have told me all
+about it of your own accord.&nbsp; But I now wish to ask you a serious
+question&mdash;what do you propose to do?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To do, father?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes! the time for which you were articled to your profession
+will soon be expired, and I shall be no more.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do not talk so, my dear father; I have no doubt that you will
+soon be better.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do not flatter yourself; I feel that my days are numbered,
+I am soon going to my rest, and I have need of rest, for I am weary.&nbsp;
+There, there, don&rsquo;t weep!&nbsp; Tears will help me as little as
+they will you; you have not yet answered my question.&nbsp; Tell me
+what you intend to do?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I really do not know what I shall do.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The military pension which I enjoy will cease with my life.&nbsp;
+The property which I shall leave behind me will be barely sufficient
+for the maintenance of your mother respectably.&nbsp; I again ask you
+what you intend to do.&nbsp; Do you think you can support yourself by
+your Armenian or your other acquirements?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Alas!&nbsp; I think little at all about it; but I suppose
+I must push into the world, and make a good fight, as becomes the son
+of him who fought Big Ben; if I can&rsquo;t succeed, and am driven to
+the worst, it is but dying&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do you mean by dying?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Leaving the world; my loss would scarcely be felt.&nbsp; I
+have never held life in much value, and every one has a right to dispose
+as he thinks best of that which is his own.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah! now I understand you; and well I know how and where you
+imbibed that horrible doctrine, and many similar ones which I have heard
+from your mouth; but I wish not to reproach you&mdash;I view in your
+conduct a punishment for my own sins, and I bow to the will of God.&nbsp;
+Few and evil have been my days upon the earth; little have I done to
+which I can look back with satisfaction.&nbsp; It is true I have served
+my king fifty years, and I have fought with&mdash;Heaven forgive me,
+what was I about to say!&mdash;but you mentioned the man&rsquo;s name,
+and our minds willingly recall our ancient follies.&nbsp; Few and evil
+have been my days upon earth, I may say with Jacob of old, though I
+do not mean to say that my case is so hard as his; he had many undutiful
+children, whilst I have only ---; but I will not reproach you.&nbsp;
+I have also like him a son to whom I can look with hope, who may yet
+preserve my name when I am gone, so let me be thankful; perhaps, after
+all, I have not lived in vain.&nbsp; Boy, when I am gone, look up to
+your brother, and may God bless you both!&nbsp; There, don&rsquo;t weep;
+but take the Bible, and read me something about the old man and his
+children.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>My brother had now been absent for the space of three years.&nbsp;
+At first his letters had been frequent, and from them it appeared that
+he was following his profession in London with industry; they then became
+rather rare, and my father did not always communicate their contents.&nbsp;
+His last letter, however, had filled him and our whole little family
+with joy; it was dated from Paris, and the writer was evidently in high
+spirits.&nbsp; After describing in eloquent terms the beauties and gaieties
+of the French capital, he informed us how he had plenty of money, having
+copied a celebrated picture of one of the Italian masters for a Hungarian
+nobleman, for which he had received a large sum.&nbsp; &lsquo;He wishes
+me to go with him to Italy,&rsquo; added he, &lsquo;but I am fond of
+independence; and, if ever I visit old Rome, I will have no patrons
+near me to distract my attention.&rsquo;&nbsp; But six months had now
+elapsed from the date of this letter, and we had heard no further intelligence
+of my brother.&nbsp; My father&rsquo;s complaint increased; the gout,
+his principal enemy, occasionally mounted high up in his system, and
+we had considerable difficulty in keeping it from the stomach, where
+it generally proves fatal.&nbsp; I now devoted almost the whole of my
+time to my father, on whom his faithful partner also lavished every
+attention and care.&nbsp; I read the Bible to him, which was his chief
+delight; and also occasionally such other books as I thought might prove
+entertaining to him.&nbsp; His spirits were generally rather depressed.&nbsp;
+The absence of my brother appeared to prey upon his mind.&nbsp; &lsquo;I
+wish he were here,&rsquo; he would frequently exclaim; &lsquo;I can&rsquo;t
+imagine what can have become of him; I trust, however, he will arrive
+in time.&rsquo;&nbsp; He still sometimes rallied, and I took advantage
+of those moments of comparative ease to question him upon the events
+of his early life.&nbsp; My attentions to him had not passed unnoticed,
+and he was kind, fatherly, and unreserved.&nbsp; I had never known my
+father so entertaining as at these moments, when his life was but too
+evidently drawing to a close.&nbsp; I had no idea that he knew and had
+seen so much; my respect for him increased, and I looked upon him almost
+with admiration.&nbsp; His anecdotes were in general highly curious;
+some of them related to people in the highest stations, and to men whose
+names were closely connected with some of the brightest glories of our
+native land.&nbsp; He had frequently conversed&mdash;almost on terms
+of familiarity&mdash;with good old George.&nbsp; He had known the conqueror
+of Tippoo Saib; and was the friend of Townshend, who, when Wolfe fell,
+led the British grenadiers against the shrinking regiments of Montcalm.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Pity,&rsquo; he added, &lsquo;that when old&mdash;old as I am
+now&mdash;he should have driven his own son mad by robbing him of his
+plighted bride; but so it was; he married his son&rsquo;s bride.&nbsp;
+I saw him lead her to the altar; if ever there was an angelic countenance,
+it was that girl&rsquo;s; she was almost too fair to be one of the daughters
+of women.&nbsp; Is there anything, boy, that you would wish to ask me?
+now is the time.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, father; there is one about whom I would fain question
+you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who is it? shall I tell you about Elliot?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, father, not about Elliot; but pray don&rsquo;t be angry;
+I should like to know something about Big Ben.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are a strange lad,&rsquo; said my father; &lsquo;and,
+though of late I have begun to entertain a more favourable opinion than
+heretofore, there is still much about you that I do not understand.&nbsp;
+Why do you bring up that name?&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you know that it is
+one of my temptations: you wish to know something about him.&nbsp; Well!&nbsp;
+I will oblige you this once, and then farewell to such vanities&mdash;something
+about him.&nbsp; I will tell you&mdash;his&mdash;skin when he flung
+off his clothes&mdash;and he had a particular knack in doing so&mdash;his
+skin, when he bared his mighty chest and back for combat; and when he
+fought he stood, so . . . . if I remember right&mdash;his skin, I say,
+was brown and dusky as that of a toad.&nbsp; Oh me!&nbsp; I wish my
+elder son was here.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2>
+<p>My brother&rsquo;s arrival&mdash;The interview&mdash;Night&mdash;A
+dying father&mdash;Christ.</p>
+<p>At last my brother arrived; he looked pale and unwell; I met him
+at the door.&nbsp; &lsquo;You have been long absent,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;perhaps too long; but how is my
+father?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very poorly,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;he has had a fresh attack;
+but where have you been of late?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Far and wide,&rsquo; said my brother; &lsquo;but I can&rsquo;t
+tell you anything now, I must go to my father.&nbsp; It was only by
+chance that I heard of his illness.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Stay a moment,&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;Is the world such
+a fine place as you supposed it to be before you went away?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not quite,&rsquo; said my brother, &lsquo;not quite; indeed
+I wish&mdash;but ask me no questions now, I must hasten to my father.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+There was another question on my tongue, but I forbore; for the eyes
+of the young man were full of tears.&nbsp; I pointed with my finger,
+and the young man hastened past me to the arms of his father.</p>
+<p>I forbore to ask my brother whether he had been to old Rome.</p>
+<p>What passed between my father and brother I do not know; the interview,
+no doubt, was tender enough, for they tenderly loved each other; but
+my brother&rsquo;s arrival did not produce the beneficial effect upon
+my father which I at first hoped it would; it did not even appear to
+have raised his spirits.&nbsp; He was composed enough, however: &lsquo;I
+ought to be grateful,&rsquo; said he; &lsquo;I wished to see my son,
+and God has granted me my wish; what more have I to do now than to bless
+my little family and go?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>My father&rsquo;s end was evidently at hand.</p>
+<p>And did I shed no tears? did I breathe no sighs? did I never wring
+my hands at this period? the reader will perhaps be asking.&nbsp; Whatever
+I did and thought is best known to God and myself; but it will be as
+well to observe, that it is possible to feel deeply, and yet make no
+outward sign.</p>
+<p>And now for the closing scene.</p>
+<p>At the dead hour of night, it might be about two, I was awakened
+from sleep by a cry which sounded from the room immediately below that
+in which I slept.&nbsp; I knew the cry, it was the cry of my mother;
+and I also knew its import, yet I made no effort to rise, for I was
+for the moment paralysed.&nbsp; Again the cry sounded, yet still I lay
+motionless&mdash;the stupidity of horror was upon me.&nbsp; A third
+time, and it was then that, by a violent effort, bursting the spell
+which appeared to bind me, I sprang from the bed and rushed downstairs.&nbsp;
+My mother was running wildly about the room; she had awoke, and found
+my father senseless in the bed by her side.&nbsp; I essayed to raise
+him, and after a few efforts supported him in the bed in a sitting posture.&nbsp;
+My brother now rushed in, and, snatching up a light that was burning,
+he held it to my father&rsquo;s face.&nbsp; &lsquo;The surgeon, the
+surgeon!&rsquo; he cried; then, dropping the light, he ran out of the
+room followed by my mother; I remained alone, supporting the senseless
+form of my father; the light had been extinguished by the fall, and
+an almost total darkness reigned in the room.&nbsp; The form pressed
+heavily against my bosom&mdash;at last methought it moved.&nbsp; Yes,
+I was right, there was a heaving of the breast, and then a gasping.&nbsp;
+Were those words which I heard?&nbsp; Yes, they were words, low and
+indistinct at first, and then audible.&nbsp; The mind of the dying man
+was reverting to former scenes.&nbsp; I heard him mention names which
+I had often heard him mention before.&nbsp; It was an awful moment;
+I felt stupefied, but I still contrived to support my dying father.&nbsp;
+There was a pause, again my father spoke: I heard him speak of Minden,
+and of Meredith, the old Minden sergeant, and then he uttered another
+name, which at one period of his life was much in his lips, the name
+of . . . but this is a solemn moment!&nbsp; There was a deep gasp: I
+shook, and thought all was over; but I was mistaken&mdash;my father
+moved, and revived for a moment; he supported himself in bed without
+my assistance.&nbsp; I make no doubt that for a moment he was perfectly
+sensible, and it was then that, clasping his hands, he uttered another
+name clearly, distinctly&mdash;it was the name of Christ.&nbsp; With
+that name upon his lips, the brave old soldier sank back upon my bosom,
+and, with his hands still clasped, yielded up his soul.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXIX</h2>
+<p>The greeting&mdash;Queer figure&mdash;Cheer up&mdash;The cheerful
+fire&mdash;It will do&mdash;The sally forth&mdash;Trepidation&mdash;Let
+him come in.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One-and-ninepence, sir, or the things which you have brought
+with you will be taken away from you!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Such were the first words which greeted my ears, one damp misty morning
+in March, as I dismounted from the top of a coach in the yard of a London
+inn.</p>
+<p>I turned round, for I felt that the words were addressed to myself.&nbsp;
+Plenty of people were in the yard&mdash;porters, passengers, coachmen,
+hostlers, and others, who appeared to be intent on anything but myself,
+with the exception of one individual, whose business appeared to lie
+with me, and who now confronted me at the distance of about two yards.</p>
+<p>I looked hard at the man&mdash;and a queer kind of individual he
+was to look at&mdash;a rakish figure, about thirty, and of the middle
+size, dressed in a coat smartly cut, but threadbare, very tight pantaloons
+of blue stuff, tied at the ankles, dirty white stockings and thin shoes,
+like those of a dancing-master; his features were not ugly, but rather
+haggard, and he appeared to owe his complexion less to nature than carmine;
+in fact, in every respect, a very queer figure.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One-and-ninepence, sir, or your things will be taken away
+from you!&rsquo; he said, in a kind of lisping tone, coming yet nearer
+to me.</p>
+<p>I still remained staring fixedly at him, but never a word answered.&nbsp;
+Our eyes met; whereupon he suddenly lost the easy impudent air which
+he before wore.&nbsp; He glanced, for a moment, at my fist, which I
+had by this time clenched, and his features became yet more haggard;
+he faltered; a fresh &lsquo;one-and-ninepence,&rsquo; which he was about
+to utter, died on his lips; he shrank back, disappeared behind a coach,
+and I saw no more of him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One-and-ninepence, or my things will be taken away from me!&rsquo;
+said I to myself, musingly, as I followed the porter to whom I had delivered
+my scanty baggage; &lsquo;am I to expect many of these greetings in
+the big world?&nbsp; Well, never mind!&nbsp; I think I know the counter-sign!&rsquo;&nbsp;
+And I clenched my fist yet harder than before.</p>
+<p>So I followed the porter, through the streets of London, to a lodging
+which had been prepared for me by an acquaintance.&nbsp; The morning,
+as I have before said, was gloomy, and the streets through which I passed
+were dank and filthy; the people, also, looked dank and filthy; and
+so, probably, did I, for the night had been rainy, and I had come upwards
+of a hundred miles on the top of a coach; my heart had sunk within me,
+by the time we reached a dark narrow street, in which was the lodging.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Cheer up, young man,&rsquo; said the porter, &lsquo;we shall
+have a fine afternoon!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And presently I found myself in the lodging which had been prepared
+for me.&nbsp; It consisted of a small room, up two pair of stairs, in
+which I was to sit, and another still smaller above it, in which I was
+to sleep.&nbsp; I remember that I sat down, and looked disconsolate
+about me&mdash;everything seemed so cold and dingy.&nbsp; Yet how little
+is required to make a situation&mdash;however cheerless at first sight&mdash;cheerful
+and comfortable.&nbsp; The people of the house, who looked kindly upon
+me, lighted a fire in the dingy grate; and, then, what a change!&mdash;the
+dingy room seemed dingy no more!&nbsp; Oh the luxury of a cheerful fire
+after a chill night&rsquo;s journey!&nbsp; I drew near to the blazing
+grate, rubbed my hands, and felt glad.</p>
+<p>And, when I had warmed myself, I turned to the table, on which, by
+this time, the people of the house had placed my breakfast; and I ate
+and I drank; and, as I ate and drank, I mused within myself, and my
+eyes were frequently directed to a small green box, which constituted
+part of my luggage, and which, with the rest of my things, stood in
+one corner of the room, till at last, leaving my breakfast unfinished,
+I rose, and, going to the box, unlocked it, and took out two or three
+bundles of papers tied with red tape, and, placing them on the table,
+I resumed my seat and my breakfast, my eyes intently fixed upon the
+bundles of papers all the time.</p>
+<p>And when I had drained the last cup of tea out of a dingy teapot,
+and ate the last slice of the dingy loaf, I untied one of the bundles,
+and proceeded to look over the papers, which were closely written over
+in a singular hand, and I read for some time, till at last I said to
+myself, &lsquo;It will do.&rsquo;&nbsp; And then I looked at the other
+bundle for some time without untying it; and at last I said, &lsquo;It
+will do also.&rsquo;&nbsp; And then I turned to the fire, and, putting
+my feet against the sides of the grate, I leaned back on my chair, and,
+with my eyes upon the fire, fell into deep thought.</p>
+<p>And there I continued in thought before the fire, until my eyes closed,
+and I fell asleep; which was not to be wondered at, after the fatigue
+and cold which I had lately undergone on the coach-top; and, in my sleep,
+I imagined myself still there, amidst darkness and rain, hurrying now
+over wild heaths, and now along roads overhung with thick and umbrageous
+trees, and sometimes methought I heard the horn of the guard, and sometimes
+the voice of the coachman, now chiding, now encouraging his horses,
+as they toiled through the deep and miry ways.&nbsp; At length a tremendous
+crack of a whip saluted the tympanum of my ear, and I started up broad
+awake, nearly oversetting the chair on which I reclined&mdash;and lo!
+I was in the dingy room before the fire, which was by this time half
+extinguished.&nbsp; In my dream I had confounded the noise of the street
+with those of my night journey; the crack which had aroused me I soon
+found proceeded from the whip of a carter, who, with many oaths, was
+flogging his team below the window.</p>
+<p>Looking at a clock which stood upon the mantelpiece, I perceived
+that it was past eleven; whereupon I said to myself, &lsquo;I am wasting
+my time foolishly and unprofitably, forgetting that I am now in the
+big world, without anything to depend upon save my own exertions&rsquo;;
+and then I adjusted my dress, and, locking up the bundle of papers which
+I had not read, I tied up the other, and, taking it under my arm, I
+went downstairs; and, after asking a question or two of the people of
+the house, I sallied forth into the street with a determined look, though
+at heart I felt somewhat timorous at the idea of venturing out alone
+into the mazes of the mighty city, of which I had heard much, but of
+which, of my own knowledge, I knew nothing.</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page192b.jpg">
+<img alt="I sprang up the steps, and gave a loud rap" src="images/page192s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>I had, however, no great cause for anxiety in the present instance;
+I easily found my way to the place which I was in quest of&mdash;one
+of the many new squares on the northern side of the metropolis, and
+which was scarcely ten minutes&rsquo; walk from the street in which
+I had taken up my abode.&nbsp; Arriving before the door of a tolerably
+large house which bore a certain number, I stood still for a moment
+in a kind of trepidation, looking anxiously at the door; I then slowly
+passed on till I came to the end of the square, where I stood still,
+and pondered for a while.&nbsp; Suddenly, however, like one who has
+formed a resolution, I clenched my right hand, flinging my hat somewhat
+on one side, and, turning back with haste to the door before which I
+had stopped, I sprang up the steps, and gave a loud rap, ringing at
+the same time the bell of the area.&nbsp; After the lapse of a minute
+the door was opened by a maid-servant of no very cleanly or prepossessing
+appearance, of whom I demanded, in a tone of some hauteur, whether the
+master of the house was at home.&nbsp; Glancing for a moment at the
+white paper bundle beneath my arm, the handmaid made no reply in words,
+but, with a kind of toss of her head, flung the door open, standing
+on one side as if to let me enter.&nbsp; I did enter; and the hand-maid,
+having opened another door on the right hand, went in, and said something
+which I could not hear: after a considerable pause, however, I heard
+the voice of a man say, &lsquo;Let him come in&rsquo;; whereupon the
+handmaid, coming out, motioned me to enter, and, on my obeying, instantly
+closed the door behind me.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXX</h2>
+<p>The sinister glance&mdash;Excellent correspondent&mdash;Quite original&mdash;My
+system&mdash;A losing trade&mdash;Merit&mdash;Starting a Review&mdash;What
+have you got?&mdash;Stop!&mdash;<i>Dairyman&rsquo;s Daughter</i>&mdash;Oxford
+principles&mdash;More conversation&mdash;How is this?</p>
+<p>There were two individuals in the room in which I now found myself;
+it was a small study, surrounded with bookcases, the window looking
+out upon the square.&nbsp; Of these individuals he who appeared to be
+the principal stood with his back to the fireplace.&nbsp; He was a tall
+stout man, about sixty, dressed in a loose morning gown.&nbsp; The expression
+of his countenance would have been bluff but for a certain sinister
+glance, and his complexion might have been called rubicund but for a
+considerable tinge of bilious yellow.&nbsp; He eyed me askance as I
+entered.&nbsp; The other, a pale, shrivelled-looking person, sat at
+a table apparently engaged with an account-book; he took no manner of
+notice of me, never once lifting his eyes from the page before him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, sir, what is your pleasure?&rsquo; said the big man,
+in a rough tone, as I stood there, looking at him wistfully&mdash;as
+well I might&mdash;for upon that man, at the time of which I am speaking,
+my principal, I may say my only, hopes rested.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sir,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;my name is so-and-so, and I am
+the bearer of a letter to you from Mr. so-and-so, an old friend and
+correspondent of yours.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The countenance of the big man instantly lost the suspicious and
+lowering expression which it had hitherto exhibited; he strode forward,
+and, seizing me by the hand, gave me a violent squeeze.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My dear sir,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;I am rejoiced to see you
+in London.&nbsp; I have been long anxious for the pleasure&mdash;we
+are old friends, though we have never before met.&nbsp; Taggart,&rsquo;
+said he to the man who sat at the desk, &lsquo;this is our excellent
+correspondent, the friend and pupil of our other excellent correspondent.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The pale, shrivelled-looking man slowly and deliberately raised his
+head from the account-book, and surveyed me for a moment or two; not
+the slightest emotion was observable in his countenance.&nbsp; It appeared
+to me, however, that I could detect a droll twinkle in his eye: his
+curiosity, if he had any, was soon gratified; he made me a kind of bow,
+pulled out a snuff-box, took a pinch of snuff, and again bent his head
+over the page.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And now, my dear sir,&rsquo; said the big man, &lsquo;pray
+sit down, and tell me the cause of your visit.&nbsp; I hope you intend
+to remain here a day or two.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;More than that,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I am come to take up
+my abode in London.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Glad to hear it; and what have you been about of late? got
+anything which will suit me?&nbsp; Sir, I admire your style of writing,
+and your manner of thinking; and I am much obliged to my good friend
+and correspondent for sending me some of your productions.&nbsp; I inserted
+them all, and wished there had been more of them&mdash;quite original,
+sir, quite: took with the public, especially the essay about the non-existence
+of anything.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t exactly agree with you though; I have
+my own peculiar ideas about matter&mdash;as you know, of course, from
+the book I have published.&nbsp; Nevertheless, a very pretty piece of
+speculative philosophy&mdash;no such thing as matter&mdash;impossible
+that there should be&mdash;<i>ex nihilo</i>&mdash;what is the Greek?&nbsp;
+I have forgot&mdash;very pretty indeed; very original.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am afraid, sir, it was very wrong to write such trash, and
+yet more to allow it to be published.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Trash! not at all; a very pretty piece of speculative philosophy;
+of course you were wrong in saying there is no world.&nbsp; The world
+must exist, to have the shape of a pear; and that the world is shaped
+like a pear, and not like an apple, as the fools of Oxford say, I have
+satisfactorily proved in my book.&nbsp; Now, if there were no world,
+what would become of my system?&nbsp; But what do you propose to do
+in London?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Here is the letter, sir,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;of our good
+friend, which I have not yet given to you; I believe it will explain
+to you the circumstances under which I come.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He took the letter, and perused it with attention.&nbsp; &lsquo;Hem!&rsquo;
+said he, with a somewhat altered manner, &lsquo;my friend tells me that
+you are come up to London with the view of turning your literary talents
+to account, and desires me to assist you in my capacity of publisher
+in bringing forth two or three works which you have prepared.&nbsp;
+My good friend is perhaps not aware that for some time past I have given
+up publishing&mdash;was obliged to do so&mdash;had many severe losses&mdash;do
+nothing at present in that line, save sending out the Magazine once
+a month; and, between ourselves, am thinking of disposing of that&mdash;wish
+to retire&mdash;high time at my age&mdash;so you see&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am very sorry, sir, to hear that you cannot assist me&rsquo;
+(and I remember that I felt very nervous); &lsquo;I had hoped&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A losing trade, I assure you, sir; literature is a drug.&nbsp;
+Taggart, what o&rsquo;clock is?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, sir!&rsquo; said I, rising, &lsquo;as you cannot assist
+me, I will now take my leave; I thank you sincerely for your kind reception,
+and will trouble you no longer.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, don&rsquo;t go.&nbsp; I wish to have some further conversation
+with you; and perhaps I may hit upon some plan to benefit you.&nbsp;
+I honour merit, and always make a point to encourage it when I can;
+but&mdash;Taggart, go to the bank, and tell them to dishonour the bill
+twelve months after date for thirty pounds which becomes due to-morrow.&nbsp;
+I am dissatisfied with that fellow who wrote the fairy tales, and intend
+to give him all the trouble in my power.&nbsp; Make haste.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Taggart did not appear to be in any particular haste.&nbsp; First
+of all, he took a pinch of snuff, then, rising from his chair, slowly
+and deliberately drew his wig, for he wore a wig of a brown colour,
+rather more over his forehead than it had previously been, buttoned
+his coat, and, taking his hat, and an umbrella which stood in a corner,
+made me a low bow, and quitted the room.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, sir, where were we?&nbsp; Oh, I remember, we were talking
+about merit.&nbsp; Sir, I always wish to encourage merit, especially
+when it comes so highly recommended as in the present instance.&nbsp;
+Sir, my good friend and correspondent speaks of you in the highest terms.&nbsp;
+Sir, I honour my good friend, and have the highest respect for his opinion
+in all matters connected with literature&mdash;rather eccentric though.&nbsp;
+Sir, my good friend has done my periodical more good and more harm than
+all the rest of my correspondents.&nbsp; Sir, I shall never forget the
+sensation caused by the appearance of his article about a certain personage
+whom he proved&mdash;and I think satisfactorily&mdash;to have been a
+legionary soldier&mdash;rather startling, was it not?&nbsp; The S---
+of the world a common soldier, in a marching regiment&mdash;original,
+but startling; sir, I honour my good friend.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So you have renounced publishing, sir,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;with
+the exception of the Magazine?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, yes; except now and then, under the rose; the old coachman,
+you know, likes to hear the whip.&nbsp; Indeed, at the present moment,
+I am thinking of starting a Review on an entirely new and original principle;
+and it just struck me that you might be of high utility in the undertaking&mdash;what
+do you think of the matter?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I should be happy, sir, to render you any assistance, but
+I am afraid the employment you propose requires other qualifications
+than I possess; however, I can make the essay.&nbsp; My chief intention
+in coming to London was to lay before the world what I had prepared;
+and I had hoped by your assistance&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&nbsp; I see, ambition!&nbsp; Ambition is a very pretty
+thing; but, sir, we must walk before we run, according to the old saying&mdash;what
+is that you have got under your arm?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One of the works to which I was alluding; the one, indeed,
+which I am most anxious to lay before the world, as I hope to derive
+from it both profit and reputation.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Indeed! what do you call it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ancient songs of Denmark, heroic and romantic, translated
+by myself; with notes philological, critical, and historical.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then, sir, I assure you that your time and labour have been
+entirely flung away; nobody would read your ballads, if you were to
+give them to the world to-morrow.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am sure, sir, that you would say otherwise if you would
+permit me to read one to you&rsquo;; and, without waiting for the answer
+of the big man, nor indeed so much as looking at him, to see whether
+he was inclined or not to hear me, I undid my manuscript, and, with
+a voice trembling with eagerness, I read to the following effect:&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>Buckshank bold and Elfinstone,<br />
+And more than I can mention here,<br />
+They caused to be built so stout a ship,<br />
+And unto Iceland they would steer.</p>
+<p>They launched the ship upon the main,<br />
+Which bellowed like a wrathful bear;<br />
+Down to the bottom the vessel sank,<br />
+A laidly Trold has dragged it there.</p>
+<p>Down to the bottom sank young Roland,<br />
+And round about he groped awhile;<br />
+Until he found the path which led<br />
+Unto the bower of Ellenlyle.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&lsquo;Stop!&rsquo; said the publisher; &lsquo;very pretty indeed,
+and very original; beats Scott hollow, and Percy too: but, sir, the
+day for these things is gone by; nobody at present cares for Percy,
+nor for Scott either, save as a novelist; sorry to discourage merit,
+sir, but what can I do!&nbsp; What else have you got?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The songs of Ab Gwilym, the Welsh bard, also translated by
+myself, with notes critical, philological, and historical.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Pass on&mdash;what else?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nothing else,&rsquo; said I, folding up my manuscript with
+a sigh, &lsquo;unless it be a romance in the German style; on which,
+I confess, I set very little value.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Wild?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, sir, very wild.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Like the Miller of the Black Valley?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, sir, very much like the Miller of the Black Valley.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, that&rsquo;s better,&rsquo; said the publisher; &lsquo;and
+yet, I don&rsquo;t know, I question whether any one at present cares
+for the miller himself.&nbsp; No, sir, the time for those things is
+also gone by; German, at present, is a drug; and, between ourselves,
+nobody has contributed to make it so more than my good friend and correspondent;&mdash;but,
+sir, I see you are a young gentleman of infinite merit, and I always
+wish to encourage merit.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you think you could write
+a series of evangelical tales?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Evangelical tales, sir?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, sir, evangelical novels.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Something in the style of Herder?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Herder is a drug, sir; nobody cares for Herder&mdash;thanks
+to my good friend.&nbsp; Sir, I have in yon drawer a hundred pages about
+Herder, which I dare not insert in my periodical; it would sink it,
+sir.&nbsp; No, sir, something in the style of the <i>Dairyman&rsquo;s
+Daughter</i>.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I never heard of the work till the present moment.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then, sir, procure it by all means.&nbsp; Sir, I could afford
+as much as ten pounds for a well-written tale in the style of the <i>Dairyman&rsquo;s
+Daughter</i>; that is the kind of literature, sir, that sells at the
+present day!&nbsp; It is not the Miller of the Black Valley&mdash;no,
+sir, nor Herder either, that will suit the present taste; the evangelical
+body is becoming very strong, sir; the canting scoundrels&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But, sir, surely you would not pander to a scoundrelly taste?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then, sir, I must give up business altogether.&nbsp; Sir,
+I have a great respect for the goddess Reason&mdash;an infinite respect,
+sir; indeed, in my time, I have made a great many sacrifices for her;
+but, sir, I cannot altogether ruin myself for the goddess Reason.&nbsp;
+Sir, I am a friend to Liberty, as is well known; but I must also be
+a friend to my own family.&nbsp; It is with the view of providing for
+a son of mine that I am about to start the Review of which I was speaking.&nbsp;
+He has taken into his head to marry, sir, and I must do something for
+him, for he can do but little for himself.&nbsp; Well, sir, I am a friend
+to Liberty, as I said before, and likewise a friend to Reason; but I
+tell you frankly that the Review which I intend to get up under the
+rose, and present him with when it is established, will be conducted
+on Oxford principles.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Orthodox principles, I suppose you mean, sir?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do, sir; I am no linguist, but I believe the words are synonymous.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Much more conversation passed between us, and it was agreed that
+I should become a contributor to the Oxford Review.&nbsp; I stipulated,
+however, that, as I knew little of politics, and cared less, no other
+articles should be required from me than such as were connected with
+belles-lettres and philology; to this the big man readily assented.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Nothing will be required from you,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;but
+what you mention; and now and then, perhaps, a paper on metaphysics.&nbsp;
+You understand German, and perhaps it would be desirable that you should
+review Kant; and in a review of Kant, sir, you could introduce to advantage
+your peculiar notions about <i>ex nihilo</i>.&rsquo;&nbsp; He then reverted
+to the subject of the <i>Dairyman&rsquo;s Daughter</i>, which I promised
+to take into consideration.&nbsp; As I was going away, he invited me
+to dine with him on the ensuing Sunday.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That&rsquo;s a strange man!&rsquo; said I to myself, after
+I had left the house; &lsquo;he is evidently very clever; but I cannot
+say that I like him much, with his Oxford Reviews and Dairyman&rsquo;s
+Daughters.&nbsp; But what can I do?&nbsp; I am almost without a friend
+in the world.&nbsp; I wish I could find some one who would publish my
+ballads, or my songs of Ab Gwilym.&nbsp; In spite of what the big man
+says, I am convinced that, once published, they would bring me much
+fame and profit.&nbsp; But how is this?&mdash;what a beautiful sun!&mdash;the
+porter was right in saying that the day would clear up&mdash;I will
+now go to my dingy lodging, lock up my manuscripts, and then take a
+stroll about the big city.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXI</h2>
+<p>The walk&mdash;London&rsquo;s Cheape&mdash;Street of the Lombards&mdash;Strange
+bridge&mdash;Main arch&mdash;The roaring gulf&mdash;The boat&mdash;Cly-faking&mdash;A
+comfort&mdash;The book&mdash;The blessed woman&mdash;No trap.</p>
+<p>So I set out on my walk to see the wonders of the big city, and,
+as chance would have it, I directed my course to the east.&nbsp; The
+day, as I have already said, had become very fine, so that I saw the
+great city to advantage, and the wonders thereof: and much I admired
+all I saw; and, amongst other things, the huge cathedral, standing so
+proudly on the most commanding ground in the big city; and I looked
+up to the mighty dome, surmounted by a golden cross, and I said within
+myself, &lsquo;That dome must needs be the finest in the world&rsquo;;
+and I gazed upon it till my eyes reeled, and my brain became dizzy,
+and I thought that the dome would fall and crush me; and I shrank within
+myself, and struck yet deeper into the heart of the big city.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;O Cheapside! Cheapside!&rsquo; said I, as I advanced up that
+mighty thoroughfare, &lsquo;truly thou art a wonderful place for hurry,
+noise, and riches!&nbsp; Men talk of the bazaars of the East&mdash;I
+have never seen them&mdash;but I daresay that, compared with thee, they
+are poor places, silent places, abounding with empty boxes, O thou pride
+of London&rsquo;s east!&mdash;mighty mart of old renown!&mdash;for thou
+art not a place of yesterday:&mdash;long before the Roses red and white
+battled in fair England, thou didst exist&mdash;a place of throng and
+bustle&mdash;place of gold and silver, perfumes and fine linen.&nbsp;
+Centuries ago thou couldst extort the praises even of the fiercest foes
+of England.&nbsp; Fierce bards of Wales, sworn foes of England, sang
+thy praises centuries ago; and even the fiercest of them all, Red Julius
+himself, wild Glendower&rsquo;s bard, had a word of praise for London&rsquo;s
+&lsquo;Cheape,&rsquo; for so the bards of Wales styled thee in their
+flowing odes.&nbsp; Then, if those who were not English, and hated England,
+and all connected therewith, had yet much to say in thy praise, when
+thou wast far inferior to what thou art now, why should true-born Englishmen,
+or those who call themselves so, turn up their noses at thee, and scoff
+thee at the present day, as I believe they do?&nbsp; But, let others
+do as they will, I, at least, who am not only an Englishman, but an
+East Englishman, will not turn up my nose at thee, but will praise and
+extol thee, calling thee mart of the world&mdash;a place of wonder and
+astonishment!&mdash;and, were it right and fitting to wish that anything
+should endure for ever, I would say prosperity to Cheapside, throughout
+all ages&mdash;may it be the world&rsquo;s resort for merchandise, world
+without end.</p>
+<p>And when I had passed through the Cheape I entered another street,
+which led up a kind of ascent, and which proved to be the street of
+the Lombards, called so from the name of its first founders; and I walked
+rapidly up the street of the Lombards, neither looking to the right
+nor left, for it had no interest for me, though I had a kind of consciousness
+that mighty things were being transacted behind its walls: but it wanted
+the throng, bustle, and outward magnificence of the Cheape, and it had
+never been spoken of by &lsquo;ruddy bards&rsquo;!&nbsp; And, when I
+had got to the end of the street of the Lombards, I stood still for
+some time, deliberating within myself whether I should turn to the right
+or the left, or go straight forward, and at last I turned to the right,
+down a street of rapid descent, and presently found myself upon a bridge
+which traversed the river which runs by the big city.</p>
+<p>A strange kind of bridge it was; huge and massive, and seemingly
+of great antiquity.&nbsp; It had an arched back, like that of a hog,
+a high balustrade, and at either side, at intervals, were stone bowers
+bulking over the river, but open on the other side, and furnished with
+a semicircular bench.&nbsp; Though the bridge was wide&mdash;very wide&mdash;it
+was all too narrow for the concourse upon it.&nbsp; Thousands of human
+beings were pouring over the bridge.&nbsp; But what chiefly struck my
+attention was a double row of carts and wagons, the generality drawn
+by horses as large as elephants, each row striving hard in a different
+direction, and not unfrequently brought to a stand-still.&nbsp; Oh the
+cracking of whips, the shouts and oaths of the carters, and the grating
+of wheels upon the enormous stones that formed the pavement!&nbsp; In
+fact, there was a wild hurly-burly upon the bridge, which nearly deafened
+me.&nbsp; But, if upon the bridge there was a confusion, below it there
+was a confusion ten times confounded.&nbsp; The tide, which was fast
+ebbing, obstructed by the immense piers of the old bridge, poured beneath
+the arches with a fall of several feet, forming in the river below as
+many whirlpools as there were arches.&nbsp; Truly tremendous was the
+roar of the descending waters, and the bellow of the tremendous gulfs,
+which swallowed them for a time, and then cast them forth, foaming and
+frothing from their horrid wombs.&nbsp; Slowly advancing along the bridge,
+I came to the highest point, and there I stood still, close beside one
+of the stone bowers, in which, beside a fruit-stall, sat an old woman,
+with a pan of charcoal at her feet, and a book in her hand, in which
+she appeared to be reading intently.&nbsp; There I stood, just above
+the principal arch, looking through the balustrade at the scene that
+presented itself&mdash;and such a scene!&nbsp; Towards the left bank
+of the river, a forest of masts, thick and close, as far as the eye
+could reach; spacious wharfs, surmounted with gigantic edifices; and,
+far away, Caesar&rsquo;s Castle, with its White Tower.&nbsp; To the
+right, another forest of masts, and a maze of buildings, from which,
+here and there, shot up to the sky chimneys taller than Cleopatra&rsquo;s
+Needle, vomiting forth huge wreaths of that black smoke which forms
+the canopy&mdash;occasionally a gorgeous one&mdash;of the more than
+Babel city.&nbsp; Stretching before me, the troubled breast of the mighty
+river, and, immediately below, the main whirlpool of the Thames&mdash;the
+Ma&euml;lstrom of the bulwarks of the middle arch&mdash;a grisly pool,
+which, with its superabundance of horror, fascinated me.&nbsp; Who knows
+but I should have leapt into its depths?&mdash;I have heard of such
+things&mdash;but for a rather startling occurrence which broke the spell.&nbsp;
+As I stood upon the bridge, gazing into the jaws of the pool, a small
+boat shot suddenly through the arch beneath my feet.&nbsp; There were
+three persons in it; an oarsman in the middle, whilst a man and woman
+sat at the stern.&nbsp; I shall never forget the thrill of horror which
+went through me at this sudden apparition.&nbsp; What!&mdash;a boat&mdash;a
+small boat&mdash;passing beneath that arch into yonder roaring gulf!&nbsp;
+Yes, yes, down through that awful water-way, with more than the swiftness
+of an arrow, shot the boat, or skiff, right into the jaws of the pool.&nbsp;
+A monstrous breaker curls over the prow&mdash;there is no hope; the
+boat is swamped, and all drowned in that strangling vortex.&nbsp; No!
+the boat, which appeared to have the buoyancy of a feather, skipped
+over the threatening horror, and, the next moment, was out of danger,
+the boatman&mdash;a true boatman of Cockaigne that&mdash;elevating one
+of his sculls in sign of triumph, the man hallooing, and the woman,
+a true Englishwoman that&mdash;of a certain class&mdash;waving her shawl.&nbsp;
+Whether any one observed them save myself, or whether the feat was a
+common one, I know not; but nobody appeared to take any notice of them.&nbsp;
+As for myself, I was so excited that I strove to clamber up the balustrade
+of the bridge, in order to obtain a better view of the daring adventurers.&nbsp;
+Before I could accomplish my design, however, I felt myself seized by
+the body, and, turning my head, perceived the old fruit-woman, who was
+clinging to me.</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page203b.jpg">
+<img alt="Beside a fruit-stall sat an old woman, with a pan of charcoal at her feet, and a book in her hand" src="images/page203s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nay, dear! don&rsquo;t&mdash;don&rsquo;t!&rsquo; said she.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t fling yourself over&mdash;perhaps you may have better
+luck next time!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I was not going to fling myself over,&rsquo; said I, dropping
+from the balustrade; &lsquo;how came you to think of such a thing?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, seeing you clamber up so fiercely, I thought you might
+have had ill luck, and that you wished to make away with yourself.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ill luck,&rsquo; said I, going into the stone bower, and sitting
+down.&nbsp; &lsquo;What do you mean? ill luck in what?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, no great harm, dear! cly-faking perhaps.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are you coming over me with dialects,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;speaking
+unto me in fashions I wot nothing of?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nay, dear! don&rsquo;t look so strange with those eyes of
+your&rsquo;n, nor talk so strangely; I don&rsquo;t understand you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nor I you; what do you mean by cly-faking?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Lor, dear! no harm; only taking a handkerchief now and then.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you take me for a thief?</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nay, dear! don&rsquo;t make use of bad language; we never
+calls them thieves here, but prigs and fakers: to tell you the truth,
+dear, seeing you spring at that railing put me in mind of my own dear
+son, who is now at Bot&rsquo;ny: when he had bad luck, he always used
+to talk of flinging himself over the bridge; and, sure enough, when
+the traps were after him, he did fling himself into the river, but that
+was off the bank; nevertheless, the traps pulled him out, and he is
+now suffering his sentence; so you see you may speak out, if you have
+done anything in the harmless line, for I am my son&rsquo;s own mother,
+I assure you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So you think there&rsquo;s no harm in stealing?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No harm in the world, dear!&nbsp; Do you think my own child
+would have been transported for it, if there had been any harm in it?
+and, what&rsquo;s more, would the blessed woman in the book here have
+written her life as she has done, and given it to the world, if there
+had been any harm in faking?&nbsp; She, too, was what they call a thief
+and a cut-purse; ay, and was transported for it, like my dear son; and
+do you think she would have told the world so, if there had been any
+harm in the thing?&nbsp; Oh, it is a comfort to me that the blessed
+woman was transported, and came back&mdash;for come back she did, and
+rich too&mdash;for it is an assurance to me that my dear son, who was
+transported too, will come back like her.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What was her name?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Her name, blessed Mary Flanders.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Will you let me look at the book?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, dear, that I will, if you promise me not to run away
+with it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I took the book from her hand; a short thick volume, at least a century
+old, bound with greasy black leather.&nbsp; I turned the yellow and
+dog&rsquo;s-eared pages, reading here and there a sentence.&nbsp; Yes,
+and no mistake!&nbsp; <i>His</i> pen, his style, his spirit might be
+observed in every line of the uncouth-looking old volume&mdash;the air,
+the style, the spirit of the writer of the book which first taught me
+to read.&nbsp; I covered my face with my hand, and thought of my childhood.
+. . .</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This is a singular book,&rsquo; said I at last; &lsquo;but
+it does not appear to have been written to prove that thieving is no
+harm, but rather to show the terrible consequences of crime: it contains
+a deep moral.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A deep what, dear?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A&mdash;but no matter, I will give you a crown for this volume.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, dear, I will not sell the volume for a crown.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am poor,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;but I will give you two silver
+crowns for your volume.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, dear, I will not sell my volume for two silver crowns;
+no, nor for the golden one in the king&rsquo;s tower down there; without
+my book I should mope and pine, and perhaps fling myself into the river;
+but I am glad you like it, which shows that I was right about you, after
+all; you are one of our party, and you have a flash about that eye of
+yours which puts me just in mind of my dear son.&nbsp; No, dear, I won&rsquo;t
+sell you my book; but, if you like, you may have a peep into it whenever
+you come this way.&nbsp; I shall be glad to see you; you are one of
+the right sort, for, if you had been a common one, you would have run
+away with the thing; but you scorn such behaviour, and, as you are so
+flash of your money, though you say you are poor, you may give me a
+tanner to buy a little baccy with; I love baccy, dear, more by token
+that it comes from the plantations to which the blessed woman was sent.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What&rsquo;s a tanner?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Lor! don&rsquo;t you know, dear?&nbsp; Why, a tanner is sixpence;
+and, as you were talking just now about crowns, it will be as well to
+tell you that those of our trade never calls them crowns, but bulls;
+but I am talking nonsense, just as if you did not know all that already,
+as well as myself; you are only shamming&mdash;I&rsquo;m no trap, dear,
+nor more was the blessed woman in the book.&nbsp; Thank you, dear&mdash;thank
+you for the tanner; if I don&rsquo;t spend it, I&rsquo;ll keep it in
+remembrance of your sweet face.&nbsp; What, you are going?&mdash;well,
+first let me whisper a word to you.&nbsp; If you have any clies to sell
+at any time, I&rsquo;ll buy them of you; all safe with me; I never peach,
+and scorns a trap; so now, dear, God bless you! and give you good luck.&nbsp;
+Thank you for your pleasant company, and thank you for the tanner.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXII</h2>
+<p>The tanner&mdash;The hotel&mdash;Drinking claret&mdash;London journal&mdash;New
+field&mdash;Commonplaceness&mdash;The three individuals&mdash;Botheration&mdash;Frank
+and ardent.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Tanner!&rsquo; said I musingly, as I left the bridge; &lsquo;Tanner!
+what can the man who cures raw skins by means of a preparation of oak
+bark and other materials have to do with the name which these fakers,
+as they call themselves, bestow on the smallest silver coin in these
+dominions?&nbsp; Tanner!&nbsp; I can&rsquo;t trace the connection between
+the man of bark and the silver coin, unless journeymen tanners are in
+the habit of working for sixpence a day.&nbsp; But I have it,&rsquo;
+I continued, flourishing my hat over my head, &lsquo;tanner, in this
+instance, is not an English word.&rsquo;&nbsp; Is it not surprising
+that the language of Mr. Petulengro and of Tawno Chikno is continually
+coming to my assistance whenever I appear to be at a nonplus with respect
+to the derivation of crabbed words?&nbsp; I have made out crabbed words
+in &AElig;schylus by means of the speech of Chikno and Petulengro, and
+even in my Biblical researches I have derived no slight assistance from
+it.&nbsp; It appears to be a kind of picklock, an open sesame, Tanner&mdash;Tawno!
+the one is but a modification of the other; they were originally identical,
+and have still much the same signification.&nbsp; Tanner, in the language
+of the apple-woman, meaneth the smallest of English silver coins; and
+Tawno, in the language of the Petulengres, though bestowed upon the
+biggest of the Romans, according to strict interpretation signifieth
+a little child.</p>
+<p>So I left the bridge, retracing my steps for a considerable way,
+as I thought I had seen enough in the direction in which I had hitherto
+been wandering; I should say that I scarcely walked less than thirty
+miles about the big city on the day of my first arrival.&nbsp; Night
+came on, but still I was walking about, my eyes wide open, and admiring
+everything that presented itself to them.&nbsp; Everything was new to
+me, for everything is different in London from what it is elsewhere&mdash;the
+people, their language, the horses, the <i>tout ensemble</i>&mdash;even
+the stones of London are different from others&mdash;at least it appeared
+to me that I had never walked with the same ease and facility on the
+flagstones of a country town as on those of London; so I continued roving
+about till night came on, and then the splendour of some of the shops
+particularly struck me.&nbsp; &lsquo;A regular Arabian Nights entertainment!&rsquo;
+said I, as I looked into one on Cornhill, gorgeous with precious merchandise,
+and lighted up with lustres, the rays of which were reflected from a
+hundred mirrors.</p>
+<p>But, notwithstanding the excellence of the London pavement, I began
+about nine o&rsquo;clock to feel myself thoroughly tired; painfully
+and slowly did I drag my feet along.&nbsp; I also felt very much in
+want of some refreshment, and I remembered that since breakfast I had
+taken nothing.&nbsp; I was now in the Strand, and, glancing about, I
+perceived that I was close by an hotel, which bore over the door the
+somewhat remarkable name of Holy Lands.&nbsp; Without a moment&rsquo;s
+hesitation I entered a well-lighted passage, and, turning to the left,
+I found myself in a well-lighted coffee-room, with a well-dressed and
+frizzled waiter before me, &lsquo;Bring me some claret,&rsquo; said
+I, for I was rather faint than hungry, and I felt ashamed to give a
+humbler order to so well-dressed an individual.&nbsp; The waiter looked
+at me for a moment; then, making a low bow, he bustled off, and I sat
+myself down in the box nearest to the window.&nbsp; Presently the waiter
+returned, bearing beneath his left arm a long bottle, and between the
+fingers of his right hand two large purple glasses; placing the latter
+on the table, he produced a corkscrew, drew the cork in a twinkling,
+set the bottle down before me with a bang, and then, standing still,
+appeared to watch my movements.&nbsp; You think I don&rsquo;t know how
+to drink a glass of claret, thought I to myself.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll soon
+show you how we drink claret where I come from; and, filling one of
+the glasses to the brim, I flickered it for a moment between my eyes
+and the lustre, and then held it to my nose; having given that organ
+full time to test the bouquet of the wine, I applied the glass to my
+lips, taking a large mouthful of the wine, which I swallowed slowly
+and by degrees, that the palate might likewise have an opportunity of
+performing its functions.&nbsp; A second mouthful I disposed of more
+summarily; then, placing the empty glass upon the table, I fixed my
+eyes upon the bottle, and said&mdash;nothing; whereupon the waiter,
+who had been observing the whole process with considerable attention,
+made me a bow yet more low than before, and, turning on his heel, retired
+with a smart chuck of his head, as much as to say, It is all right:
+the young man is used to claret.</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page209b.jpg">
+<img alt="The young man is used to claret" src="images/page209s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>And when the waiter had retired I took a second glass of the wine,
+which I found excellent; and, observing a newspaper lying near me, I
+took it up and began perusing it.&nbsp; It has been observed somewhere
+that people who are in the habit of reading newspapers every day are
+not unfrequently struck with the excellence of style and general talent
+which they display.&nbsp; Now, if that be the case, how must I have
+been surprised, who was reading a newspaper for the first time, and
+that one of the best of the London journals!&nbsp; Yes, strange as it
+may seem, it was nevertheless true that, up to the moment of which I
+am speaking, I had never read a newspaper of any description.&nbsp;
+I of course had frequently seen journals, and even handled them; but,
+as for reading them, what were they to me?&nbsp; I cared not for news.&nbsp;
+But here I was now with my claret before me, perusing, perhaps, the
+best of all the London journals; it was not the ---, and I was astonished:
+an entirely new field of literature appeared to be opened to my view.&nbsp;
+It was a discovery, but I confess rather an unpleasant one; for I said
+to myself, If literary talent is so very common in London, that the
+journals, things which, as their very name denotes, are ephemeral, are
+written in a style like the article I have been perusing, how can I
+hope to distinguish myself in this big town, when, for the life of me,
+I don&rsquo;t think I could write anything half so clever as what I
+have been reading?&nbsp; And then I laid down the paper, and fell into
+deep musing; rousing myself from which, I took a glass of wine, and,
+pouring out another, began musing again.&nbsp; What I have been reading,
+thought I, is certainly very clever and very talented; but talent and
+cleverness I think I have heard some one say are very commonplace things,
+only fitted for everyday occasions.&nbsp; I question whether the man
+who wrote the book I saw this day on the bridge was a clever man; but,
+after all, was he not something much better? I don&rsquo;t think he
+could have written this article, but then he wrote the book which I
+saw on the bridge.&nbsp; Then, if he could not have written the article
+on which I now hold my forefinger&mdash;and I do not believe he could&mdash;why
+should I feel discouraged at the consciousness that I, too, could not
+write it?&nbsp; I certainly could no more have written the article than
+he could; but then, like him, though I would not compare myself to the
+man who wrote the book I saw upon the bridge, I think I could&mdash;and
+here I emptied the glass of claret&mdash;write something better.</p>
+<p>Thereupon I resumed the newspaper; and, as I was before struck with
+the fluency of style and the general talent which it displayed, I was
+now equally so with its commonplaceness and want of originality on every
+subject; and it was evident to me that, whatever advantage these newspaper-writers
+might have over me in some points, they had never studied the Welsh
+bards, translated Kaempe Viser, or been under the pupilage of Mr. Petulengro
+and Tawno Chikno.</p>
+<p>And as I sat conning the newspaper three individuals entered the
+room, and seated themselves in the box at the farther end of which I
+was.&nbsp; They were all three very well dressed; two of them elderly
+gentlemen, the third a young man about my own age, or perhaps a year
+or two older: they called for coffee; and, after two or three observations,
+the two eldest commenced a conversation in French, which, however, though
+they spoke it fluently enough, I perceived at once was not their native
+language; the young man, however, took no part in their conversation,
+and when they addressed a portion to him, which indeed was but rarely,
+merely replied by a monosyllable.&nbsp; I have never been a listener,
+and I paid but little heed to their discourse, nor indeed to themselves;
+as I occasionally looked up, however, I could perceive that the features
+of the young man, who chanced to be seated exactly opposite to me, wore
+an air of constraint and vexation.&nbsp; This circumstance caused me
+to observe him more particularly than I otherwise should have done:
+his features were handsome and prepossessing; he had dark brown hair
+and a high-arched forehead.&nbsp; After the lapse of half an hour, the
+two elder individuals, having finished their coffee, called for the
+waiter, and then rose as if to depart, the young man, however, still
+remaining seated in the box.&nbsp; The others, having reached the door,
+turned round, and, finding that the youth did not follow them, one of
+them called to him with a tone of some authority; whereupon the young
+man rose, and, pronouncing half audibly the word &lsquo;botheration,&rsquo;
+rose and followed them.&nbsp; I now observed that he was remarkably
+tall.&nbsp; All three left the house.&nbsp; In about ten minutes, finding
+nothing more worth reading in the newspaper, I laid it down, and though
+the claret was not yet exhausted, I was thinking of betaking myself
+to my lodgings, and was about to call the waiter, when I heard a step
+in the passage, and in another moment the tall young man entered the
+room, advanced to the same box, and, sitting down nearly opposite to
+me, again pronounced to himself, but more audibly than before, the same
+word.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A troublesome world this, sir,&rsquo; said I, looking at him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the young man, looking fixedly at me; &lsquo;but
+I am afraid we bring most of our troubles on our own heads&mdash;at
+least I can say so of myself,&rsquo; he added, laughing.&nbsp; Then,
+after a pause, &lsquo;I beg pardon,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;but am I
+not addressing one of my own country?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of what country are you?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ireland.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am not of your country, sir; but I have an infinite veneration
+for your country, as Strap said to the French soldier.&nbsp; Will you
+take a glass of wine?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, de tout mon coeur, as the parasite said to Gil Blas,&rsquo;
+cried the young man, laughing.&nbsp; &lsquo;Here&rsquo;s to our better
+acquaintance!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And better acquainted we soon became; and I found that, in making
+the acquaintance of the young man, I had indeed made a valuable acquisition;
+he was accomplished, highly connected, and bore the name of Francis
+Ardry.&nbsp; Frank and ardent he was, and in a very little time had
+told me much that related to himself, and in return I communicated a
+general outline of my own history; he listened with profound attention,
+but laughed heartily when I told him some particulars of my visit in
+the morning to the publisher, whom he had frequently heard of.</p>
+<p>We left the house together.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We shall soon see each other again,&rsquo; said he, as we
+separated at the door of my lodging.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2>
+<p>Dine with the publisher&mdash;Religions&mdash;No animal food&mdash;Unprofitable
+discussions&mdash;Principles of criticism&mdash;The book market&mdash;Newgate
+lives&mdash;Goethe a drug&mdash;German acquirements&mdash;Moral dignity.</p>
+<p>On the Sunday I was punctual to my appointment to dine with the publisher.&nbsp;
+As I hurried along the square in which his house stood, my thoughts
+were fixed so intently on the great man, that I passed by him without
+seeing him.&nbsp; He had observed me, however, and joined me just as
+I was about to knock at the door.&nbsp; &lsquo;Let us take a turn in
+the square,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;we shall not dine for half an hour.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said he, as we were walking in the square, &lsquo;what
+have you been doing since I last saw you?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have been looking about London,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;and
+I have bought the <i>Dairyman&rsquo;s Daughter</i>; here it is.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Pray put it up,&rsquo; said the publisher; &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t
+want to look at such trash.&nbsp; Well, do you think you could write
+anything like it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How is that?&rsquo; said the publisher, looking at me.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;the man who wrote it seems
+to be perfectly well acquainted with his subject; and, moreover, to
+write from the heart.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;By the subject you mean&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Religion.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And ain&rsquo;t you acquainted with religion?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very little.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am sorry for that,&rsquo; said the publisher seriously,
+&lsquo;for he who sets up for an author ought to be acquainted not only
+with religion, but religions, and indeed with all subjects, like my
+good friend in the country.&nbsp; It is well that I have changed my
+mind about the <i>Dairyman&rsquo;s Daughter</i>, or I really don&rsquo;t
+know whom I could apply to on the subject at the present moment, unless
+to himself; and after all I question whether his style is exactly suited
+for an evangelical novel.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you do not wish for an imitation of the <i>Dairyman&rsquo;s
+Daughter</i>?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not, sir; I have changed my mind, as I told you before;
+I wish to employ you in another line, but will communicate to you my
+intentions after dinner.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>At dinner, beside the publisher and myself, were present his wife
+and son with his newly-married bride; the wife appeared a quiet respectable
+woman, and the young people looked very happy and good-natured; not
+so the publisher, who occasionally eyed both with contempt and dislike.&nbsp;
+Connected with this dinner there was one thing remarkable; the publisher
+took no animal food, but contented himself with feeding voraciously
+on rice and vegetables prepared in various ways.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You eat no animal food, sir?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not, sir,&rsquo; said he; &lsquo;I have forsworn it upwards
+of twenty years.&nbsp; In one respect, sir, I am a Brahmin.&nbsp; I
+abhor taking away life&mdash;the brutes have as much right to live as
+ourselves.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;if the brutes were not killed,
+there would be such a superabundance of them, that the land would be
+overrun with them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not think so, sir; few are killed in India, and yet there
+is plenty of room.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;Nature intended that they should
+be destroyed, and the brutes themselves prey upon one another, and it
+is well for themselves and the world that they do so.&nbsp; What would
+be the state of things if every insect, bird, and worm were left to
+perish of old age?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We will change the subject,&rsquo; said the publisher; &lsquo;I
+have never been a friend of unprofitable discussions.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I looked at the publisher with some surprise, I had not been accustomed
+to be spoken to so magisterially; his countenance was dressed in a portentous
+frown, and his eye looked more sinister than ever; at that moment he
+put me in mind of some of those despots of whom I had read in the history
+of Morocco, whose word was law.&nbsp; He merely wants power, thought
+I to myself, to be a regular Muley Mehemet; and then I sighed, for I
+remembered how very much I was in the power of that man.</p>
+<p>The dinner over, the publisher nodded to his wife, who departed,
+followed by her daughter-in-law.&nbsp; The son looked as if he would
+willingly have attended them; he, however, remained seated; and, a small
+decanter of wine being placed on the table, the publisher filled two
+glasses, one of which he handed to myself, and the other to his son;
+saying, &lsquo;Suppose you two drink to the success of the Review.&nbsp;
+I would join you,&rsquo; said he, addressing himself to me, &lsquo;but
+I drink no wine; if I am a Brahmin with respect to meat, I am a Mahometan
+with respect to wine.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>So the son and I drank success to the Review, and then the young
+man asked me various questions; for example&mdash;How I liked London?&mdash;Whether
+I did not think it a very fine place?&mdash;Whether I was at the play
+the night before?&mdash;and whether I was in the park that afternoon?&nbsp;
+He seemed preparing to ask me some more questions; but, receiving a
+furious look from his father, he became silent, filled himself a glass
+of wine, drank it off, looked at the table for about a minute, then
+got up, pushed back his chair, made me a bow, and left the room.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is that young gentleman, sir,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;well versed
+in the principles of criticism?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He is not, sir,&rsquo; said the publisher; &lsquo;and, if
+I place him at the head of the Review ostensibly, I do it merely in
+the hope of procuring him a maintenance; of the principle of a thing
+he knows nothing, except that the principle of bread is wheat, and that
+the principle of that wine is grape.&nbsp; Will you take another glass?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I looked at the decanter; but, not feeling altogether so sure as
+the publisher&rsquo;s son with respect to the principle of what it contained,
+I declined taking any more.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, sir,&rsquo; said the publisher, adjusting himself in his
+chair, &lsquo;he knows nothing about criticism, and will have nothing
+more to do with the reviewals than carrying about the books to those
+who have to review them; the real conductor of the Review will be a
+widely different person, to whom I will, when convenient, introduce
+you.&nbsp; And now we will talk of the matter which we touched upon
+before dinner: I told you then that I had changed my mind with respect
+to you; I have been considering the state of the market, sir, the book
+market, and I have come to the conclusion that, though you might be
+profitably employed upon evangelical novels, you could earn more money
+for me, sir, and consequently for yourself, by a compilation of Newgate
+lives and trials.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Newgate lives and trials!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, sir,&rsquo; said the publisher, &lsquo;Newgate lives
+and trials; and now, sir, I will briefly state to you the services which
+I expect you to perform, and the terms which I am willing to grant.&nbsp;
+I expect you, sir, to compile six volumes of Newgate lives and trials,
+each volume to contain by no manner of means less than one thousand
+pages; the remuneration which you will receive when the work is completed
+will be fifty pounds, which is likewise intended to cover any expenses
+you may incur in procuring books, papers, and manuscripts necessary
+for the compilation.&nbsp; Such will be one of your employments, sir,&mdash;such
+the terms.&nbsp; In the second place, you will be expected to make yourself
+useful in the Review&mdash;generally useful, sir&mdash;doing whatever
+is required of you; for it is not customary, at least with me, to permit
+writers, especially young writers, to choose their subjects.&nbsp; In
+these two departments, sir, namely compilation and reviewing, I had
+yesterday, after due consideration, determined upon employing you.&nbsp;
+I had intended to employ you no farther, sir&mdash;at least for the
+present; but, sir, this morning I received a letter from my valued friend
+in the country, in which he speaks in terms of strong admiration (I
+don&rsquo;t overstate) of your German acquirements.&nbsp; Sir, he says
+that it would be a thousand pities if your knowledge of the German language
+should be lost to the world, or even permitted to sleep, and he entreats
+me to think of some plan by which it may be turned to account.&nbsp;
+Sir, I am at all times willing, if possible, to oblige my worthy friend,
+and likewise to encourage merit and talent; I have, therefore, determined
+to employ you in German.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sir,&rsquo; said I, rubbing my hands, &lsquo;you are very
+kind, and so is our mutual friend; I shall be happy to make myself useful
+in German; and if you think a good translation from Goethe&mdash;his
+<i>Sorrows</i> for example, or more particularly his <i>Faust</i>&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sir,&rsquo; said the publisher, &lsquo;Goethe is a drug; his
+<i>Sorrows</i> are a drug, so is his <i>Faustus</i>, more especially
+the last, since that fool&mdash;rendered him into English.&nbsp; No,
+sir, I do not want you to translate Goethe or anything belonging to
+him; nor do I want you to translate anything from the German; what I
+want you to do, is to translate into German.&nbsp; I am willing to encourage
+merit, sir; and, as my good friend in his last letter has spoken very
+highly of your German acquirements, I have determined that you shall
+translate my book of philosophy into German.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Your book of philosophy into German, sir?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, sir; my book of philosophy into German.&nbsp; I am not
+a drug, sir, in Germany as Goethe is here, no more is my book.&nbsp;
+I intend to print the translation at Leipzig, sir; and if it turns out
+a profitable speculation, as I make no doubt it will, provided the translation
+be well executed, I will make you some remuneration.&nbsp; Sir, your
+remuneration will be determined by the success of your translation.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But, sir&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sir,&rsquo; said the publisher, interrupting me, &lsquo;you
+have heard my intentions; I consider that you ought to feel yourself
+highly gratified by my intentions towards you; it is not frequently
+that I deal with a writer, especially a young writer, as I have done
+with you.&nbsp; And now, sir, permit me to inform you that I wish to
+be alone.&nbsp; This is Sunday afternoon, sir; I never go to church,
+but I am in the habit of spending part of every Sunday afternoon alone&mdash;profitably
+I hope, sir&mdash;in musing on the magnificence of nature and the moral
+dignity of man.&rsquo;</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page217b.jpg">
+<img alt="&lsquo;I am in the habit of spending part of every Sunday afternoon alone, in musing on the magnificence of nature and the moral dignity of man.&rsquo;" src="images/page217s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV</h2>
+<p>The two volumes&mdash;A young author&mdash;Intended editor&mdash;Quintilian&mdash;Loose
+money.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What can&rsquo;t be cured must be endured,&rsquo; and &lsquo;it
+is hard to kick against the pricks.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>At the period to which I have brought my history, I bethought me
+of the proverbs with which I have headed this chapter, and determined
+to act up to their spirit.&nbsp; I determined not to fly in the face
+of the publisher, and to bear&mdash;what I could not cure&mdash;his
+arrogance and vanity.&nbsp; At present, at the conclusion of nearly
+a quarter of a century, I am glad that I came to that determination,
+which I did my best to carry into effect.</p>
+<p>Two or three days after our last interview, the publisher made his
+appearance in my apartment; he bore two tattered volumes under his arm,
+which he placed on the table.&nbsp; &lsquo;I have brought you two volumes
+of lives, sir,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;which I yesterday found in my
+garret; you will find them of service for your compilation.&nbsp; As
+I always wish to behave liberally and encourage talent, especially youthful
+talent, I shall make no charge for them, though I should be justified
+in so doing, as you are aware that, by our agreement, you are to provide
+any books and materials which may be necessary.&nbsp; Have you been
+in quest of any?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;not yet.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then, sir, I would advise you to lose no time in doing so;
+you must visit all the bookstalls, sir, especially those in the by-streets
+and blind alleys.&nbsp; It is in such places that you will find the
+description of literature you are in want of.&nbsp; You must be up and
+doing, sir; it will not do for an author, especially a young author,
+to be idle in this town.&nbsp; To-night you will receive my book of
+philosophy, and likewise books for the Review.&nbsp; And, by the bye,
+sir, it will be as well for you to review my book of philosophy for
+the Review; the other reviews not having noticed it.&nbsp; Sir, before
+translating it, I wish you to review my book of philosophy for the Review.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I shall be happy to do my best, sir.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very good, sir; I should be unreasonable to expect anything
+beyond a person&rsquo;s best.&nbsp; And now, sir, if you please, I will
+conduct you to the future editor of the Review.&nbsp; As you are to
+co-operate, sir, I deem it right to make you acquainted.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The intended editor was a little old man, who sat in a kind of wooden
+pavilion in a small garden behind a house in one of the purlieus of
+the city, composing tunes upon a piano.&nbsp; The walls of the pavilion
+were covered with fiddles of various sizes and appearances, and a considerable
+portion of the floor occupied by a pile of books all of one size.&nbsp;
+The publisher introduced him to me as a gentleman scarcely less eminent
+in literature than in music, and me to him as an aspirant critic&mdash;a
+young gentleman scarcely less eminent in philosophy than in philology.&nbsp;
+The conversation consisted entirely of compliments till just before
+we separated, when the future editor inquired of me whether I had ever
+read Quintilian; and, on my replying in the negative, expressed his
+surprise that any gentleman should aspire to become a critic who had
+never read Quintilian, with the comfortable information, however, that
+he could supply me with a Quintilian at half-price, that is, a translation
+made by himself some years previously, of which he had, pointing to
+the heap on the floor, still a few copies remaining unsold.&nbsp; For
+some reason or other, perhaps a poor one, I did not purchase the editor&rsquo;s
+translation of Quintilian.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sir,&rsquo; said the publisher, as we were returning from
+our visit to the editor, &lsquo;you did right in not purchasing a drug.&nbsp;
+I am not prepared, sir, to say that Quintilian is a drug, never having
+seen him; but I am prepared to say that man&rsquo;s translation is a
+drug, judging from the heap of rubbish on the floor; besides, sir, you
+will want any loose money you may have to purchase the description of
+literature which is required for your compilation.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The publisher presently paused before the entrance of a very forlorn-looking
+street.&nbsp; &lsquo;Sir,&rsquo; said he, after looking down it with
+attention, &lsquo;I should not wonder if in that street you find works
+connected with the description of literature which is required for your
+compilation.&nbsp; It is in streets of this description, sir, and blind
+alleys, where such works are to be found.&nbsp; You had better search
+that street, sir, whilst I continue my way.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I searched the street to which the publisher had pointed, and, in
+the course of the three succeeding days, many others of a similar kind.&nbsp;
+I did not find the description of literature alluded to by the publisher
+to be a drug, but, on the contrary, both scarce and dear.&nbsp; I had
+expended much more than my loose money long before I could procure materials
+even for the first volume of my compilation.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXV</h2>
+<p>Francis Ardry&mdash;Certain sharpers&mdash;Brave and eloquent&mdash;Opposites&mdash;Flinging
+the bones&mdash;Strange places&mdash;Dog-fighting&mdash;Learning and
+letters&mdash;Batch of dogs&mdash;Redoubled application.</p>
+<p>One evening I was visited by the tall young gentleman, Francis Ardry,
+whose acquaintance I had formed at the coffee-house.&nbsp; As it is
+necessary that the reader should know something more about this young
+man, who will frequently appear in the course of these pages, I will
+state in a few words who and what he was.&nbsp; He was born of an ancient
+Roman Catholic family in Ireland; his parents, whose only child he was,
+had long been dead.&nbsp; His father, who had survived his mother several
+years, had been a spendthrift, and at his death had left the family
+property considerably embarrassed.&nbsp; Happily, however, the son and
+the estate fell into the hands of careful guardians, near relations
+of the family, by whom the property was managed to the best advantage,
+and every means taken to educate the young man in a manner suitable
+to his expectations.&nbsp; At the age of sixteen he was taken from a
+celebrated school in England at which he had been placed, and sent to
+a small French university, in order that he might form an intimate and
+accurate acquaintance with the grand language of the continent.&nbsp;
+There he continued three years, at the end of which he went under the
+care of a French abb&eacute; to Germany and Italy.&nbsp; It was in this
+latter country that he first began to cause his guardians serious uneasiness.&nbsp;
+He was in the heyday of youth when he visited Italy, and he entered
+wildly into the various delights of that fascinating region, and, what
+was worse, falling into the hands of certain sharpers, not Italian,
+but English, he was fleeced of considerable sums of money.&nbsp; The
+abb&eacute;, who, it seems, was an excellent individual of the old French
+school, remonstrated with his pupil on his dissipation and extravagance;
+but, finding his remonstrances vain, very properly informed the guardians
+of the manner of life of his charge.&nbsp; They were not slow in commanding
+Francis Ardry home; and, as he was entirely in their power, he was forced
+to comply.&nbsp; He had been about three months in London when I met
+him in the coffee-room, and the two elderly gentlemen in his company
+were his guardians.&nbsp; At this time they were very solicitous that
+he should choose for himself a profession, offering to his choice either
+the army or law&mdash;he was calculated to shine in either of these
+professions&mdash;for, like many others of his countrymen, he was brave
+and eloquent; but he did not wish to shackle himself with a profession.&nbsp;
+As, however, his minority did not terminate till he was three-and-twenty,
+of which age he wanted nearly two years, during which he would be entirely
+dependent on his guardians, he deemed it expedient to conceal, to a
+certain degree, his sentiments, temporising with the old gentlemen,
+with whom, notwithstanding his many irregularities, he was a great favourite,
+and at whose death he expected to come into a yet greater property than
+that which he inherited from his parents.</p>
+<p>Such is a brief account of Francis Ardry&mdash;of my friend Francis
+Ardry; for the acquaintance, commenced in the singular manner with which
+the reader is acquainted, speedily ripened into a friendship which endured
+through many long years of separation, and which still endures certainly
+on my part, and on his&mdash;if he lives; but it is many years since
+I have heard from Francis Ardry.</p>
+<p>And yet many people would have thought it impossible for our friendship
+to have lasted a week&mdash;for in many respects no two people could
+be more dissimilar.&nbsp; He was an Irishman&mdash;I, an Englishman;&mdash;he,
+fiery, enthusiastic, and open-hearted; I, neither fiery, enthusiastic,
+nor open-hearted;&mdash;he, fond of pleasure and dissipation; I, of
+study and reflection.&nbsp; Yet it is of such dissimilar elements that
+the most lasting friendships are formed: we do not like counterparts
+of ourselves.&nbsp; &lsquo;Two great talkers will not travel far together,&rsquo;
+is a Spanish saying; I will add, &lsquo;Nor two silent people&rsquo;;
+we naturally love our opposites.</p>
+<p>So Francis Ardry came to see me, and right glad I was to see him,
+for I had just flung my books and papers aside, and was wishing for
+a little social converse; and when we had conversed for some little
+time together, Francis Ardry proposed that we should go to the play
+to see Kean; so we went to the play, and saw&mdash;not Kean, who at
+that time was ashamed to show himself, but&mdash;a man who was not ashamed
+to show himself, and who people said was a much better man than Kean&mdash;as
+I have no doubt he was&mdash;though whether he was a better actor I
+cannot say, for I never saw Kean.</p>
+<p>Two or three evenings after Francis Ardry came to see me again, and
+again we went out together, and Francis Ardry took me to&mdash;shall
+I say?&mdash;why not?&mdash;a gaming-house, where I saw people playing,
+and where I saw Francis Ardry play and lose five guineas, and where
+I lost nothing, because I did not play, though I felt somewhat inclined;
+for a man with a white hat and a sparkling eye held up a box which contained
+something which rattled, and asked me to fling the bones.&nbsp; &lsquo;There
+is nothing like flinging the bones!&rsquo; said he, and then I thought
+I should like to know what kind of thing flinging the bones was; I,
+however, restrained myself.&nbsp; &lsquo;There is nothing like flinging
+the bones!&rsquo; shouted the man, as my friend and myself left the
+room.</p>
+<p>Long life and prosperity to Francis Ardry! but for him I should not
+have obtained knowledge which I did of the strange and eccentric places
+of London.&nbsp; Some of the places to which he took me were very strange
+places indeed; but, however strange the places were, I observed that
+the inhabitants thought there were no places like their several places,
+and no occupations like their several occupations; and among other strange
+places to which Francis Ardry conducted me was a place not far from
+the abbey church of Westminster.</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page223b.jpg">
+<img alt="&lsquo;There is nothing like flinging the bones!&rsquo;" src="images/page223s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>Before we entered this place our ears were greeted by a confused
+hubbub of human voices, squealing of rats, barking of dogs, and the
+cries of various other animals.&nbsp; Here we beheld a kind of cock-pit,
+around which a great many people, seeming of all ranks, but chiefly
+of the lower, were gathered, and in it we saw a dog destroy a great
+many rats in a very small period; and when the dog had destroyed the
+rats, we saw a fight between a dog and a bear, then a fight between
+two dogs, then . . . .</p>
+<p>After the diversions of the day were over, my friend introduced me
+to the genius of the place, a small man of about five feet high, with
+a very sharp countenance, and dressed in a brown jockey coat and top
+boots.&nbsp; &lsquo;Joey,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;this is a friend of
+mine.&rsquo;&nbsp; Joey nodded to me with a patronising air.&nbsp; &lsquo;Glad
+to see you, sir!&mdash;want a dog?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have got one, then&mdash;want to match him?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We have a dog at home,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;in the country;
+but I can&rsquo;t say I should like to match him.&nbsp; Indeed, I do
+not like dog-fighting.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not like dog-fighting!&rsquo; said the man, staring.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The truth is, Joe, that he is just come to town.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So I should think; he looks rather green&mdash;not like dog-fighting!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nothing like it, is there, Joey?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I should think not; what is like it?&nbsp; A time will come,
+and that speedily, when folks will give up everything else, and follow
+dog-fighting.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you think so?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Think so?&nbsp; Let me ask what there is that a man wouldn&rsquo;t
+give up for it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why,&rsquo; said I, modestly, &lsquo;there&rsquo;s religion.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Religion!&nbsp; How you talk.&nbsp; Why, there&rsquo;s myself
+bred and born an Independent, and intended to be a preacher, didn&rsquo;t
+I give up religion for dog-fighting?&nbsp; Religion, indeed!&nbsp; If
+it were not for the rascally law, my pit would fill better on Sundays
+than any other time.&nbsp; Who would go to church when they could come
+to my pit?&nbsp; Religion! why, the parsons themselves come to my pit;
+and I have now a letter in my pocket from one of them, asking me to
+send him a dog.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, then, politics,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Politics!&nbsp; Why, the gemmen in the House would leave Pitt
+himself, if he were alive, to come to my pit.&nbsp; There were three
+of the best of them here to-night, all great horators.&mdash;Get on
+with you, what comes next?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, there&rsquo;s learning and letters.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Pretty things, truly, to keep people from dog-fighting.&nbsp;
+Why, there&rsquo;s the young gentlemen from the Abbey School comes here
+in shoals, leaving books, and letters, and masters too.&nbsp; To tell
+you the truth, I rather wish they would mind their letters, for a more
+precious set of young blackguards I never seed.&nbsp; It was only the
+other day I was thinking of calling in a constable for my own protection,
+for I thought my pit would have been torn down by them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Scarcely knowing what to say, I made an observation at random.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;You show, by your own conduct,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;that there
+are other things worth following besides dog-fighting.&nbsp; You practise
+rat-catching and badger-baiting as well.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The dog-fancier eyed me with supreme contempt.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Your friend here,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;might well call you
+a new one.&nbsp; When I talks of dog-fighting, I of course means rat-catching,
+and badger-baiting, ay, and bull-baiting too, just as when I speaks
+religiously, when I says one I means not one but three.&nbsp; And talking
+of religion puts me in mind that I have something else to do besides
+chaffing here, having a batch of dogs to send off by this night&rsquo;s
+packet to the Pope of Rome.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>But at last I had seen enough of what London had to show, whether
+strange or commonplace, so at least I thought, and I ceased to accompany
+my friend in his rambles about town, and to partake of his adventures.&nbsp;
+Our friendship, however, still continued unabated, though I saw, in
+consequence, less of him.&nbsp; I reflected that time was passing on&mdash;that
+the little money I had brought to town was fast consuming, and that
+I had nothing to depend upon but my own exertions for a fresh supply;
+and I returned with redoubled application to my pursuits.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXVI</h2>
+<p>Occupations&mdash;Traduttore traditore&mdash;Ode to the Mist&mdash;Apple
+and pear&mdash;Reviewing&mdash;Current literature&mdash;Oxford-like
+manner&mdash;A plain story&mdash;Ill-regulated mind&mdash;Unsnuffed
+candle&mdash;Strange dreams.</p>
+<p>I compiled the Chronicles of Newgate; I reviewed books for the Review
+established on an entirely new principle; and I occasionally tried my
+best to translate into German portions of the publisher&rsquo;s philosophy.&nbsp;
+In this last task I experienced more than one difficulty.&nbsp; I was
+a tolerable German scholar, it is true, and I had long been able to
+translate from German into English with considerable facility; but to
+translate from a foreign language into your own is a widely different
+thing from translating from your own into a foreign language; and, in
+my first attempt to render the publisher into German, I was conscious
+of making miserable failures, from pure ignorance of German grammar;
+however, by the assistance of grammars and dictionaries, and by extreme
+perseverance, I at length overcame all the difficulties connected with
+the German language.&nbsp; But, alas! another difficulty remained, far
+greater than any connected with German&mdash;a difficulty connected
+with the language of the publisher&mdash;the language which the great
+man employed in his writings was very hard to understand; I say in his
+writings&mdash;for his colloquial English was plain enough.&nbsp; Though
+not professing to be a scholar, he was much addicted, when writing,
+to the use of Greek and Latin terms, not as other people used them,
+but in a manner of his own, which set the authority of dictionaries
+at defiance; the consequence was that I was sometimes utterly at a loss
+to understand the meaning of the publisher.&nbsp; Many a quarter of
+an hour did I pass at this period, staring at periods of the publisher,
+and wondering what he could mean, but in vain, till at last, with a
+shake of the head, I would snatch up the pen, and render the publisher
+literally into German.&nbsp; Sometimes I was almost tempted to substitute
+something of my own for what the publisher had written, but my conscience
+interposed; the awful words, Traduttore traditore, commenced ringing
+in my ears, and I asked myself whether I should be acting honourably
+towards the publisher, who had committed to me the delicate task of
+translating him into German; should I be acting honourably towards him,
+in making him speak in German in a manner different from that in which
+he expressed himself in English?&nbsp; No, I could not reconcile such
+conduct with any principle of honour; by substituting something of my
+own in lieu of these mysterious passages of the publisher, I might be
+giving a fatal blow to his whole system of philosophy.&nbsp; Besides,
+when translating into English, had I treated foreign authors in this
+manner?&nbsp; Had I treated the minstrels of the Kaempe Viser in this
+manner?&mdash;No.&nbsp; Had I treated Ab Gwilym in this manner?&nbsp;
+Even when translating his Ode to the Mist, in which he is misty enough,
+had I attempted to make Ab Gwilym less misty?&nbsp; No; on referring
+to my translation, I found that Ab Gwilym in my hands was quite as misty
+as in his own.&nbsp; Then, seeing that I had not ventured to take liberties
+with people who had never put themselves into my hands for the purpose
+of being rendered, how could I venture to substitute my own thoughts
+and ideas for the publisher&rsquo;s, who had put himself into my hands
+for that purpose?&nbsp; Forbid it every proper feeling!&mdash;so I told
+the Germans, in the publisher&rsquo;s own way, the publisher&rsquo;s
+tale of an apple and a pear.</p>
+<p>I at first felt much inclined to be of the publisher&rsquo;s opinion
+with respect to the theory of the pear.&nbsp; After all, why should
+the earth be shaped like an apple, and not like a pear?&mdash;it would
+certainly gain in appearance by being shaped like a pear.&nbsp; A pear
+being a handsomer fruit than an apple, the publisher is probably right,
+thought I, and I will say that he is right on this point in the notice
+which I am about to write of his publication for the Review.&nbsp; And
+yet I don&rsquo;t know&mdash;said I, after a long fit of musing&mdash;I
+don&rsquo;t know but what there is more to be said for the Oxford theory.&nbsp;
+The world may be shaped like a pear, but I don&rsquo;t know that it
+is; but one thing I know, which is, that it does not taste like a pear;
+I have always liked pears, but I don&rsquo;t like the world.&nbsp; The
+world to me tastes much more like an apple, and I have never liked apples.&nbsp;
+I will uphold the Oxford theory&mdash;besides, I am writing in an Oxford
+Review, and am in duty bound to uphold the Oxford theory.&nbsp; So in
+my notice I asserted that the world was round; I quoted Scripture, and
+endeavoured to prove that the world was typified by the apple in Scripture,
+both as to shape and properties.&nbsp; &lsquo;An apple is round,&rsquo;
+said I, &lsquo;and the world is round&mdash;the apple is a sour, disagreeable
+fruit; and who has tasted much of the world without having his teeth
+set on edge?&rsquo;&nbsp; I, however, treated the publisher, upon the
+whole, in the most urbane and Oxford-like manner; complimenting him
+upon his style, acknowledging the general soundness of his views, and
+only differing with him in the affair of the apple and pear.</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page228b.jpg">
+<img alt="I did not like reviewing at all&mdash;it was not to my taste" src="images/page228s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>I did not like reviewing at all&mdash;it was not to my taste; it
+was not in my way; I liked it far less than translating the publisher&rsquo;s
+philosophy, for that was something in the line of one whom a competent
+judge had surnamed Lavengro.&nbsp; I never could understand why reviews
+were instituted; works of merit do not require to be reviewed, they
+can speak for themselves, and require no praising; works of no merit
+at all will die of themselves, they require no killing.&nbsp; The Review
+to which I was attached was, as has been already intimated, established
+on an entirely new plan; it professed to review all new publications,
+which certainly no Review had ever professed to do before, other Reviews
+never pretending to review more than one-tenth of the current literature
+of the day.&nbsp; When I say it professed to review all new publications,
+I should add, which should be sent to it; for, of course, the Review
+would not acknowledge the existence of publications, the authors of
+which did not acknowledge the existence of the Review.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t
+think, however, that the Review had much cause to complain of being
+neglected; I have reason to believe that at least nine-tenths of the
+publications of the day were sent to the Review, and in due time reviewed.&nbsp;
+I had good opportunity of judging&mdash;I was connected with several
+departments of the Review, though more particularly with the poetical
+and philosophic ones.&nbsp; An English translation of Kant&rsquo;s philosophy
+made its appearance on my table the day before its publication.&nbsp;
+In my notice of this work I said that the English shortly hoped to give
+the Germans a <i>quid pro quo</i>.&nbsp; I believe at that time authors
+were much in the habit of publishing at their own expense.&nbsp; All
+the poetry which I reviewed appeared to be published at the expense
+of the authors.&nbsp; If I am asked how I comported myself, under all
+circumstances, as a reviewer&mdash;I answer,&mdash;I did not forget
+that I was connected with a Review established on Oxford principles,
+the editor of which had translated Quintilian.&nbsp; All the publications
+which fell under my notice I treated in a gentlemanly and Oxford-like
+manner, no personalities&mdash;no vituperation&mdash;no shabby insinuations;
+decorum, decorum was the order of the day.&nbsp; Occasionally a word
+of admonition, but gently expressed, as an Oxford undergraduate might
+have expressed it, or master of arts.&nbsp; How the authors whose publications
+were consigned to my colleagues were treated by them I know not; I suppose
+they were treated in an urbane and Oxford-like manner, but I cannot
+say; I did not read the reviewals of my colleagues, I did not read my
+own after they were printed.&nbsp; I did not like reviewing.</p>
+<p>Of all my occupations at this period I am free to confess I liked
+that of compiling the <i>Newgate Lives and Trials</i> the best; that
+is, after I had surmounted a kind of prejudice which I originally entertained.&nbsp;
+The trials were entertaining enough; but the lives&mdash;how full were
+they of wild and racy adventures, and in what racy, genuine language
+were they told!&nbsp; What struck me most with respect to these lives
+was the art which the writers, whoever they were, possessed of telling
+a plain story.&nbsp; It is no easy thing to tell a story plainly and
+distinctly by mouth; but to tell one on paper is difficult indeed, so
+many snares lie in the way.&nbsp; People are afraid to put down what
+is common on paper, they seek to embellish their narratives, as they
+think, by philosophic speculations and reflections; they are anxious
+to shine, and people who are anxious to shine can never tell a plain
+story.&nbsp; &lsquo;So I went with them to a music booth, where they
+made me almost drunk with gin, and began to talk their flash language,
+which I did not understand,&rsquo; says, or is made to say, Henry Simms,
+executed at Tyburn some seventy years before the time of which I am
+speaking.&nbsp; I have always looked upon this sentence as a masterpiece
+of the narrative style, it is so concise and yet so very clear.&nbsp;
+As I gazed on passages like this, and there were many nearly as good
+in the Newgate lives, I often sighed that it was not my fortune to have
+to render these lives into German rather than the publisher&rsquo;s
+philosophy&mdash;his tale of an apple and pear.</p>
+<p>Mine was an ill-regulated mind at this period.&nbsp; As I read over
+the lives of these robbers and pickpockets, strange doubts began to
+arise in my mind about virtue and crime.&nbsp; Years before, when quite
+a boy, as in one of the early chapters I have hinted, I had been a necessitarian;
+I had even written an essay on crime (I have it now before me, penned
+in a round boyish hand), in which I attempted to prove that there is
+no such thing as crime or virtue, all our actions being the result of
+circumstances or necessity.&nbsp; These doubts were now again reviving
+in my mind; I could not, for the life of me, imagine how, taking all
+circumstances into consideration, these highwaymen, these pickpockets,
+should have been anything else than highwaymen and pickpockets; any
+more than how, taking all circumstances into consideration, Bishop Latimer
+(the reader is aware that I had read Foxe&rsquo;s <i>Book of Martyrs</i>)
+should have been anything else than Bishop Latimer.&nbsp; I had a very
+ill-regulated mind at that period.</p>
+<p>My own peculiar ideas with respect to everything being a lying dream
+began also to revive.&nbsp; Sometimes at midnight, after having toiled
+for hours at my occupations, I would fling myself back on my chair,
+look about the poor apartment, dimly lighted by an unsnuffed candle,
+or upon the heaps of books and papers before me, and exclaim,&mdash;&lsquo;Do
+I exist?&nbsp; Do these things, which I think I see about me, exist,
+or do they not?&nbsp; Is not everything a dream&mdash;a deceitful dream?&nbsp;
+Is not this apartment a dream&mdash;the furniture a dream?&nbsp; The
+publisher a dream&mdash;his philosophy a dream?&nbsp; Am I not myself
+a dream&mdash;dreaming about translating a dream?&nbsp; I can&rsquo;t
+see why all should not be a dream; what&rsquo;s the use of the reality?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+And then I would pinch myself, and snuff the burdened smoky light.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I can&rsquo;t see, for the life of me, the use of all this; therefore
+why should I think that it exists?&nbsp; If there was a chance, a probability,
+of all this tending to anything, I might believe; but&mdash;&rsquo;
+and then I would stare and think, and after some time shake my head
+and return again to my occupations for an hour or two; and then I would
+perhaps shake, and shiver, and yawn, and look wistfully in the direction
+of my sleeping apartment; and then, but not wistfully, at the papers
+and books before me; and sometimes I would return to my papers and books;
+but oftener I would arise, and, after another yawn and shiver, take
+my light, and proceed to my sleeping chamber.</p>
+<p>They say that light fare begets light dreams; my fare at that time
+was light enough; but I had anything but light dreams, for at that period
+I had all kind of strange and extravagant dreams, and amongst other
+things I dreamt that the whole world had taken to dog-fighting; and
+that I, myself, had taken to dog-fighting, and that in a vast circus
+I backed an English bulldog against the bloodhound of the Pope of Rome.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXVII</h2>
+<p>My brother&mdash;Fits of crying&mdash;Mayor-elect&mdash;The committee&mdash;The
+Norman arch&mdash;A word of Greek&mdash;Church and State&mdash;At my
+own expense&mdash;If you please.</p>
+<p>One morning I arose somewhat later than usual, having been occupied
+during the greater part of the night with my literary toil.&nbsp; On
+descending from my chamber into the sitting-room I found a person seated
+by the fire, whose glance was directed sideways to the table, on which
+were the usual preparations for my morning&rsquo;s meal.&nbsp; Forthwith
+I gave a cry, and sprang forward to embrace the person; for the person
+by the fire, whose glance was directed to the table, was no one else
+than my brother.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And how are things going on at home?&rsquo; said I to my brother,
+after we had kissed and embraced.&nbsp; &lsquo;How is my mother, and
+how is the dog?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My mother, thank God, is tolerably well,&rsquo; said my brother,
+&lsquo;but very much given to fits of crying.&nbsp; As for the dog,
+he is not so well; but we will talk more of these matters anon,&rsquo;
+said my brother, again glancing at the breakfast things: &lsquo;I am
+very hungry, as you may suppose, after having travelled all night.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Thereupon I exerted myself to the best of my ability to perform the
+duties of hospitality, and I made my brother welcome&mdash;I may say
+more than welcome; and, when the rage of my brother&rsquo;s hunger was
+somewhat abated, we recommenced talking about the matters of our little
+family, and my brother told me much about my mother; he spoke of her
+fits of crying, but said that of late the said fits of crying had much
+diminished, and she appeared to be taking comfort; and, if I am not
+much mistaken, my brother told me that my mother had of late the Prayer-book
+frequently in her hand, and yet oftener the Bible.</p>
+<p>We were silent for a time&mdash;at last I opened my mouth and mentioned
+the dog.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The dog,&rsquo; said my brother, &lsquo;is, I am afraid, in
+a very poor way; ever since the death he has done nothing but pine and
+take on.&nbsp; A few months ago, you remember, he was as plump and fine
+as any dog in the town; but at present he is little more than skin and
+bone.&nbsp; Once we lost him for two days, and never expected to see
+him again, imagining that some mischance had befallen him; at length
+I found him&mdash;where do you think?&nbsp; Chancing to pass by the
+churchyard, I found him seated on the grave!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very strange,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;but let us talk of something
+else.&nbsp; It was very kind of you to come and see me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, as for that matter, I did not come up to see you, though
+of course I am very glad to see you, having been rather anxious about
+you, like my mother, who has received only one letter from you since
+your departure.&nbsp; No, I did not come up on purpose to see you; but
+on quite a different account.&nbsp; You must know that the corporation
+of our town have lately elected a new mayor, a person of many qualifications&mdash;big
+and portly, with a voice like Boanerges; a religious man, the possessor
+of an immense pew; loyal, so much so that I once heard him say that
+he would at any time go three miles to hear any one sing &ldquo;God
+save the King&rdquo;; moreover, a giver of excellent dinners.&nbsp;
+Such is our present mayor; who, owing to his loyalty, his religion,
+and a little, perhaps, to his dinners, is a mighty favourite; so much
+so that the town is anxious to have his portrait painted in a superior
+style, so that remote posterity may know what kind of man he was, the
+colour of his hair, his air and gait.&nbsp; So a committee was formed
+some time ago, which is still sitting; that is, they dine with the mayor
+every day to talk over the subject.&nbsp; A few days since, to my great
+surprise, they made their appearance in my poor studio, and desired
+to be favoured with a sight of some of my paintings; well, I showed
+them some, and, after looking at them with great attention, they went
+aside and whispered.&nbsp; &ldquo;He&rsquo;ll do,&rdquo; I heard one
+say; &ldquo;Yes, he&rsquo;ll do,&rdquo; said another; and then they
+came to me, and one of them, a little man with a hump on his back, who
+is a watchmaker, assumed the office of spokesman, and made a long speech&mdash;(the
+old town has been always celebrated for orators)&mdash;in which he told
+me how much they had been pleased with my productions&mdash;(the old
+town has been always celebrated for its artistic taste)&mdash;and, what
+do you think? offered me the painting of the mayor&rsquo;s portrait,
+and a hundred pounds for my trouble.&nbsp; Well, of course I was much
+surprised, and for a minute or two could scarcely speak; recovering
+myself, however, I made a speech, not so eloquent as that of the watchmaker
+of course, being not so accustomed to speaking; but not so bad either,
+taking everything into consideration, telling them how flattered I felt
+by the honour which they had conferred in proposing to me such an undertaking;
+expressing, however, my fears that I was not competent to the task,
+and concluding by saying what a pity it was that Crome was dead.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Crome,&rdquo; said the little man, &ldquo;Crome; yes, he was
+a clever man, a very clever man in his way; he was good at painting
+landscapes and farm-houses, but he would not do in the present instance
+were he alive.&nbsp; He had no conception of the heroic, sir.&nbsp;
+We want some person capable of representing our mayor striding under
+the Norman arch out of the cathedral.&rdquo;&nbsp; At the mention of
+the heroic an idea came at once into my head.&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh,&rdquo;
+said I, &ldquo;if you are in quest of the heroic, I am glad that you
+came to me; don&rsquo;t mistake me,&rdquo; I continued, &ldquo;I do
+not mean to say that I could do justice to your subject, though I am
+fond of the heroic; but I can introduce you to a great master of the
+heroic, fully competent to do justice to your mayor.&nbsp; Not to me,
+therefore, be the painting of the picture given, but to a friend of
+mine, the great master of the heroic, to the best, the strongest, &pi;&omega;
+&kappa;&rho;&alpha;&tau;&iota;&sigma;&tau;&omega;&rdquo; I added, for,
+being amongst orators, I thought a word of Greek would tell.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;and what did the orators say?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They gazed dubiously at me and at one another,&rsquo; said
+my brother; &lsquo;at last the watchmaker asked me who this Mr. Christo
+was; adding, that he had never heard of such a person; that, from my
+recommendation of him, he had no doubt that he was a very clever man;
+but that they should like to know something more about him before giving
+the commission to him.&nbsp; That he had heard of Christie the great
+auctioneer, who was considered to be an excellent judge of pictures;
+but he supposed that I scarcely&mdash;Whereupon, interrupting the watchmaker,
+I told him that I alluded neither to Christo nor to Christie; but to
+the painter of Lazarus rising from the grave, a painter under whom I
+had myself studied during some months that I had spent in London, and
+to whom I was indebted for much connected with the heroic.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&ldquo;I have heard of him,&rdquo; said the watchmaker, &ldquo;and
+his paintings too; but I am afraid that he is not exactly the gentleman
+by whom our mayor would wish to be painted.&nbsp; I have heard say that
+he is not a very good friend to Church and State.&nbsp; Come, young
+man,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;it appears to me that you are too modest;
+I like your style of painting, so do we all, and&mdash;why should I
+mince the matter?&mdash;the money is to be collected in the town, why
+should it go into a stranger&rsquo;s pocket, and be spent in London?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thereupon I made them a speech, in which I said that art had
+nothing to do with Church and State, at least with English Church and
+State, which had never encouraged it; and that, though Church and State
+were doubtless very fine things, a man might be a very good artist who
+cared not a straw for either.&nbsp; I then made use of some more Greek
+words, and told them how painting was one of the Nine Muses, and one
+of the most independent creatures alive, inspiring whom she pleased,
+and asking leave of nobody; that I should be quite unworthy of the favours
+of the Muse if, on the present occasion, I did not recommend them a
+man whom I considered to be a much greater master of the heroic than
+myself; and that, with regard to the money being spent in the city,
+I had no doubt that they would not weigh for a moment such a consideration
+against the chance of getting a true heroic picture for the city.&nbsp;
+I never talked so well in my life, and said so many flattering things
+to the hunchback and his friends, that at last they said that I should
+have my own way; and that if I pleased to go up to London, and bring
+down the painter of Lazarus to paint the mayor, I might; so they then
+bade me farewell, and I have come up to London.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To put a hundred pounds into the hands of&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A better man than myself,&rsquo; said my brother, &lsquo;of
+course.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And have you come up at your own expense?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said my brother, &lsquo;I have come up at my own
+expense.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I made no answer, but looked in my brother&rsquo;s face.&nbsp; We
+then returned to the former subjects of conversation, talking of the
+dead, my mother, and the dog.</p>
+<p>After some time my brother said, &lsquo;I will now go to the painter,
+and communicate to him the business which has brought me to town; and,
+if you please, I will take you with me and introduce you to him.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Having expressed my willingness, we descended into the street.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXVIII</h2>
+<p>Painter of the heroic&mdash;I&rsquo;ll go!&mdash;A modest peep&mdash;Who
+is this?&mdash;A capital Pharaoh&mdash;Disproportionably short&mdash;Imaginary
+picture&mdash;English figures.</p>
+<p>The painter of the heroic resided a great way off, at the western
+end of the town.&nbsp; We had some difficulty in obtaining admission
+to him; a maid-servant, who opened the door, eyeing us somewhat suspiciously:
+it was not until my brother had said that he was a friend of the painter
+that we were permitted to pass the threshold.&nbsp; At length we were
+shown into the studio, where we found the painter, with an easel and
+brush, standing before a huge piece of canvas, on which he had lately
+commenced painting a heroic picture.&nbsp; The painter might be about
+thirty-five years old; he had a clever, intelligent countenance, with
+a sharp gray eye&mdash;his hair was dark brown, and cut &agrave;-la-Rafael,
+as I was subsequently told, that is, there was little before and much
+behind&mdash;he did not wear a neck-cloth; but, in its stead, a black
+riband, so that his neck, which was rather fine, was somewhat exposed&mdash;he
+had a broad, muscular breast, and I make no doubt that he would have
+been a very fine figure, but unfortunately his legs and thighs were
+somewhat short.&nbsp; He recognised my brother, and appeared glad to
+see him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What brings you to London?&rsquo; said he.</p>
+<p>Whereupon my brother gave him a brief account of his commission.&nbsp;
+At the mention of the hundred pounds, I observed the eyes of the painter
+glisten.&nbsp; &lsquo;Really,&rsquo; said he, when my brother had concluded,
+&lsquo;it was very kind to think of me.&nbsp; I am not very fond of
+painting portraits; but a mayor is a mayor, and there is something grand
+in that idea of the Norman arch.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll go; moreover, I am
+just at this moment confoundedly in need of money, and when you knocked
+at the door, I don&rsquo;t mind telling you, I thought it was some dun.&nbsp;
+I don&rsquo;t know how it is, but in the capital they have no taste
+for the heroic, they will scarce look at a heroic picture; I am glad
+to hear that they have better taste in the provinces.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll
+go; when shall we set off?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Thereupon it was arranged between the painter and my brother that
+they should depart the next day but one; they then began to talk of
+art.&nbsp; &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll stick to the heroic,&rsquo; said the painter;
+&lsquo;I now and then dabble in the comic, but what I do gives me no
+pleasure, the comic is so low; there is nothing like the heroic.&nbsp;
+I am engaged here on a heroic picture,&rsquo; said he, pointing to the
+canvas; &lsquo;the subject is &ldquo;Pharaoh dismissing Moses from Egypt,&rdquo;
+after the last plague&mdash;the death of the first-born; it is not far
+advanced&mdash;that finished figure is Moses&rsquo;: they both looked
+at the canvas, and I, standing behind, took a modest peep.&nbsp; The
+picture, as the painter said, was not far advanced, the Pharaoh was
+merely in outline; my eye was, of course, attracted by the finished
+figure, or rather what the painter had called the finished figure; but,
+as I gazed upon it, it appeared to me that there was something defective&mdash;something
+unsatisfactory in the figure.&nbsp; I concluded, however, that the painter,
+notwithstanding what he had said, had omitted to give it the finishing
+touch.&nbsp; &lsquo;I intend this to be my best picture,&rsquo; said
+the painter; &lsquo;what I want now is a face for Pharaoh; I have long
+been meditating on a face for Pharaoh.&rsquo;&nbsp; Here, chancing to
+cast his eye upon my countenance, of whom he had scarcely taken any
+manner of notice, he remained with his mouth open for some time.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Who is this?&rsquo; said he at last.&nbsp; &lsquo;Oh, this is
+my brother, I forgot to introduce him.&rsquo; . . .</p>
+<p>We presently afterwards departed; my brother talked much about the
+painter.&nbsp; &lsquo;He is a noble fellow,&rsquo; said my brother;
+&lsquo;but, like many other noble fellows, has a great many enemies;
+he is hated by his brethren of the brush&mdash;all the land and water
+scape painters hate him&mdash;but, above all, the race of portrait-painters,
+who are ten times more numerous than the other two sorts, detest him
+for his heroic tendencies.&nbsp; It will be a kind of triumph to the
+last, I fear, when they hear he has condescended to paint a portrait;
+however, that Norman arch will enable him to escape from their malice&mdash;that
+is a capital idea of the watchmaker, that Norman arch.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I spent a happy day with my brother.&nbsp; On the morrow he went
+again to the painter, with whom he dined; I did not go with him.&nbsp;
+On his return he said, &lsquo;The painter has been asking a great many
+questions about you, and expressed a wish that you would sit to him
+as Pharaoh; he thinks you would make a capital Pharaoh.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I have no wish to appear on canvas,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;moreover
+he can find much better Pharaohs than myself; and, if he wants a real
+Pharaoh, there is a certain Mr. Petulengro.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Petulengro?&rsquo;
+said my brother; &lsquo;a strange kind of fellow came up to me some
+time ago in our town, and asked me about you; when I inquired his name,
+he told me Petulengro.&nbsp; No, he will not do, he is too short; by
+the bye, do you not think that figure of Moses is somewhat short?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+And then it appeared to me that I had thought the figure of Moses somewhat
+short, and I told my brother so.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said my brother.</p>
+<p>On the morrow my brother departed with the painter for the old town,
+and there the painter painted the mayor.&nbsp; I did not see the picture
+for a great many years, when, chancing to be at the old town, I beheld
+it.</p>
+<p>The original mayor was a mighty, portly man, with a bull&rsquo;s
+head, black hair, body like that of a dray horse, and legs and thighs
+corresponding; a man six foot high at the least.&nbsp; To his bull&rsquo;s
+head, black hair, and body the painter had done justice; there was one
+point, however, in which the portrait did not correspond with the original&mdash;the
+legs were disproportionably short, the painter having substituted his
+own legs for those of the mayor, which when I perceived I rejoiced that
+I had not consented to be painted as Pharaoh, for, if I had, the chances
+are that he would have served me in exactly a similar way as he had
+served Moses and the mayor.</p>
+<p>Short legs in a heroic picture will never do; and, upon the whole,
+I think the painter&rsquo;s attempt at the heroic in painting the mayor
+of the old town a decided failure.&nbsp; If I am now asked whether the
+picture would have been a heroic one provided the painter had not substituted
+his own legs for those of the mayor&mdash;I must say, I am afraid not.&nbsp;
+I have no idea of making heroic pictures out of English mayors, even
+with the assistance of Norman arches; yet I am sure that capital pictures
+might be made out of English mayors, not issuing from Norman arches,
+but rather from the door of the &lsquo;Checquers&rsquo; or the &lsquo;Brewers
+Three.&rsquo;&nbsp; The painter in question had great comic power, which
+he scarcely ever cultivated; he would fain be a Rafael, which he never
+could be, when he might have been something quite as good&mdash;another
+Hogarth; the only comic piece which he ever presented to the world being
+something little inferior to the best of that illustrious master.&nbsp;
+I have often thought what a capital picture might have been made by
+my brother&rsquo;s friend, if, instead of making the mayor issue out
+of the Norman arch, he had painted him moving under the sign of the
+&lsquo;Checquers,&rsquo; or the &lsquo;Three Brewers,&rsquo; with mace&mdash;yes,
+with mace,&mdash;the mace appears in the picture issuing out of the
+Norman arch behind the mayor,&mdash;but likewise with Snap, and with
+whiffler, quart pot, and frying-pan, Billy Blind and Owlenglass, Mr.
+Petulengro and Pakomovna;&mdash;then, had he clapped his own legs upon
+the mayor, or any one else in the concourse, what matter?&nbsp; But
+I repeat that I have no hope of making heroic pictures out of English
+mayors, or, indeed, out of English figures in general.&nbsp; England
+may be a land of heroic hearts, but it is not, properly, a land of heroic
+figures, or heroic posture-making.&nbsp; Italy . . . what was I going
+to say about Italy?</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXIX</h2>
+<p>No authority whatever&mdash;Interference&mdash;Wondrous farrago&mdash;Brandt
+and Struensee&mdash;What a life!&mdash;The hearse&mdash;Mortal relics&mdash;Great
+poet&mdash;Fashion and fame&mdash;What a difference&mdash;Oh, beautiful&mdash;Good
+for nothing.</p>
+<p>And now once more to my pursuits, to my Lives and Trials.&nbsp; However
+partial at first I might be to these lives and trials, it was not long
+before they became regular trials to me, owing to the whims and caprices
+of the publisher.&nbsp; I had not been long connected with him before
+I discovered that he was wonderfully fond of interfering with other
+people&rsquo;s business&mdash;at least with the business of those who
+were under his control.&nbsp; What a life did his unfortunate authors
+lead!&nbsp; He had many in his employ toiling at all kinds of subjects&mdash;I
+call them authors because there is something respectable in the term
+author, though they had little authorship in, and no authority whatever
+over the works on which they were engaged.&nbsp; It is true the publisher
+interfered with some colour of reason, the plan of all and every of
+the works alluded to having originated with himself; and, be it observed,
+many of his plans were highly clever and promising, for, as I have already
+had occasion to say, the publisher in many points was a highly clever
+and sagacious person; but he ought to have been contented with planning
+the works originally, and have left to other people the task of executing
+them, instead of which he marred everything by his rage for interference.&nbsp;
+If a book of fairy tales was being compiled, he was sure to introduce
+some of his philosophy, explaining the fairy tale by some theory of
+his own.&nbsp; Was a book of anecdotes on hand, it was sure to be half
+filled with sayings and doings of himself during the time that he was
+common councilman of the City of London.&nbsp; Now, however fond the
+public might be of fairy tales, it by no means relished them in conjunction
+with the publisher&rsquo;s philosophy; and however fond of anecdotes
+in general, or even of the publisher in particular&mdash;for indeed
+there were a great many anecdotes in circulation about him which the
+public both read and listened to very readily&mdash;it took no pleasure
+in such anecdotes as he was disposed to relate about himself.&nbsp;
+In the compilation of my Lives and Trials I was exposed to incredible
+mortification, and ceaseless trouble, from this same rage for interference.&nbsp;
+It is true he could not introduce his philosophy into the work, nor
+was it possible for him to introduce anecdotes of himself, having never
+had the good or evil fortune to be tried at the bar; but he was continually
+introducing&mdash;what, under a less apathetic government than the one
+then being, would have infallibly subjected him, and perhaps myself,
+to a trial,&mdash;his politics; not his Oxford or pseudo politics, but
+the politics which he really entertained, and which were of the most
+republican and violent kind.&nbsp; But this was not all; when about
+a moiety of the first volume had been printed, he materially altered
+the plan of the work; it was no longer to be a collection of mere Newgate
+lives and trials, but of lives and trials of criminals in general, foreign
+as well as domestic.&nbsp; In a little time the work became a wondrous
+farrago, in which K&ouml;nigsmark the robber figured by the side of
+Sam Lynn, and the Marchioness de Brinvilliers was placed in contact
+with a Chinese outlaw.&nbsp; What gave me the most trouble and annoyance
+was the publisher&rsquo;s remembering some life or trial, foreign or
+domestic, which he wished to be inserted, and which I was forthwith
+to go in quest of and purchase at my own expense: some of those lives
+and trials were by no means easy to find.&nbsp; &lsquo;Where is Brandt
+and Struensee?&rsquo; cries the publisher; &lsquo;I am sure I don&rsquo;t
+know,&rsquo; I replied; whereupon the publisher falls to squealing like
+one of Joey&rsquo;s rats.&nbsp; &lsquo;Find me up Brandt and Struensee
+by next morning, or&mdash;&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Have you found Brandt
+and Struensee?&rsquo; cried the publisher, on my appearing before him
+next morning.&nbsp; &lsquo;No,&rsquo; I reply, &lsquo;I can hear nothing
+about them&rsquo;; whereupon the publisher falls to bellowing like Joey&rsquo;s
+bull.&nbsp; By dint of incredible diligence, I at length discover the
+dingy volume containing the lives and trials of the celebrated two who
+had brooded treason dangerous to the state of Denmark.&nbsp; I purchase
+the dingy volume, and bring it in triumph to the publisher, the perspiration
+running down my brow.&nbsp; The publisher takes the dingy volume in
+his hand, he examines it attentively, then puts it down; his countenance
+is calm for a moment, almost benign.&nbsp; Another moment and there
+is a gleam in the publisher&rsquo;s sinister eye; he snatches up the
+paper containing the names of the worthies which I have intended shall
+figure in the forthcoming volumes&mdash;he glances rapidly over it,
+and his countenance once more assumes a terrific expression.&nbsp; &lsquo;How
+is this?&rsquo; he exclaims; &lsquo;I can scarcely believe my eyes&mdash;the
+most important life and trial omitted to be found in the whole criminal
+record&mdash;what gross, what utter negligence!&nbsp; Where&rsquo;s
+the life of Farmer Patch? where&rsquo;s the trial of Yeoman Patch?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What a life! what a dog&rsquo;s life!&rsquo; I would frequently
+exclaim, after escaping from the presence of the publisher.</p>
+<p>One day, after a scene with the publisher similar to that which I
+have described above, I found myself about noon at the bottom of Oxford
+Street, where it forms a right angle with the road which leads or did
+lead to Tottenham Court.&nbsp; Happening to cast my eyes around, it
+suddenly occurred to me that something uncommon was expected; people
+were standing in groups on the pavement&mdash;the upstair windows of
+the houses were thronged with faces, especially those of women, and
+many of the shops were partly, and not a few entirely, closed.&nbsp;
+What could be the reason of all this?&nbsp; All at once I bethought
+me that this street of Oxford was no other than the far-famed Tyburn
+way.&nbsp; Oh, oh, thought I, an execution; some handsome young robber
+is about to be executed at the farther end; just so, see how earnestly
+the women are peering; perhaps another Harry Simms&mdash;Gentleman Harry
+as they called him&mdash;is about to be carted along this street to
+Tyburn tree; but then I remembered that Tyburn tree had long since been
+cut down, and that criminals, whether young or old, good-looking or
+ugly, were executed before the big stone gaol, which I had looked at
+with a kind of shudder during my short rambles in the City.&nbsp; What
+could be the matter? just then I heard various voices cry, &lsquo;There
+it comes!&rsquo; and all heads were turned up Oxford Street, down which
+a hearse was slowly coming: nearer and nearer it drew; presently it
+was just opposite the place where I was standing, when, turning to the
+left, it proceeded slowly along Tottenham Road; immediately behind the
+hearse were three or four mourning coaches, full of people, some of
+whom, from the partial glimpse which I caught of them, appeared to be
+foreigners; behind these came a very long train of splendid carriages,
+all of which, without one exception, were empty.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Whose body is in that hearse?&rsquo; said I to a dapper-looking
+individual, seemingly a shopkeeper, who stood beside me on the pavement,
+looking at the procession.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The mortal relics of Lord Byron,&rsquo; said the dapper-looking
+individual, mouthing his words and smirking&mdash;&lsquo;the illustrious
+poet, which have been just brought from Greece, and are being conveyed
+to the family vault in ---shire.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;An illustrious poet, was he?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Beyond all criticism,&rsquo; said the dapper man; &lsquo;all
+we of the rising generation are under incalculable obligation to Byron;
+I myself, in particular, have reason to say so; in all my correspondence
+my style is formed on the Byronic model.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I looked at the individual for a moment, who smiled and smirked to
+himself applause, and then I turned my eyes upon the hearse proceeding
+slowly up the almost endless street.&nbsp; This man, this Byron, had
+for many years past been the demigod of England, and his verses the
+daily food of those who read, from the peer to the draper&rsquo;s assistant;
+all were admirers, or rather worshippers, of Byron, and all doated on
+his verses; and then I thought of those who, with genius as high as
+his, or higher, had lived and died neglected.&nbsp; I thought of Milton
+abandoned to poverty and blindness; of witty and ingenious Butler consigned
+to the tender mercies of bailiffs; and starving Otway: they had lived
+neglected and despised, and, when they died, a few poor mourners only
+had followed them to the grave; but this Byron had been made a half
+god of when living, and now that he was dead he was followed by worshipping
+crowds, and the very sun seemed to come out on purpose to grace his
+funeral.&nbsp; And, indeed, the sun, which for many days past had hidden
+its face in clouds, shone out that morn with wonderful brilliancy, flaming
+upon the black hearse and its tall ostrich plumes, the mourning coaches,
+and the long train of aristocratic carriages which followed behind.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Great poet, sir,&rsquo; said the dapper-looking man, &lsquo;great
+poet, but unhappy.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Unhappy? yes, I had heard that he had been unhappy; that he had roamed
+about a fevered, distempered man, taking pleasure in nothing&mdash;that
+I had heard; but was it true? was he really unhappy? was not this unhappiness
+assumed, with the view of increasing the interest which the world took
+in him? and yet who could say?&nbsp; He might be unhappy, and with reason.&nbsp;
+Was he a real poet after all? might he not doubt himself? might he not
+have a lurking consciousness that he was undeserving of the homage which
+he was receiving? that it could not last? that he was rather at the
+top of fashion than of fame?&nbsp; He was a lordling, a glittering,
+gorgeous lordling: and he might have had a consciousness that he owed
+much of his celebrity to being so; he might have felt that he was rather
+at the top of fashion than of fame.&nbsp; Fashion soon changes, thought
+I, eagerly to myself&mdash;a time will come, and that speedily, when
+he will be no longer in the fashion; when this idiotic admirer of his,
+who is still grinning at my side, shall have ceased to mould his style
+on Byron&rsquo;s; and this aristocracy, squirearchy, and what not, who
+now send their empty carriages to pay respect to the fashionable corpse,
+shall have transferred their empty worship to some other animate or
+inanimate thing.&nbsp; Well, perhaps after all it was better to have
+been mighty Milton in his poverty and blindness&mdash;witty and ingenious
+Butler consigned to the tender mercies of bailiffs, and starving Otway;
+they might enjoy more real pleasure than this lordling; they must have
+been aware that the world would one day do them justice&mdash;fame after
+death is better than the top of fashion in life.&nbsp; They have left
+a fame behind them which shall never die, whilst this lordling&mdash;a
+time will come when he will be out of fashion and forgotten.&nbsp; And
+yet I don&rsquo;t know; didn&rsquo;t he write Childe Harold and that
+ode?&nbsp; Yes, he wrote Childe Harold and that ode.&nbsp; Then a time
+will scarcely come when he will be forgotten.&nbsp; Lords, squires,
+and cockneys may pass away, but a time will scarcely come when Childe
+Harold and that ode will be forgotten.&nbsp; He was a poet, after all,
+and he must have known it; a real poet, equal to&mdash;to&mdash;what
+a destiny!&nbsp; Rank, beauty, fashion, immortality,&mdash;he could
+not be unhappy; what a difference in the fate of men&mdash;I wish I
+could think he was unhappy . . . .</p>
+<p>I turned away.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Great poet, sir,&rsquo; said the dapper man, turning away
+too, &lsquo;but unhappy&mdash;fate of genius, sir; I, too, am frequently
+unhappy.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Hurrying down a street to the right, I encountered Francis Ardry.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What means the multitude yonder?&rsquo; he demanded.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They are looking after the hearse which is carrying the remains
+of Byron up Tottenham Road.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have seen the man,&rsquo; said my friend, as he turned back
+the way he had come, &lsquo;so I can dispense with seeing the hearse&mdash;I
+saw the living man at Venice&mdash;ah, a great poet.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;a great poet, it must be so, everybody
+says so&mdash;what a destiny!&nbsp; What a difference in the fate of
+men; but &rsquo;tis said he was unhappy; you have seen him, how did
+he look?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, beautiful!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But did he look happy?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, I can&rsquo;t say he looked very unhappy; I saw him with
+two . . . very fair ladies; but what is it to you whether the man was
+unhappy or not?&nbsp; Come, where shall we go&mdash;to Joey&rsquo;s?&nbsp;
+His hugest bear&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, I have had enough of bears, I have just been worried by
+one.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The publisher?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then come to Joey&rsquo;s, three dogs are to be launched at
+his bear: as they pin him, imagine him to be the publisher.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I am good for nothing; I think I
+shall stroll to London Bridge.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That&rsquo;s too far for me&mdash;farewell.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XL</h2>
+<p>London Bridge&mdash;Why not?&mdash;Every heart has its bitters&mdash;Wicked
+boys&mdash;Give me my book&mdash;Such a fright&mdash;Honour bright.</p>
+<p>So I went to London Bridge, and again took my station on the spot
+by the booth where I had stood on the former occasion.&nbsp; The booth,
+however, was empty; neither the apple-woman nor her stall was to be
+seen.&nbsp; I looked over the balustrade upon the river; the tide was
+now, as before, rolling beneath the arch with frightful impetuosity.&nbsp;
+As I gazed upon the eddies of the whirlpool, I thought within myself
+how soon human life would become extinct there; a plunge, a convulsive
+flounder, and all would be over.&nbsp; When I last stood over that abyss
+I had felt a kind of impulse&mdash;a fascination; I had resisted it&mdash;I
+did not plunge into it.&nbsp; At present I felt a kind of impulse to
+plunge; but the impulse was of a different kind; it proceeded from a
+loathing of life, I looked wistfully at the eddies&mdash;what had I
+to live for?&mdash;what, indeed!&nbsp; I thought of Brandt and Struensee,
+and Yeoman Patch&mdash;should I yield to the impulse&mdash;why not?&nbsp;
+My eyes were fixed on the eddies.&nbsp; All of a sudden I shuddered;
+I thought I saw heads in the pool; human bodies wallowing confusedly;
+eyes turned up to heaven with hopeless horror; was that water or&mdash;?&nbsp;
+Where was the impulse now?&nbsp; I raised my eyes from the pool, I looked
+no more upon it&mdash;I looked forward, far down the stream in the far
+distance.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ha! what is that?&nbsp; I thought I saw a kind
+of Fata Morgana, green meadows, waving groves, a rustic home; but in
+the far distance&mdash;I stared&mdash;I stared&mdash;a Fata Morgana&mdash;it
+was gone. . . . &rsquo;</p>
+<p>I left the balustrade and walked to the farther end of the bridge,
+where I stood for some time contemplating the crowd; I then passed over
+to the other side with an intention of returning home; just half-way
+over the bridge, in a booth immediately opposite to the one in which
+I had formerly beheld her, sat my friend, the old apple-woman, huddled
+up behind her stall.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, mother,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;how are you?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+The old woman lifted her head with a startled look.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t you know me?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I think I do.&nbsp; Ah, yes,&rsquo; said she, as her
+features beamed with recollection, &lsquo;I know you, dear; you are
+the young lad that gave me the tanner.&nbsp; Well, child, got anything
+to sell?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nothing at all,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Bad luck?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;bad enough, and ill usage.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, I suppose they caught ye; well, child, never mind, better
+luck next time; I am glad to see you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thank you,&rsquo; said I, sitting down on the stone bench;
+&lsquo;I thought you had left the bridge&mdash;why have you changed
+your side?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The old woman shook.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is the matter with you,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;are you
+ill?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, child, no; only&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Only what?&nbsp; Any bad news of your son?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, child, no; nothing about my son.&nbsp; Only low, child&mdash;every
+heart has its bitters.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That&rsquo;s true,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;well, I don&rsquo;t
+want to know your sorrows; come, where&rsquo;s the book?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The apple-woman shook more violently than before, bent herself down,
+and drew her cloak more closely about her than before.&nbsp; &lsquo;Book,
+child, what book?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, blessed Mary, to be sure.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, that; I ha&rsquo;n&rsquo;t got it, child&mdash;I have
+lost it, have left it at home.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Lost it,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;left it at home&mdash;what
+do you mean?&nbsp; Come, let me have it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I ha&rsquo;n&rsquo;t got it, child.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I believe you have got it under your cloak.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t tell any one, dear; don&rsquo;t&mdash;don&rsquo;t,&rsquo;
+and the apple-woman burst into tears.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What&rsquo;s the matter with you?&rsquo; said I, staring at
+her.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You want to take my book from me?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not I, I care nothing about it; keep it, if you like, only
+tell me what&rsquo;s the matter?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, all about that book.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The book?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, they wanted to take it from me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who did?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, some wicked boys.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll tell you all about
+it.&nbsp; Eight or ten days ago, I sat behind my stall, reading my book;
+all of a sudden I felt it snatched from my hand, up I started, and see
+three rascals of boys grinning at me; one of them held the book in his
+hand.&nbsp; &ldquo;What book is this?&rdquo; said he, grinning at it.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;What do you want with my book?&rdquo; said I, clutching at it
+over my stall; &ldquo;give me my book.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;What do you
+want a book for?&rdquo; said he, holding it back; &ldquo;I have a good
+mind to fling it into the Thames.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Give me my book,&rdquo;
+I shrieked; and, snatching at it, I fell over my stall, and all my fruit
+was scattered about.&nbsp; Off ran the boys&mdash;off ran the rascal
+with my book.&nbsp; Oh dear, I thought I should have died; up I got,
+however, and ran after them as well as I could; I thought of my fruit,
+but I thought more of my book.&nbsp; I left my fruit and ran after my
+book.&nbsp; &ldquo;My book! my book!&rdquo; I shrieked, &ldquo;murder!
+theft! robbery!&rdquo;&nbsp; I was near being crushed under the wheels
+of a cart; but I didn&rsquo;t care&mdash;I followed the rascals.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Stop them! stop them!&rdquo;&nbsp; I ran nearly as fast as they&mdash;they
+couldn&rsquo;t run very fast on account of the crowd.&nbsp; At last
+some one stopped the rascal, whereupon he turned round, and flinging
+the book at me, it fell into the mud; well, I picked it up and kissed
+it, all muddy as it was.&nbsp; &ldquo;Has he robbed you?&rdquo; said
+the man.&nbsp; &ldquo;Robbed me, indeed; why he had got my book.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Oh, your book,&rdquo; said the man, and laughed, and let the
+rascal go.&nbsp; Ah, he might laugh, but&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, go on.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My heart beats so.&nbsp; Well, I went back to my booth and
+picked up my stall and my fruits, what I could find of them.&nbsp; I
+couldn&rsquo;t keep my stall for two days I got such a fright, and when
+I got round I couldn&rsquo;t bide the booth where the thing had happened,
+so I came over to the other side.&nbsp; Oh, the rascals, if I could
+but see them hanged.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For what?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, for stealing my book.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I thought you didn&rsquo;t dislike stealing,&mdash;that you
+were ready to buy things&mdash;there was your son, you know&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, to be sure.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He took things.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To be sure he did.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But you don&rsquo;t like a thing of yours to be taken.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, that&rsquo;s quite a different thing; what&rsquo;s stealing
+handkerchiefs, and that kind of thing, to do with taking my book? there&rsquo;s
+a wide difference&mdash;don&rsquo;t you see?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I see.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you, dear? well, bless your heart, I&rsquo;m glad you do.&nbsp;
+Would you like to look at the book?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, I think I should.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Honour bright?&rsquo; said the apple-woman, looking me in
+the eyes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Honour bright,&rsquo; said I, looking the apple-woman in the
+eyes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well then, dear, here it is,&rsquo; said she, taking it from
+under her cloak; &lsquo;read it as long as you like, only get a little
+farther into the booth&mdash; Don&rsquo;t sit so near the edge&mdash;you
+might&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I went deep into the booth, and the apple-woman, bringing her chair
+round, almost confronted me.&nbsp; I commenced reading the book, and
+was soon engrossed by it; hours passed away, once or twice I lifted
+up my eyes, the apple-woman was still confronting me: at last my eyes
+began to ache, whereupon I returned the book to the apple-woman, and,
+giving her another tanner, walked away.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XLI</h2>
+<p>Decease of the Review&mdash;Homer himself&mdash;Bread and cheese&mdash;Finger
+and thumb&mdash;Impossible to find&mdash;Something grand&mdash;Universal
+mixture&mdash;Some other publisher.</p>
+<p>Time passed away, and with it the Review, which, contrary to the
+publisher&rsquo;s expectation, did not prove a successful speculation.&nbsp;
+About four months after the period of its birth it expired, as all Reviews
+must for which there is no demand.&nbsp; Authors had ceased to send
+their publications to it, and, consequently, to purchase it; for I have
+already hinted that it was almost entirely supported by authors of a
+particular class, who expected to see their publications foredoomed
+to immortality in its pages.&nbsp; The behaviour of these authors towards
+this unfortunate publication I can attribute to no other cause than
+to a report which was industriously circulated, namely, that the Review
+was low, and that to be reviewed in it was an infallible sign that one
+was a low person, who could be reviewed nowhere else.&nbsp; So authors
+took fright; and no wonder, for it will never do for an author to be
+considered low.&nbsp; Homer himself has never yet entirely recovered
+from the injury he received by Lord Chesterfield&rsquo;s remark that
+the speeches of his heroes were frequently exceedingly low.</p>
+<p>So the Review ceased, and the reviewing corps no longer existed as
+such; they forthwith returned to their proper avocations&mdash;the editor
+to compose tunes on his piano, and to the task of disposing of the remaining
+copies of his Quintilian&mdash;the inferior members to working for the
+publisher, being to a man dependants of his; one, to composing fairy
+tales; another, to collecting miracles of Popish saints; and a third,
+Newgate lives and trials.&nbsp; Owing to the bad success of the Review,
+the publisher became more furious than ever.&nbsp; My money was growing
+short, and I one day asked him to pay me for my labours in the deceased
+publication.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sir,&rsquo; said the publisher, &lsquo;what do you want the
+money for?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Merely to live on,&rsquo; I replied; &lsquo;it is very difficult
+to live in this town without money.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How much money did you bring with you to town?&rsquo; demanded
+the publisher.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Some twenty or thirty pounds,&rsquo; I replied.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And you have spent it already?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;not entirely; but it is fast disappearing.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sir,&rsquo; said the publisher, &lsquo;I believe you to be
+extravagant; yes, sir, extravagant!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;On what grounds do you suppose me to be so?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sir,&rsquo; said the publisher, &lsquo;you eat meat.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I eat meat sometimes; what should
+I eat?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Bread, sir,&rsquo; said the publisher; &lsquo;bread and cheese.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So I do, sir, when I am disposed to indulge; but I cannot
+often afford it&mdash;it is very expensive to dine on bread and cheese,
+especially when one is fond of cheese, as I am.&nbsp; My last bread
+and cheese dinner cost me fourteenpence.&nbsp; There is drink, sir;
+with bread and cheese one must drink porter, sir.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then, sir, eat bread&mdash;bread alone.&nbsp; As good men
+as yourself have eaten bread alone; they have been glad to get it, sir.&nbsp;
+If with bread and cheese you must drink porter, sir, with bread alone
+you can, perhaps, drink water, sir.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>However, I got paid at last for my writings in the Review, not, it
+is true, in the current coin of the realm, but in certain bills; there
+were two of them, one payable at twelve, and the other at eighteen months
+after date.&nbsp; It was a long time before I could turn these bills
+to any account; at last I found a person who, at a discount of only
+thirty per cent, consented to cash them; not, however, without sundry
+grimaces, and, what was still more galling, holding, more than once,
+the unfortunate papers high in air between his forefinger and thumb.&nbsp;
+So ill, indeed, did I like this last action, that I felt much inclined
+to snatch them away.&nbsp; I restrained myself, however, for I remembered
+that it was very difficult to live without money, and that, if the present
+person did not discount the bills, I should probably find no one else
+that would.</p>
+<p>But if the treatment which I had experienced from the publisher,
+previous to making this demand upon him, was difficult to bear, that
+which I subsequently underwent was far more so: his great delight seemed
+to consist in causing me misery and mortification; if, on former occasions,
+he was continually sending me in quest of lives and trials difficult
+to find, he now was continually demanding lives and trials which it
+was impossible to find; the personages whom he mentioned never having
+lived, nor consequently been tried.&nbsp; Moreover, some of my best
+lives and trials which I had corrected and edited with particular care,
+and on which I prided myself no little, he caused to be cancelled after
+they had passed through the press.&nbsp; Amongst these was the life
+of &lsquo;Gentleman Harry.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;They are drugs, sir,&rsquo;
+said the publisher, &lsquo;drugs; that life of Harry Simms has long
+been the greatest drug in the calendar&mdash;has it not, Taggart?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Taggart made no answer save by taking a pinch of snuff.&nbsp; The
+reader, has, I hope, not forgotten Taggart, whom I mentioned whilst
+giving an account of my first morning&rsquo;s visit to the publisher.&nbsp;
+I beg Taggart&rsquo;s pardon for having been so long silent about him;
+but he was a very silent man&mdash;yet there was much in Taggart&mdash;and
+Taggart had always been civil and kind to me in his peculiar way.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, young gentleman,&rsquo; said Taggart to me one morning,
+when we chanced to be alone a few days after the affair of the cancelling,
+&lsquo;how do you like authorship?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I scarcely call authorship the drudgery I am engaged in,&rsquo;
+said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do you call authorship?&rsquo; said Taggart.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I scarcely know,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;that is, I can scarcely
+express what I think it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Shall I help you out?&rsquo; said Taggart, turning round his
+chair, and looking at me.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If you like,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To write something grand,&rsquo; said Taggart, taking snuff;
+&lsquo;to be stared at&mdash;lifted on people&rsquo;s shoulders&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;that is something like it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Taggart took snuff.&nbsp; &lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;why
+don&rsquo;t you write something grand?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What?&rsquo; said Taggart.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;there are those ballads.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Taggart took snuff.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And those wonderful versions from Ab Gwilym.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Taggart took snuff again.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You seem to be very fond of snuff,&rsquo; said I, looking
+at him angrily.</p>
+<p>Taggart tapped his box.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Have you taken it long?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Three-and-twenty years.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What snuff do you take?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Universal mixture.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And you find it of use?</p>
+<p>Taggart tapped his box.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In what respect?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In many&mdash;there is nothing like it to get a man through;
+but for snuff I should scarcely be where I am now.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Have you been long here?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Three-and-twenty years.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Dear me,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;and snuff brought you through?&nbsp;
+Give me a pinch&mdash;pah, I don&rsquo;t like it,&rsquo; and I sneezed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Take another pinch,&rsquo; said Taggart.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t like snuff.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you will never do for authorship; at least for this kind.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So I begin to think&mdash;what shall I do?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Taggart took snuff.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You were talking of a great work&mdash;what shall it be?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Taggart took snuff.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you think I could write one?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Taggart uplifted his two forefingers as if to tap, he did not however.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It would require time,&rsquo; said I, with a half sigh.</p>
+<p>Taggart tapped his box.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A great deal of time; I really think that my ballads&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Taggart took snuff.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If published, would do me credit.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll make an
+effort, and offer them to some other publisher.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Taggart took a double quantity of snuff.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XLII</h2>
+<p>Francis Ardry&mdash;That won&rsquo;t do, sir&mdash;Observe my gestures&mdash;I
+think you improve&mdash;Better than politics&mdash;Delightful young
+Frenchwoman&mdash;A burning shame&mdash;Magnificent impudence&mdash;Paunch&mdash;Voltaire&mdash;Lump
+of sugar.</p>
+<p>Occasionally I called on Francis Ardry.&nbsp; This young gentleman
+resided in handsome apartments in the neighbourhood of a fashionable
+square, kept a livery servant, and, upon the whole, lived in very good
+style.&nbsp; Going to see him one day, between one and two, I was informed
+by the servant that his master was engaged for the moment, but that,
+if I pleased to wait a few minutes, I should find him at liberty.&nbsp;
+Having told the man that I had no objection, he conducted me into a
+small apartment which served as antechamber to a drawing-room; the door
+of this last being half open, I could see Francis Ardry at the farther
+end, speechifying and gesticulating in a very impressive manner.&nbsp;
+The servant, in some confusion, was hastening to close the door; but,
+ere he could effect his purpose, Francis Ardry, who had caught a glimpse
+of me, exclaimed, &lsquo;Come in&mdash;come in by all means&rsquo;;
+and then proceeded, as before, speechifying and gesticulating.&nbsp;
+Filled with some surprise, I obeyed his summons.</p>
+<p>On entering the room I perceived another individual, to whom Francis
+Ardry appeared to be addressing himself; this other was a short spare
+man of about sixty; his hair was of badger gray, and his face was covered
+with wrinkles&mdash;without vouchsafing me a look, he kept his eye,
+which was black and lustrous, fixed full on Francis Ardry, as if paying
+the deepest attention to his discourse.&nbsp; All of a sudden, however,
+he cried with a sharp, cracked voice, &lsquo;That won&rsquo;t do, sir;
+that won&rsquo;t do&mdash;more vehemence&mdash;your argument is at present
+particularly weak; therefore, more vehemence&mdash;you must confuse
+them, stun them, stultify them, sir&rsquo;; and, at each of these injunctions,
+he struck the back of his right hand sharply against the palm of the
+left.&nbsp; &lsquo;Good, sir&mdash;good!&rsquo; he occasionally uttered,
+in the same sharp, cracked tone, as the voice of Francis Ardry became
+more and more vehement.&nbsp; &lsquo;Infinitely good!&rsquo; he exclaimed,
+as Francis Ardry raised his voice to the highest pitch; &lsquo;and now,
+sir, abate; let the tempest of vehemence decline&mdash;gradually, sir;
+not too fast.&nbsp; Good, sir&mdash;very good!&rsquo; as the voice of
+Francis Ardry declined gradually in vehemence.&nbsp; &lsquo;And now
+a little pathos, sir&mdash;try them with a little pathos.&nbsp; That
+won&rsquo;t do, sir&mdash;that won&rsquo;t do,&rsquo;&mdash;as Francis
+Ardry made an attempt to become pathetic,&mdash;&lsquo;that will never
+pass for pathos&mdash;with tones and gesture of that description you
+will never redress the wrongs of your country.&nbsp; Now, sir, observe
+my gestures, and pay attention to the tone of my voice, sir.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Thereupon, making use of nearly the same terms which Francis Ardry
+had employed, the individual in black uttered several sentences in tones
+and with gestures which were intended to express a considerable degree
+of pathos, though it is possible that some people would have thought
+both the one and the other highly ludicrous.&nbsp; After a pause, Francis
+Ardry recommenced imitating the tones and the gestures of his monitor
+in the most admirable manner.&nbsp; Before he had proceeded far, however,
+he burst into a fit of laughter, in which I should, perhaps, have joined,
+provided it were ever my wont to laugh.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ha, ha!&rsquo;
+said the other, good-humouredly, &lsquo;you are laughing at me.&nbsp;
+Well, well, I merely wished to give you a hint; but you saw very well
+what I meant; upon the whole I think you improve.&nbsp; But I must now
+go, having two other pupils to visit before four.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Then taking from the table a kind of three-cornered hat, and a cane
+headed with amber, he shook Francis Ardry by the hand; and, after glancing
+at me for a moment, made me a half bow, attended with a strange grimace,
+and departed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who is that gentleman?&rsquo; said I to Francis Ardry, as
+soon as were alone.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, that is&mdash;&rsquo; said Frank, smiling, &lsquo;the
+gentleman who gives me lessons in elocution.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what need have you of elocution?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, I merely obey the commands of my guardians,&rsquo; said
+Francis, &lsquo;who insist that I should, with the assistance of ---,
+qualify myself for Parliament; for which they do me the honour to suppose
+that I have some natural talent.&nbsp; I dare not disobey them; for,
+at the present moment, I have particular reasons for wishing to keep
+on good terms with them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;you are a Roman Catholic; and I
+thought that persons of your religion were excluded from Parliament?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, upon that very thing the whole matter hinges; people
+of our religion are determined to be no longer excluded from Parliament,
+but to have a share in the government of the nation.&nbsp; Not that
+I care anything about the matter; I merely obey the will of my guardians;
+my thoughts are fixed on something better than politics.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I understand you,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;dog-fighting&mdash;well,
+I can easily conceive that to some minds dog-fighting&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I was not thinking of dog-fighting,&rsquo; said Francis Ardry,
+interrupting me.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not thinking of dog-fighting!&rsquo; I ejaculated.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said Francis Ardry, &lsquo;something higher and
+much more rational than dog-fighting at present occupies my thoughts.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Dear me,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I thought I had heard you say
+that there was nothing like it!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Like what?&rsquo; said Francis Ardry.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Dog-fighting, to be sure,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Pooh,&rsquo; said Francis Ardry; &lsquo;who but the gross
+and unrefined care anything for dog-fighting?&nbsp; That which at present
+engages my waking and sleeping thoughts is love&mdash;divine love&mdash;there
+is nothing like <i>that</i>.&nbsp; Listen to me, I have a secret to
+confide to you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And then Francis Ardry proceeded to make me his confidant.&nbsp;
+It appeared that he had had the good fortune to make the acquaintance
+of the most delightful young Frenchwoman imaginable, Annette La Noire
+by name, who had just arrived from her native country with the intention
+of obtaining the situation of governess in some English family; a position
+which, on account of her many accomplishments, she was eminently qualified
+to fill.&nbsp; Francis Ardry had, however, persuaded her to relinquish
+her intention for the present, on the ground that, until she had become
+acclimated in England, her health would probably suffer from the confinement
+inseparable from the occupation in which she was desirous of engaging;
+he had, moreover&mdash;for it appeared that she was the most frank and
+confiding creature in the world&mdash;succeeded in persuading her to
+permit him to hire for her a very handsome first floor in his own neighbourhood,
+and to accept a few inconsiderable presents in money and jewellery.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I am looking out for a handsome gig and horse,&rsquo; said Francis
+Ardry, at the conclusion of his narration; &lsquo;it were a burning
+shame that so divine a creature should have to go about a place like
+London on foot, or in a paltry hackney coach.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;will not the pursuit of politics
+prevent your devoting much time to this fair lady?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It will prevent me devoting all my time,&rsquo; said Francis
+Ardry, &lsquo;as I gladly would; but what can I do?&nbsp; My guardians
+wish me to qualify myself for a political orator, and I dare not offend
+them by a refusal.&nbsp; If I offend my guardians, I should find it
+impossible&mdash;unless I have recourse to Jews and money-lenders&mdash;to
+support Annette; present her with articles of dress and jewellery, and
+purchase a horse and cabriolet worthy of conveying her angelic person
+through the streets of London.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>After a pause, in which Francis Ardry appeared lost in thought, his
+mind being probably occupied with the subject of Annette, I broke silence
+by observing, &lsquo;So your fellow-religionists are really going to
+make a serious attempt to procure their emancipation?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said Francis Ardry, starting from his reverie;
+&lsquo;everything has been arranged; even a leader has been chosen,
+at least for us of Ireland, upon the whole the most suitable man in
+the world for the occasion&mdash;a barrister of considerable talent,
+mighty voice, and magnificent impudence.&nbsp; With emancipation, liberty,
+and redress for the wrongs of Ireland in his mouth, he is to force his
+way into the British House of Commons, dragging myself and others behind
+him&mdash;he will succeed, and when he is in he will cut a figure; I
+have heard &mdash;&mdash; himself, who has heard him speak, say that he will
+cut a figure.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And is &mdash;&mdash;  competent to judge?&rsquo; I demanded.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who but he?&rsquo; said Francis Ardry; &lsquo;no one questions
+his judgment concerning what relates to elocution.&nbsp; His fame on
+that point is so well established, that the greatest orators do not
+disdain occasionally to consult him; C--- himself, as I have been told,
+when anxious to produce any particular effect in the House, is in the
+habit of calling in &mdash;&mdash; for a consultation.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As to matter, or manner?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Chiefly the latter,&rsquo; said Francis Ardry, &lsquo;though
+he is competent to give advice as to both, for he has been an orator
+in his day, and a leader of the people; though he confessed to me that
+he was not exactly qualified to play the latter part&mdash;&ldquo;I
+want paunch,&rdquo; said he.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is not always indispensable,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;there
+is an orator in my town, a hunchback and watchmaker, without it, who
+not only leads the people, but the mayor too; perhaps he has a succedaneum
+in his hunch: but, tell me, is the leader of your movement in possession
+of that which &mdash;&mdash; wants?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No more deficient in it than in brass,&rsquo; said Francis
+Ardry.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;whatever his qualifications may
+be, I wish him success in the cause which he has taken up&mdash;I love
+religious liberty.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We shall succeed,&rsquo; said Francis Ardry; &lsquo;John Bull
+upon the whole is rather indifferent on the subject, and then we are
+sure to be backed by the Radical party, who, to gratify their political
+prejudices, would join with Satan himself.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There is one thing,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;connected with this
+matter which surprises me&mdash;your own lukewarmness.&nbsp; Yes, making
+every allowance for your natural predilection for dog-fighting, and
+your present enamoured state of mind, your apathy at the commencement
+of such a movement is to me unaccountable.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You would not have cause to complain of my indifference,&rsquo;
+said Frank, &lsquo;provided I thought my country would be benefited
+by this movement; but I happen to know the origin of it.&nbsp; The priests
+are the originators, &lsquo;and what country was ever benefited by a
+movement which owed its origin to them?&rsquo; so says Voltaire, a page
+of whom I occasionally read.&nbsp; By the present move they hope to
+increase their influence, and to further certain designs which they
+entertain both with regard to this country and Ireland.&nbsp; I do not
+speak rashly or unadvisedly.&nbsp; A strange fellow&mdash;a half-Italian,
+half-English priest,&mdash;who was recommended to me by my guardians,
+partly as a spiritual, partly as a temporal guide, has let me into a
+secret or two; he is fond of a glass of gin and water&mdash;and over
+a glass of gin and water cold, with a lump of sugar in it, he has been
+more communicative, perhaps, than was altogether prudent.&nbsp; Were
+I my own master, I would kick him, politics, and religious movements,
+to a considerable distance.&nbsp; And now, if you are going away, do
+so quickly; I have an appointment with Annette, and must make myself
+fit to appear before her.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XLIII</h2>
+<p>Progress&mdash;Glorious John&mdash;Utterly unintelligible&mdash;What
+a difference.</p>
+<p>By the month of October I had, in spite of all difficulties and obstacles,
+accomplished about two-thirds of the principal task which I had undertaken,
+the compiling of the Newgate lives; I had also made some progress in
+translating the publisher&rsquo;s philosophy into German.&nbsp; But
+about this time I began to see very clearly that it was impossible that
+our connection should prove of long duration; yet, in the event of my
+leaving the big man, what other resource had I&mdash;another publisher?&nbsp;
+But what had I to offer?&nbsp; There were my ballads, my Ab Gwilym,
+but then I thought of Taggart and his snuff, his pinch of snuff.&nbsp;
+However, I determined to see what could be done, so I took my ballads
+under my arm, and went to various publishers; some took snuff, others
+did not, but none took my ballads or Ab Gwilym, they would not even
+look at them.&nbsp; One asked me if I had anything else&mdash;he was
+a snuff-taker&mdash;I said yes; and going home, returned with my translation
+of the German novel, to which I have before alluded.&nbsp; After keeping
+it for a fortnight, he returned it to me on my visiting him, and, taking
+a pinch of snuff, told me it would not do.&nbsp; There were marks of
+snuff on the outside of the manuscript, which was a roll of paper bound
+with red tape, but there were no marks of snuff on the interior of the
+manuscript, from which I concluded that he had never opened it.</p>
+<p>I had often heard of one Glorious John, who lived at the western
+end of the town; on consulting Taggart, he told me that it was possible
+that Glorious John would publish my ballads and Ab Gwilym, that is,
+said he, taking a pinch of snuff, provided you can see him; so I went
+to the house where Glorious John resided, and a glorious house it was,
+but I could not see Glorious John&mdash;I called a dozen times, but
+I never could see Glorious John.&nbsp; Twenty years after, by the greatest
+chance in the world, I saw Glorious John, and sure enough Glorious John
+published my books, but they were different books from the first; I
+never offered my ballads or Ab Gwilym to Glorious John.&nbsp; Glorious
+John was no snuff-taker.&nbsp; He asked me to dinner, and treated me
+with superb Rhenish wine.&nbsp; Glorious John is now gone to his rest,
+but I&mdash;what was I going to say?&mdash;the world will never forget
+Glorious John.</p>
+<p>So I returned to my last resource for the time then being&mdash;to
+the publisher, persevering doggedly in my labour.&nbsp; One day, on
+visiting the publisher, I found him stamping with fury upon certain
+fragments of paper.&nbsp; &lsquo;Sir,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;you know
+nothing of German; I have shown your translation of the first chapter
+of my Philosophy to several Germans: it is utterly unintelligible to
+them.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Did they see the Philosophy?&rsquo; I replied.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;They did, sir, but they did not profess to understand English.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;No more do I,&rsquo;&nbsp; I replied, &lsquo;if that Philosophy
+be English.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The publisher was furious&mdash;I was silent.&nbsp; For want of a
+pinch of snuff, I had recourse to something which is no bad substitute
+for a pinch of snuff, to those who can&rsquo;t take it, silent contempt;
+at first it made the publisher more furious, as perhaps a pinch of snuff
+would; it, however, eventually calmed him, and he ordered me back to
+my occupations, in other words, the compilation.&nbsp; To be brief,
+the compilation was completed, I got paid in the usual manner, and forthwith
+left him.</p>
+<p>He was a clever man, but what a difference in clever men!</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XLIV</h2>
+<p>The old spot&mdash;A long history&mdash;Thou shalt not steal&mdash;No
+harm&mdash;Education&mdash;Necessity&mdash;Foam on your lip&mdash;Apples
+and pears&mdash;What will you read?&mdash;Metaphor&mdash;The fur cap&mdash;I
+don&rsquo;t know him.</p>
+<p>It was past midwinter, and I sat on London Bridge, in company with
+the old apple-woman: she had just returned to the other side of the
+bridge, to her place in the booth where I had originally found her.&nbsp;
+This she had done after frequent conversations with me; &lsquo;she liked
+the old place best,&rsquo; she said, which she would never have left
+but for the terror which she experienced when the boys ran away with
+her book.&nbsp; So I sat with her at the old spot, one afternoon past
+midwinter, reading the book, of which I had by this time come to the
+last pages.&nbsp; I had observed that the old woman for some time past
+had shown much less anxiety about the book than she had been in the
+habit of doing.&nbsp; I was, however, not quite prepared for her offering
+to make me a present of it, which she did that afternoon; when, having
+finished it, I returned it to her, with many thanks for the pleasure
+and instruction I had derived from its perusal.&nbsp; &lsquo;You may
+keep it, dear,&rsquo; said the old woman, with a sigh; &lsquo;you may
+carry it to your lodging, and keep it for your own.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Looking at the old woman with surprise, I exclaimed, &lsquo;Is it
+possible that you are willing to part with the book which has been your
+source of comfort so long?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Whereupon the old woman entered into a long history, from which I
+gathered that the book had become distasteful to her; she hardly ever
+opened it of late, she said, or if she did, it was only to shut it again;
+also, that other things which she had been fond of, though of a widely
+different kind, were now distasteful to her.&nbsp; Porter and beef-steaks
+were no longer grateful to her palate, her present diet chiefly consisting
+of tea, and bread and butter.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;you have been ill, and when people
+are ill, they seldom like the things which give them pleasure when they
+are in health.&rsquo;&nbsp; I learned, moreover, that she slept little
+at night, and had all kinds of strange thoughts; that as she lay awake
+many things connected with her youth, which she had quite forgotten,
+came into her mind.&nbsp; There were certain words that came into her
+mind the night before the last, which were continually humming in her
+ears: I found that the words were, &lsquo;Thou shalt not steal.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>On inquiring where she had first heard these words, I learned that
+she had read them at school, in a book called the primer; to this school
+she had been sent by her mother, who was a poor widow, and followed
+the trade of apple-selling in the very spot where her daughter followed
+it now.&nbsp; It seems that the mother was a very good kind of woman,
+but quite ignorant of letters, the benefit of which she was willing
+to procure for her child; and at the school the daughter learned to
+read, and subsequently experienced the pleasure and benefit of letters,
+in being able to read the book which she found in an obscure closet
+of her mother&rsquo;s house, and which had been her principal companion
+and comfort for many years of her life.</p>
+<p>But, as I have said before, she was now dissatisfied with the book,
+and with most other things in which she had taken pleasure; she dwelt
+much on the words, &lsquo;Thou shalt not steal&rsquo;; she had never
+stolen things herself, but then she had bought things which other people
+had stolen, and which she knew had been stolen; and her dear son had
+been a thief, which he perhaps would not have been but for the example
+which she set him in buying things from characters, as she called them,
+who associated with her.</p>
+<p>On inquiring how she had become acquainted with these characters,
+I learned that times had gone hard with her; that she had married, but
+her husband had died after a long sickness, which had reduced them to
+great distress; that her fruit trade was not a profitable one, and that
+she had bought and sold things which had been stolen to support herself
+and her son.&nbsp; That for a long time she supposed there was no harm
+in doing so, as her book was full of entertaining tales of stealing;
+but she now thought that the book was a bad book, and that learning
+to read was a bad thing; her mother had never been able to read, but
+had died in peace, though poor.</p>
+<p>So here was a woman who attributed the vices and follies of her life
+to being able to read; her mother, she said, who could not read, lived
+respectably, and died in peace; and what was the essential difference
+between the mother and daughter, save that the latter could read?&nbsp;
+But for her literature she might in all probability have lived respectably
+and honestly, like her mother, and might eventually have died in peace,
+which at present she could scarcely hope to do.&nbsp; Education had
+failed to produce any good in this poor woman; on the contrary, there
+could be little doubt that she had been injured by it.&nbsp; Then was
+education a bad thing?&nbsp; Rousseau was of opinion that it was; but
+Rousseau was a Frenchman, at least wrote in French, and I cared not
+the snap of my fingers for Rousseau.&nbsp; But education has certainly
+been of benefit in some instances; well, what did that prove, but that
+partiality existed in the management of the affairs of the world&mdash;if
+education was a benefit to some, why was it not a benefit to others?&nbsp;
+Could some avoid abusing it, any more than others could avoid turning
+it to a profitable account?&nbsp; I did not see how they could; this
+poor simple woman found a book in her mother&rsquo;s closet; a book,
+which was a capital book for those who could turn it to the account
+for which it was intended; a book, from the perusal of which I felt
+myself wiser and better, but which was by no means suited to the intellect
+of this poor simple woman, who thought that it was written in praise
+of thieving; yet she found it, she read it, and&mdash;and&mdash;I felt
+myself getting into a maze; what is right, thought I? what is wrong?&nbsp;
+Do I exist?&nbsp; Does the world exist? if it does, every action is
+bound up with necessity.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Necessity!&rsquo; I exclaimed, and cracked my finger-joints.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, it is a bad thing,&rsquo; said the old woman.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is a bad thing?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why to be poor, dear.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You talk like a fool,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;riches and poverty
+are only different forms of necessity.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You should not call me a fool, dear; you should not call your
+own mother a fool.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are not my mother,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not your mother, dear?&mdash;no, no more I am; but your calling
+me fool put me in mind of my dear son, who often used to call me fool&mdash;and
+you just now looked as he sometimes did, with a blob of foam on your
+lip.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;After all, I don&rsquo;t know that you are not my mother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t you, dear?&nbsp; I&rsquo;m glad of it; I wish
+you would make it out.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How should I make it out? who can speak from his own knowledge
+as to the circumstances of his birth?&nbsp; Besides, before attempting
+to establish our relationship, it would be necessary to prove that such
+people exist.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What people, dear?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You and I.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Lord, child, you are mad; that book has made you so.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t abuse it,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;the book is an
+excellent one, that is, provided it exists.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I wish it did not,&rsquo; said the old woman; &lsquo;but it
+shan&rsquo;t long; I&rsquo;ll burn it, or fling it into the river&mdash;the
+voices at night tell me to do so.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Tell the voices,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;that they talk nonsense;
+the book, if it exists, is a good book, it contains a deep moral; have
+you read it all?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;All the funny parts, dear; all about taking things, and the
+manner it was done; as for the rest, I could not exactly make it out.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then the book is not to blame; I repeat that the book is a
+good book, and contains deep morality, always supposing that there is
+such a thing as morality, which is the same thing as supposing that
+there is anything at all.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Anything at all!&nbsp; Why ain&rsquo;t we here on this bridge,
+in my booth, with my stall and my&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Apples and pears, baked hot, you would say&mdash;I don&rsquo;t
+know; all is a mystery, a deep question.&nbsp; It is a question, and
+probably always will be, whether there is a world, and consequently
+apples and pears; and, provided there be a world, whether that world
+be like an apple or a pear.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t talk so, dear.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I won&rsquo;t; we will suppose that we all exist&mdash;world,
+ourselves, apples, and pears: so you wish to get rid of the book?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, dear, I wish you would take it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have read it, and have no farther use for it; I do not need
+books: in a little time, perhaps, I shall not have a place wherein to
+deposit myself, far less books.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then I will fling it into the river.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t do that; here, give it me.&nbsp; Now what shall
+I do with it? you were so fond of it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am so no longer.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But how will you pass your time; what will you read?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I wish I had never learned to read, or, if I had, that I had
+only read the books I saw at school: the primer or the other.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What was the other?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I think they called it the Bible: all about God, and Job,
+and Jesus.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, I know it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have read it; is it a nice book&mdash;all true?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;True, true&mdash;I don&rsquo;t know what to say; but if the
+world be true, and not all a lie, a fiction, I don&rsquo;t see why the
+Bible, as they call it, should not be true.&nbsp; By the bye, what do
+you call Bible in your tongue, or, indeed, book of any kind? as Bible
+merely means a book.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do I call the Bible in my language, dear?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, the language of those who bring you things.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The language of those who <i>did</i>, dear; they bring them
+now no longer.&nbsp; They call me fool, as you did, dear, just now;
+they call kissing the Bible, which means taking a false oath, smacking
+calf-skin.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That&rsquo;s metaphor,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;English, but
+metaphorical; what an odd language!&nbsp; So you would like to have
+a Bible,&mdash;shall I buy you one?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am poor, dear&mdash;no money since I left off the other
+trade.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, then, I&rsquo;ll buy you one.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, dear, no; you are poor, and may soon want the money; but
+if you can take me one conveniently on the sly, you know&mdash;I think
+you may, for, as it is a good book, I suppose there can be no harm in
+taking it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That will never do,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;more especially
+as I should be sure to be caught, not having made taking of things my
+trade; but I&rsquo;ll tell you what I&rsquo;ll do&mdash;try and exchange
+this book of yours for a Bible; who knows for what great things this
+same book of yours may serve?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, dear,&rsquo; said the old woman, &lsquo;do as you please;
+I should like to see the&mdash;what do you call it?&mdash;Bible, and
+to read it, as you seem to think it true.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;seem; that is the way to express
+yourself in this maze of doubt&mdash;I seem to think&mdash;these apples
+and pears seem to be&mdash;and here seems to be a gentleman who wants
+to purchase either one or the other.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>A person had stopped before the apple-woman&rsquo;s stall, and was
+glancing now at the fruit, now at the old woman and myself; he wore
+a blue mantle, and had a kind of fur cap on his head; he was somewhat
+above the middle stature; his features were keen, but rather hard; there
+was a slight obliquity in his vision.&nbsp; Selecting a small apple,
+he gave the old woman a penny; then, after looking at me scrutinisingly
+for a moment, he moved from the booth in the direction of Southwark.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you know who that man is?&rsquo; said I to the old woman.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said she, &lsquo;except that he is one of my best
+customers: he frequently stops, takes an apple, and gives me a penny;
+his is the only piece of money I have taken this blessed day.&nbsp;
+I don&rsquo;t know him, but he has once or twice sat down in the booth
+with two strange-looking men&mdash;Mulattos, or Lascars, I think they
+call them.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XLV</h2>
+<p>Bought and exchanged&mdash;Quite empty&mdash;A new firm&mdash;Bibles&mdash;Countenance
+of a lion&mdash;Clap of thunder&mdash;A truce with this&mdash;I have
+lost it&mdash;Clearly a right&mdash;Goddess of the Mint.</p>
+<p>In pursuance of my promise to the old woman, I set about procuring
+her a Bible with all convenient speed, placing the book which she had
+intrusted to me for the purpose of exchange in my pocket.&nbsp; I went
+to several shops, and asked if Bibles were to be had: I found that there
+were plenty.&nbsp; When, however, I informed the people that I came
+to barter, they looked blank, and declined treating with me; saying
+that they did not do business in that way.&nbsp; At last I went into
+a shop over the window of which I saw written, &lsquo;Books bought and
+exchanged&rsquo;: there was a smartish young fellow in the shop, with
+black hair and whiskers; &lsquo;You exchange?&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;Yes,&rsquo;
+said he, &lsquo;sometimes, but we prefer selling; what book do you want?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;A Bible,&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ah,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;there&rsquo;s
+a great demand for Bibles just now; all kinds of people are become very
+pious of late,&rsquo; he added, grinning at me; &lsquo;I am afraid I
+can&rsquo;t do business with you, more especially as the master is not
+at home.&nbsp; What book have you brought?&rsquo;&nbsp; Taking the book
+out of my pocket, I placed it on the counter: the young fellow opened
+the book, and inspecting the title-page, burst into a loud laugh.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;What do you laugh for?&rsquo; said I, angrily, and half clenching
+my fist.&nbsp; &lsquo;Laugh!&rsquo; said the young fellow; &lsquo;laugh!
+who could help laughing?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I could,&rsquo; said I;
+&lsquo;I see nothing to laugh at; I want to exchange this book for a
+Bible.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;You do?&rsquo; said the young fellow; &lsquo;well,
+I daresay there are plenty who would be willing to exchange, that is,
+if they dared.&nbsp; I wish master were at home; but that would never
+do, either.&nbsp; Master&rsquo;s a family man, the Bibles are not mine,
+and master being a family man, is sharp, and knows all his stock; I&rsquo;d
+buy it of you, but, to tell you the truth, I am quite empty here,&rsquo;
+said he, pointing to his pocket, &lsquo;so I am afraid we can&rsquo;t
+deal.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Whereupon, looking anxiously at the young man, &lsquo;What am I to
+do?&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;I really want a Bible.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Can&rsquo;t you buy one?&rsquo; said the young man; &lsquo;have
+you no money?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I have some, but I am merely the
+agent of another; I came to exchange, not to buy; what am I to do?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know,&rsquo; said the young man, thoughtfully
+laying down the book on the counter; &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know what
+you can do; I think you will find some difficulty in this bartering
+job, the trade are rather precise.&rsquo;&nbsp; All at once he laughed
+louder than before; suddenly stopping, however, he put on a very grave
+look.&nbsp; &lsquo;Take my advice,&rsquo; said he; &lsquo;there is a
+firm established in this neighbourhood which scarcely sells any books
+but Bibles; they are very rich, and pride themselves on selling their
+books at the lowest possible price; apply to them, who knows but what
+they will exchange with you?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Thereupon I demanded with some eagerness of the young man the direction
+to the place where he thought it possible that I might effect the exchange&mdash;which
+direction the young fellow cheerfully gave me, and, as I turned away,
+had the civility to wish me success.</p>
+<p>I had no difficulty in finding the house to which the young fellow
+directed me; it was a very large house, situated in a square; and upon
+the side of the house was written in large letters, &lsquo;Bibles, and
+other religious books.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>At the door of the house were two or three tumbrils, in the act of
+being loaded with chests, very much resembling tea-chests; one of the
+chests falling down, burst, and out flew, not tea, but various books,
+in a neat, small size, and in neat leather covers; Bibles, said I,&mdash;Bibles,
+doubtless.&nbsp; I was not quite right, nor quite wrong; picking up
+one of the books, I looked at it for a moment, and found it to be the
+New Testament.&nbsp; &lsquo;Come, young lad,&rsquo; said a man who stood
+by, in the dress of a porter, &lsquo;put that book down, it is none
+of yours; if you want a book, go in and deal for one.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Deal, thought I, deal,&mdash;the man seems to know what I am coming
+about,&mdash;and going in, I presently found myself in a very large
+room.&nbsp; Behind a counter two men stood with their backs to a splendid
+fire, warming themselves, for the weather was cold.</p>
+<p>Of these men one was dressed in brown, and the other was dressed
+in black; both were tall men&mdash;he who was dressed in brown was thin,
+and had a particularly ill-natured countenance; the man dressed in black
+was bulky, his features were noble, but they were those of a lion.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is your business, young man?&rsquo; said the precise
+personage, as I stood staring at him and his companion.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I want a Bible,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What price, what size?&rsquo; said the precise-looking man.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As to size,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I should like to have a
+large one&mdash;that is, if you can afford me one&mdash;I do not come
+to buy.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, friend,&rsquo; said the precise-looking man, &lsquo;if
+you come here expecting to have a Bible for nothing, you are mistaken&mdash;we&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I would scorn to have a Bible for nothing,&rsquo; said I,
+&lsquo;or anything else; I came not to beg, but to barter; there is
+no shame in that, especially in a country like this, where all folks
+barter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, we don&rsquo;t barter,&rsquo; said the precise man, &lsquo;at
+least Bibles; you had better depart.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Stay, brother,&rsquo; said the man with the countenance of
+a lion, &lsquo;let us ask a few questions; this may be a very important
+case; perhaps the young man has had convictions.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not I,&rsquo; I exclaimed, &lsquo;I am convinced of nothing,
+and with regard to the Bible&mdash;I don&rsquo;t believe&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Hey!&rsquo; said the man with the lion countenance, and there
+he stopped.&nbsp; But with that &lsquo;Hey&rsquo; the walls of the house
+seemed to shake, the windows rattled, and the porter whom I had seen
+in front of the house came running up the steps, and looked into the
+apartment through the glass of the door.</p>
+<p>There was silence for about a minute&mdash;the same kind of silence
+which succeeds a clap of thunder.</p>
+<p>At last the man with the lion countenance, who had kept his eyes
+fixed upon me, said calmly, &lsquo;Were you about to say that you don&rsquo;t
+believe in the Bible, young man?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No more than in anything else,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;you were
+talking of convictions&mdash;I have no convictions.&nbsp; It is not
+easy to believe in the Bible till one is convinced that there is a Bible.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He seems to be insane,&rsquo; said the prim-looking man; &lsquo;we
+had better order the porter to turn him out.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am by no means certain,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;that the porter
+could turn me out; always provided there is a porter, and this system
+of ours be not a lie, and a dream.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come,&rsquo; said the lion-looking man, impatiently, &lsquo;a
+truce with this nonsense.&nbsp; If the porter cannot turn you out, perhaps
+some other person can; but to the point&mdash;you want a Bible?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;but not for myself; I was sent
+by another person to offer something in exchange for one.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And who is that person?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A poor old woman, who has had what you call convictions,&mdash;heard
+voices, or thought she heard them&mdash;I forgot to ask her whether
+they were loud ones.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What has she sent to offer in exchange?&rsquo; said the man,
+without taking any notice of the concluding part of my speech.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A book,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Let me see it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nay, brother,&rsquo; said the precise man, &lsquo;this will
+never do; if we once adopt the system of barter, we shall have all the
+holders of useless rubbish in the town applying to us.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I wish to see what he has brought,&rsquo; said the other;
+&lsquo;perhaps Baxter, or Jewell&rsquo;s <i>Apology</i>, either of which
+would make a valuable addition to our collection.&nbsp; Well, young
+man, what&rsquo;s the matter with you?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I stood like one petrified; I had put my hand into my pocket&mdash;the
+book was gone.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What&rsquo;s the matter?&rsquo; repeated the man with the
+lion countenance, in a voice very much resembling thunder.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have it not&mdash;I have lost it!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A pretty story, truly,&rsquo; said the precise-looking man,
+&lsquo;lost it!&nbsp; You had better retire,&rsquo; said the other.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How shall I appear before the party who intrusted me with
+the book?&nbsp; She will certainly think that I have purloined it, notwithstanding
+all I can say; nor, indeed, can I blame her,&mdash;appearances are certainly
+against me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They are so&mdash;you had better retire.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I moved towards the door.&nbsp; &lsquo;Stay, young man, one word
+more; there is only one way of proceeding which would induce me to believe
+that you are sincere.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is that?&rsquo; said I, stopping and looking at him anxiously.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The purchase of a Bible.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Purchase!&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;purchase!&nbsp; I came not
+to purchase, but to barter; such was my instruction, and how can I barter
+if I have lost the book?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The other made no answer, and turning away I made for the door; all
+of a sudden I started, and turning round, &lsquo;Dear me,&rsquo; said
+I, &lsquo;it has just come into my head, that if the book was lost by
+my negligence, as it must have been, I have clearly a right to make
+it good.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>No answer.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; I repeated, &lsquo;I have clearly a right to make
+it good; how glad I am! see the effect of a little reflection.&nbsp;
+I will purchase a Bible instantly, that is, if I have not lost&mdash;&rsquo;
+and with considerable agitation I felt in my pocket.</p>
+<p>The prim-looking man smiled: &lsquo;I suppose,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;that
+he has lost his money as well as book.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I have not&rsquo;; and pulling out
+my hand I displayed no less a sum than three half-crowns.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, noble goddess of the Mint!&rsquo; as Dame Charlotta Nordenflycht,
+the Swede, said a hundred and fifty years ago, &lsquo;great is thy power;
+how energetically the possession of thee speaks in favour of man&rsquo;s
+character!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Only half-a-crown for this Bible?&rsquo; said I, putting down
+the money, &lsquo;it is worth three&rsquo;; and bowing to the man of
+the noble features, I departed with my purchase.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Queer customer,&rsquo; said the prim-looking man, as I was
+about to close the door&mdash;&lsquo;don&rsquo;t like him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, as to that, I scarcely know what to say,&rsquo; said
+he of the countenance of a lion.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XLVI</h2>
+<p>The pickpocket&mdash;Strange rencounter&mdash;Drag him along&mdash;A
+great service&mdash;Things of importance&mdash;Philological matters&mdash;Mother
+of languages&mdash;Zhats!</p>
+<p>A few days after the occurrence of what is recorded in the last chapter,
+as I was wandering in the City, chance directed my footsteps to an alley
+leading from one narrow street to another in the neighbourhood of Cheapside.&nbsp;
+Just before I reached the mouth of the alley, a man in a greatcoat,
+closely followed by another, passed it; and, at the moment in which
+they were passing, I observed the man behind snatch something from the
+pocket of the other; whereupon, darting into the street, I seized the
+hindermost man by the collar, crying at the same time to the other,
+&lsquo;My good friend, this person has just picked your pocket.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The individual whom I addressed, turning round with a start, glanced
+at me, and then at the person whom I held.&nbsp; London is the place
+for strange rencounters.&nbsp; It appeared to me that I recognised both
+individuals&mdash;the man whose pocket had been picked and the other;
+the latter now began to struggle violently; &lsquo;I have picked no
+one&rsquo;s pocket,&rsquo; said he.&nbsp; &lsquo;Rascal,&rsquo; said
+the other, &lsquo;you have got my pocket-book in your bosom.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;No, I have not,&rsquo; said the other; and, struggling more violently
+than before, the pocket-book dropped from his bosom upon the ground.</p>
+<p>The other was now about to lay hands upon the fellow, who was still
+struggling.&nbsp; &lsquo;You had better take up your book,&rsquo; said
+I; &lsquo;I can hold him.&rsquo;&nbsp; He followed my advice; and, taking
+up his pocket-book, surveyed my prisoner with a ferocious look, occasionally
+glaring at me.&nbsp; Yes, I had seen him before&mdash;it was the stranger
+whom I had observed on London Bridge, by the stall of the old apple-woman,
+with the cap and cloak; but, instead of these, he now wore a hat and
+greatcoat.&nbsp; &lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I, at last, &lsquo;what am
+I to do with this gentleman of ours?&rsquo; nodding to the prisoner,
+who had now left off struggling.&nbsp; &lsquo;Shall I let him go?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Go!&rsquo; said the other; &lsquo;go!&nbsp; The knave&mdash;the
+rascal; let him go, indeed!&nbsp; Not so, he shall go before the Lord
+Mayor.&nbsp; Bring him along.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, let me go,&rsquo; said the other: &lsquo;let me go; this
+is the first offence, I assure ye&mdash;the first time I ever thought
+to do anything wrong.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Hold your tongue,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;or I shall be angry
+with you.&nbsp; If I am not very much mistaken, you once attempted to
+cheat me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I never saw you before in all my life,&rsquo; said the fellow,
+though his countenance seemed to belie his words.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That is not true,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;you are the man who
+attempted to cheat me of one-and-ninepence in the coach-yard, on the
+first morning of my arrival in London.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t doubt it,&rsquo; said the other; &lsquo;a confirmed
+thief&rsquo;; and here his tones became peculiarly sharp; &lsquo;I would
+fain see him hanged&mdash;crucified.&nbsp; Drag him along.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am no constable,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;you have got your
+pocket-book,&mdash;I would rather you would bid me let him go.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Bid you let him go!&rsquo; said the other almost furiously,
+&lsquo;I command&mdash;stay, what was I going to say?&nbsp; I was forgetting
+myself,&rsquo; he observed more gently; &lsquo;but he stole my pocket-book;&mdash;if
+you did but know what it contained.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;if it contains anything valuable,
+be the more thankful that you have recovered it; as for the man, I will
+help you to take him where you please; but I wish you would let him
+go.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The stranger hesitated, and there was an extraordinary play of emotion
+in his features: he looked ferociously at the pickpocket, and, more
+than once, somewhat suspiciously at myself; at last his countenance
+cleared, and, with a good grace, he said, &lsquo;Well, you have done
+me a great service, and you have my consent to let him go; but the rascal
+shall not escape with impunity,&rsquo; he exclaimed suddenly, as I let
+the man go, and starting forward, before the fellow could escape, he
+struck him a violent blow on the face.&nbsp; The man staggered, and
+had nearly fallen; recovering himself, however, he said, &lsquo;I tell
+you what, my fellow; if I ever meet you in this street in a dark night,
+and I have a knife about me, it shall be the worse for you; as for you,
+young man,&rsquo; said he to me; but, observing that the other was making
+towards him, he left whatever he was about to say unfinished, and, taking
+to his heels, was out of sight in a moment.</p>
+<p>The stranger and myself walked in the direction of Cheapside, the
+way in which he had been originally proceeding; he was silent for a
+few moments, at length he said, &lsquo;You have really done me a great
+service, and I should be ungrateful not to acknowledge it.&nbsp; I am
+a merchant; and a merchant&rsquo;s pocket-book, as you perhaps know,
+contains many things of importance; but, young man,&rsquo; he exclaimed,
+&lsquo;I think I have seen you before; I thought so at first, but where
+I cannot exactly say: where was it?&rsquo;&nbsp; I mentioned London
+Bridge and the old apple-woman.&nbsp; &lsquo;Oh,&rsquo; said he, and
+smiled, and there was something peculiar in his smile, &lsquo;I remember
+now.&nbsp; Do you frequently sit on London Bridge?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Occasionally,&rsquo;
+said I; &lsquo;that old woman is an old friend of mine.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Friend?&rsquo; said the stranger, &lsquo;I am glad of it, for
+I shall know where to find you.&nbsp; At present I am going to &lsquo;Change;
+time, you know, is precious to a merchant.&rsquo;&nbsp; We were by this
+time close to Cheapside.&nbsp; &lsquo;Farewell,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;I
+shall not forget this service.&nbsp; I trust we shall soon meet again.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+He then shook me by the hand and went his way.</p>
+<p>The next day, as I was seated beside the old woman in the booth,
+the stranger again made his appearance, and, after a word or two, sat
+down beside me; the old woman was sometimes reading the Bible, which
+she had already had two or three days in her possession, and sometimes
+discoursing with me.&nbsp; Our discourse rolled chiefly on philological
+matters.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do you call bread in your language?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You mean the language of those who bring me things to buy,
+or who did; for, as I told you before, I shan&rsquo;t buy any more;
+it&rsquo;s no language of mine, dear&mdash;they call bread pannam in
+their language.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Pannam!&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;pannam! evidently connected
+with, if not derived from, the Latin panis; even as the word tanner,
+which signifieth a sixpence, is connected with, if not derived from,
+the Latin tener, which is itself connected with, if not derived from,
+tawno or tawner, which, in the language of Mr. Petulengro, signifieth
+a sucking child.&nbsp; Let me see, what is the term for bread in the
+language of Mr. Petulengro?&nbsp; Morro, or manro, as I have sometimes
+heard it called; is there not some connection between these words and
+panis?&nbsp; Yes, I think there is; and I should not wonder if morro,
+manro, and panis were connected, perhaps derived from, the same root;
+but what is that root?&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t know&mdash;I wish I did;
+though, perhaps, I should not be the happier.&nbsp; Morro&mdash;manro!&nbsp;
+I rather think morro is the oldest form; it is easier to say morro than
+manro.&nbsp; Morro!&nbsp; Irish, aran; Welsh, bara; English, bread.&nbsp;
+I can see a resemblance between all the words, and pannam too; and I
+rather think that the Petulengrian word is the elder.&nbsp; How odd
+it would be if the language of Mr. Petulengro should eventually turn
+out to be the mother of all the languages in the world; yet it is certain
+that there are some languages in which the terms for bread have no connection
+with the word used by Mr. Petulengro, notwithstanding that those languages,
+in many other points, exhibit a close affinity to the language of the
+horse-shoe master: for example, bread, in Hebrew, is Laham, which assuredly
+exhibits little similitude to the word used by the aforesaid Petulengro.&nbsp;
+In Armenian it is&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Zhats!&rsquo; said the stranger, starting up.&nbsp; &lsquo;By
+the Patriarch and the Three Holy Churches, this is wonderful!&nbsp;
+How came you to know aught of Armenian?&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XLVII</h2>
+<p>New acquaintance&mdash;Wired cases&mdash;Bread and wine&mdash;Armenian
+colonies&mdash;Learning without money&mdash;What a language&mdash;The
+tide&mdash;Your foible&mdash;Learning of the Haiks&mdash;Old proverb&mdash;Pressing
+invitation.</p>
+<p>Just as I was about to reply to the interrogation of my new-formed
+acquaintance, a man with a dusky countenance, probably one of the Lascars,
+or Mulattos, of whom the old woman had spoken, came up and whispered
+to him, and with this man he presently departed, not however before
+he had told me the place of his abode, and requested me to visit him.</p>
+<p>After the lapse of a few days, I called at the house which he had
+indicated.&nbsp; It was situated in a dark and narrow street, in the
+heart of the City, at no great distance from the Bank.&nbsp; I entered
+a counting-room, in which a solitary clerk, with a foreign look, was
+writing.&nbsp; The stranger was not at home; returning the next day,
+however, I met him at the door as he was about to enter; he shook me
+warmly by the hand.&nbsp; &lsquo;I am glad to see you,&rsquo; said he,
+&lsquo;follow me, I was just thinking of you.&rsquo;&nbsp; He led me
+through the counting-room, to an apartment up a flight of stairs; before
+ascending, however, he looked into the book in which the foreign-visaged
+clerk was writing, and, seemingly not satisfied with the manner in which
+he was executing his task, he gave him two or three cuffs, telling him
+at the same time that he deserved crucifixion.</p>
+<p>The apartment above stairs, to which he led me, was large, with three
+windows, which opened upon the street.&nbsp; The walls were hung with
+wired cases, apparently containing books.&nbsp; There was a table and
+two or three chairs; but the principal article of furniture was a long
+sofa, extending from the door by which we entered to the farther end
+of the apartment.&nbsp; Seating himself upon the sofa, my new acquaintance
+motioned to me to sit beside him, and then, looking me full in the face,
+repeated his former inquiry.&nbsp; &lsquo;In the name of all that is
+wonderful, how came you to know aught of my language?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There is nothing wonderful in that,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;we
+are at the commencement of a philological age, every one studies languages;
+that is, every one who is fit for nothing else; philology being the
+last resource of dulness and ennui, I have got a little in advance of
+the throng, by mastering the Armenian alphabet; but I foresee the time
+when every unmarriageable miss, and desperate blockhead, will likewise
+have acquired the letters of Mesroub, and will know the term for bread,
+in Armenian, and perhaps that for wine.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Kini,&rsquo; said my companion; and that and the other word
+put me in mind of the duties of hospitality.&nbsp; &lsquo;Will you eat
+bread and drink wine with me?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Willingly,&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; Whereupon my companion, unlocking
+a closet, produced, on a silver salver, a loaf of bread, with a silver-handled
+knife, and wine in a silver flask, with cups of the same metal.&nbsp;
+&lsquo; I hope you like my fare,&rsquo; said he, after we had both eaten
+and drunk.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I like your bread,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;for it is stale;
+I like not your wine, it is sweet, and I hate sweet wine.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is wine of Cyprus,&rsquo; said my entertainer; and, when
+I found that it was wine of Cyprus, I tasted it again, and the second
+taste pleased me much better than the first, notwithstanding that I
+still thought it somewhat sweet.&nbsp; &lsquo;So,&rsquo; said I, after
+a pause, looking at my companion, &lsquo;you are an Armenian.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;an Armenian born in London, but
+not less an Armenian on that account.&nbsp; My father was a native of
+Ispahan, one of the celebrated Armenian colony which was established
+there shortly after the time of the dreadful hunger, which drove the
+children of Haik in swarms from their original country, and scattered
+them over most parts of the eastern and western world.&nbsp; In Ispahan
+he passed the greater portion of his life, following mercantile pursuits
+with considerable success.&nbsp; Certain enemies, however, having accused
+him to the despot of the place, of using seditious language, he was
+compelled to flee, leaving most of his property behind.&nbsp; Travelling
+in the direction of the west, he came at last to London, where he established
+himself, and where he eventually died, leaving behind a large property
+and myself, his only child, the fruit of a marriage with an Armenian
+Englishwoman, who did not survive my birth more than three months.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The Armenian then proceeded to tell me that he had carried on the
+business of his father, which seemed to embrace most matters, from buying
+silks of Lascars, to speculating in the funds, and that he had considerably
+increased the property which his father had left him.&nbsp; He candidly
+confessed that he was wonderfully fond of gold, and said there was nothing
+like it for giving a person respectability and consideration in the
+world: to which assertion I made no answer, being not exactly prepared
+to contradict it.</p>
+<p>And, when he had related to me his history, he expressed a desire
+to know something more of myself, whereupon I gave him the outline of
+my history, concluding with saying, &lsquo;I am now a poor author, or
+rather philologist, upon the streets of London, possessed of many tongues,
+which I find of no use in the world.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Learning without money is anything but desirable,&rsquo; said
+the Armenian, &lsquo;as it unfits a man for humble occupations.&nbsp;
+It is true that it may occasionally beget him friends; I confess to
+you that your understanding something of my language weighs more with
+me than the service you rendered me in rescuing my pocket-book the other
+day from the claws of that scoundrel whom I yet hope to see hanged,
+if not crucified, notwithstanding there were in that pocket-book papers
+and documents of considerable value.&nbsp; Yes, that circumstance makes
+my heart warm towards you, for I am proud of my language&mdash;as I
+indeed well may be&mdash;what a language, noble and energetic! quite
+original, differing from all others both in words and structure.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are mistaken,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;many languages resemble
+the Armenian both in structure and words.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For example?&rsquo; said the Armenian.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For example,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;the English.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The English!&rsquo; said the Armenian; &lsquo;show me one
+word in which the English resembles the Armenian.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You walk on London Bridge,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the Armenian.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I saw you look over the balustrade the other morning.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;True,&rsquo; said the Armenian.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, what did you see rushing up through the arches with
+noise and foam?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What was it?&rsquo; said the Armenian.&nbsp; &lsquo;What was
+it?&mdash;you don&rsquo;t mean the <i>tide</i>?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do I not?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, what has the tide to do with the matter?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Much,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;what is the tide?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The ebb and flow of the sea,&rsquo; said the Armenian.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The sea itself; what is the Haik word for sea?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The Armenian gave a strong gasp; then, nodding his head thrice, &lsquo;You
+are right,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;the English word tide is the Armenian
+for sea; and now I begin to perceive that there are many English words
+which are Armenian; there is --- and ---; and there again in French,
+there is --- and --- derived from the Armenian.&nbsp; How strange, how
+singular&mdash;I thank you.&nbsp; It is a proud thing to see that the
+language of my race has had so much influence over the languages of
+the world.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I saw that all that related to his race was the weak point of the
+Armenian.&nbsp; I did not flatter the Armenian with respect to his race
+or language.&nbsp; &lsquo;An inconsiderable people,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;shrewd
+and industrious, but still an inconsiderable people.&nbsp; A language
+bold and expressive, and of some antiquity, derived, though perhaps
+not immediately, from some much older tongue.&nbsp; I do not think that
+the Armenian has had any influence over the formation of the languages
+of the world, I am not much indebted to the Armenian for the solution
+of any doubts; whereas to the language of Mr. Petulengro&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have heard you mention that name before,&rsquo; said the
+Armenian; &lsquo;who is Mr. Petulengro?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And then I told the Armenian who Mr. Petulengro was.&nbsp; The Armenian
+spoke contemptuously of Mr. Petulengro and his race.&nbsp; &lsquo;Don&rsquo;t
+speak contemptuously of Mr. Petulengro,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;nor of
+anything belonging to him.&nbsp; He is a dark mysterious personage;
+all connected with him is a mystery, especially his language; but I
+believe that his language is doomed to solve a great philological problem&mdash;Mr.
+Petulengo&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You appear agitated,&rsquo; said the Armenian; &lsquo;take
+another glass of wine; you possess a great deal of philological knowledge,
+but it appears to me that the language of this Petulengro is your foible:
+but let us change the subject; I feel much interested in you, and would
+fain be of service to you.&nbsp; Can you cast accounts?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I shook my head.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Keep books?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have an idea that I could write books,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;but,
+as to keeping them&mdash;&rsquo; and here again I shook my head.</p>
+<p>The Armenian was silent some time; all at once, glancing at one of
+the wire cases, with which, as I have already said, the walls of the
+room were hung, he asked me if I was well acquainted with the learning
+of the Haiks.&nbsp; &lsquo;The books in these cases,&rsquo; said he,
+&lsquo;contain the masterpieces of Haik learning.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;all I know of the learning of the
+Haiks is their translation of the Bible.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have never read Z---?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I have never read Z---.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have a plan,&rsquo; said the Armenian; &lsquo;I think I
+can employ you agreeably and profitably; I should like to see Z--- in
+an English dress; you shall translate Z---. If you can read the
+Scriptures in Armenian, you can translate Z---.&nbsp; He is our Esop,
+the most acute and clever of all our moral writers&mdash;his philosophy&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will have nothing to do with him,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Wherefore?&rsquo; said the Armenian.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There is an old proverb,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;&ldquo;that
+a burnt child avoids the fire.&rdquo;&nbsp; I have burnt my hands sufficiently
+with attempting to translate philosophy, to make me cautious of venturing
+upon it again&rsquo;; and then I told the Armenian how I had been persuaded
+by the publisher to translate his philosophy into German, and what sorry
+thanks I had received; &lsquo;And who knows,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;but
+the attempt to translate Armenian philosophy into English might he attended
+with yet more disagreeable consequences?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The Armenian smiled.&nbsp; &lsquo;You would find me very different
+from the publisher.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In many points I have no doubt I should,&rsquo; I replied;
+&lsquo;but at the present moment I feel like a bird which has escaped
+from a cage, and, though hungry, feels no disposition to return.&nbsp;
+Of what nation is the dark man below stairs, whom I saw writing at the
+desk?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He is a Moldave,&rsquo; said the Armenian; &lsquo;the dog
+(and here his eyes sparkled) deserves to be crucified, he is continually
+making mistakes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The Armenian again renewed his proposition about Z---, which I again
+refused, as I felt but little inclination to place myself beneath the
+jurisdiction of a person who was in the habit of cuffing those whom
+he employed, when they made mistakes.&nbsp; I presently took my departure;
+not, however, before I had received from the Armenian a pressing invitation
+to call upon him whenever I should feel disposed.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XLVIII</h2>
+<p>What to do&mdash;Strong enough&mdash;Fame and profit&mdash;Alliterative
+euphony&mdash;Excellent fellow&mdash;Listen to me&mdash;A plan&mdash;Bagnigge
+Wells.</p>
+<p>Anxious thoughts frequently disturbed me at this time with respect
+to what I was to do, and how support myself in the Great City.&nbsp;
+My future prospects were gloomy enough, and I looked forward and feared;
+sometimes I felt half disposed to accept the offer of the Armenian,
+and to commence forthwith, under his superintendence, the translation
+of the Haik Esop; but the remembrance of the cuffs which I had seen
+him bestow upon the Moldavian, when glancing over his shoulder into
+the ledger or whatever it was on which he was employed, immediately
+drove the inclination from my mind.&nbsp; I could not support the idea
+of the possibility of his staring over my shoulder upon my translation
+of the Haik Esop, and, dissatisfied with my attempts, treating me as
+he had treated the Moldavian clerk; placing myself in a position which
+exposed me to such treatment would indeed be plunging into the fire
+after escaping from the frying-pan.&nbsp; The publisher, insolent and
+overbearing as he was, whatever he might have wished or thought, had
+never lifted his hand against me, or told me that I merited crucifixion.</p>
+<p>What was I to do? turn porter?&nbsp; I was strong; but there was
+something besides strength required to ply the trade of a porter&mdash;a
+mind of a particularly phlegmatic temperament, which I did not possess.&nbsp;
+What should I do? enlist as a soldier? I was tall enough; but something
+besides height is required to make a man play with credit the part of
+soldier, I mean a private one&mdash;a spirit, if spirit it can be called,
+which will not only enable a man to submit with patience to insolence
+and abuse, and even to cuffs and kicks, but occasionally to the lash.&nbsp;
+I felt that I was not qualified to be a soldier, at least a private
+one; far better be a drudge to the most ferocious of publishers, editing
+Newgate lives, and writing in eighteenpenny reviews&mdash;better to
+translate the Haik Esop, under the superintendence of ten Armenians,
+than be a private soldier in the English service; I did not decide rashly&mdash;I
+knew something of soldiering.&nbsp; What should I do?&nbsp; I thought
+that I would make a last and desperate attempt to dispose of the ballads
+and of Ab Gwilym.</p>
+<p>I had still an idea that, provided I could persuade any spirited
+publisher to give these translations to the world, I should acquire
+both considerable fame and profit; not, perhaps, a world-embracing fame
+such as Byron&rsquo;s; but a fame not to be sneered at, which would
+last me a considerable time, and would keep my heart from breaking;&mdash;profit,
+not equal to that which Scott had made by his wondrous novels, but which
+would prevent me from starving, and enable me to achieve some other
+literary enterprise.&nbsp; I read and re-read my ballads, and the more
+I read them the more I was convinced that the public, in the event of
+their being published, would freely purchase, and hail them with the
+merited applause.&nbsp; Were not the deeds and adventures wonderful
+and heart-stirring&mdash;from which it is true I could claim no merit,
+being but the translator; but had I not rendered them into English,
+with all their original fire?&nbsp; Yes, I was confident I had; and
+I had no doubt that the public would say so.&nbsp; And then, with respect
+to Ab Gwilym, had I not done as much justice to him as to the Danish
+ballads; not only rendering faithfully his thoughts, imagery, and phraseology,
+but even preserving in my translation the alliterative euphony which
+constitutes one of the most remarkable features of Welsh prosody?&nbsp;
+Yes, I had accomplished all this; and I doubted not that the public
+would receive my translations from Ab Gwilym with quite as much eagerness
+as my version of the Danish ballads.&nbsp; But I found the publishers
+as intractable as ever, and to this day the public has never had an
+opportunity of doing justice to the glowing fire of my ballad versification,
+and the alliterative euphony of my imitations of Ab Gwilym.</p>
+<p>I had not seen Francis Ardry since the day I had seen him taking
+lessons in elocution.&nbsp; One afternoon as I was seated at my table,
+my head resting on my hands, he entered my apartment; sitting down,
+he inquired of me why I had not been to see him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I might ask the same question of you,&rsquo; I replied.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Wherefore have you not been to see me?&rsquo;&nbsp; Whereupon
+Francis Ardry told me that he had been much engaged in his oratorical
+exercises, also in escorting the young Frenchwoman about to places of
+public amusement; he then again questioned me as to the reason of my
+not having been to see him.</p>
+<p>I returned an evasive answer.&nbsp; The truth was, that for some
+time past my appearance, owing to the state of my finances, had been
+rather shabby; and I did not wish to expose a fashionable young man
+like Francis Ardry, who lived in a fashionable neighbourhood, to the
+imputation of having a shabby acquaintance.&nbsp; I was aware that Francis
+Ardry was an excellent fellow; but, on that very account, I felt, under
+existing circumstances, a delicacy in visiting him.</p>
+<p>It is very possible that he had an inkling of how matters stood,
+as he presently began to talk of my affairs and prospects.&nbsp; I told
+him of my late ill success with the booksellers, and inveighed against
+their blindness to their own interest in refusing to publish my translations.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;The last that I addressed myself to,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;told
+me not to trouble him again unless I could bring him a decent novel
+or a tale.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said Frank, &lsquo;and why did you not carry
+him a decent novel or a tale?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because I have neither,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;and to write
+them is, I believe, above my capacity.&nbsp; At present I feel divested
+of all energy&mdash;heartless, and almost hopeless.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I see how it is,&rsquo; said Francis Ardry, &lsquo;you have
+overworked yourself, and, worst of all, to no purpose.&nbsp; Take my
+advice; cast all care aside, and only think of diverting yourself for
+a month at least.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Divert myself!&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;and where am I to find
+the means?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Be that care on my shoulders,&rsquo; said Francis Ardry.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Listen to me&mdash;my uncles have been so delighted with the
+favourable accounts which they have lately received from T--- of my
+progress in oratory, that, in the warmth of their hearts, they made
+me a present yesterday of two hundred pounds.&nbsp; This is more money
+than I want, at least for the present; do me the favour to take half
+of it as a loan&mdash;hear me,&rsquo; said he, observing that I was
+about to interrupt him; &lsquo;I have a plan in my head&mdash;one of
+the prettiest in the world.&nbsp; The sister of my charmer is just arrived
+from France; she cannot speak a word of English; and, as Annette and
+myself are much engaged in our own matters, we cannot pay her the attention
+which we should wish, and which she deserves, for she is a truly fascinating
+creature, although somewhat differing from my charmer, having blue eyes
+and flaxen hair; whilst, Annette, on the contrary&mdash;But I hope you
+will shortly see Annette.&nbsp; Now, my plan is this&mdash;Take the
+money, dress yourself fashionably, and conduct Annette&rsquo;s sister
+to Bagnigge Wells.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what should we do at Bagnigge Wells?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do!&rsquo; said Francis Ardry.&nbsp; &lsquo;Dance!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I scarcely know anything of dancing.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then here&rsquo;s an excellent opportunity of improving yourself.&nbsp;
+Like most Frenchwomen, she dances divinely; however, if you object to
+Bagnigge Wells and dancing, go to Brighton, and remain there a month
+or two, at the end of which time you can return with your mind refreshed
+and invigorated, and materials, perhaps, for a tale or novel.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I never heard a more foolish, plan,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;or
+one less likely to terminate profitably or satisfactorily.&nbsp; I thank
+you, however, for your offer, which is, I daresay, well meant.&nbsp;
+If I am to escape from my cares and troubles, and find my mind refreshed
+and invigorated, I must adopt other means than conducting a French demoiselle
+to Brighton or Bagnigge Wells, defraying the expense by borrowing from
+a friend.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XLIX</h2>
+<p>Singular personage&mdash;A large sum&mdash;Papa of Rome&mdash;We
+are Christians&mdash;Degenerate Armenians&mdash;Roots of Ararat&mdash;Regular
+features.</p>
+<p>The Armenian!&nbsp; I frequently saw this individual, availing myself
+of the permission which he had given me to call upon him.&nbsp; A truly
+singular personage was he, with his love of amassing money, and his
+nationality so strong as to be akin to poetry.&nbsp; Many an Armenian
+I have subsequently known fond of money-getting, and not destitute of
+national spirit; but never another, who, in the midst of his schemes
+of lucre, was at all times willing to enter into a conversation on the
+structure of the Haik language, or who ever offered me money to render
+into English the fables of Z--- in the hope of astonishing the stock-jobbers
+of the Exchange with the wisdom of the Haik Esop.</p>
+<p>But he was fond of money, very fond.&nbsp; Within a little time I
+had won his confidence to such a degree that he informed me that the
+grand wish of his heart was to be possessed of two hundred thousand
+pounds.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I think you might satisfy yourself with the half,&rsquo; said
+I.&nbsp; &lsquo;One hundred thousand pounds is a large sum.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are mistaken,&rsquo; said the Armenian, &lsquo;a hundred
+thousand pounds is nothing.&nbsp; My father left me that or more at
+his death.&nbsp; No, I shall never be satisfied with less than two.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what will you do with your riches,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;when
+you have obtained them?&nbsp; Will you sit down and muse upon them,
+or will you deposit them in a cellar, and go down once a day to stare
+at them?&nbsp; I have heard say that the fulfilment of one&rsquo;s wishes
+is invariably the precursor of extreme misery, and forsooth I can scarcely
+conceive a more horrible state of existence than to be without a hope
+or wish.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is bad enough, I daresay,&rsquo; said the Armenian; &lsquo;it
+will, however, be time enough to think of disposing of the money when
+I have procured it.&nbsp; I still fall short by a vast sum of the two
+hundred thousand pounds.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I had occasionally much conversation with him on the state and prospects
+of his nation, especially of that part of it which still continued in
+the original country of the Haiks&mdash;Ararat and its confines, which,
+it appeared, he had frequently visited.&nbsp; He informed me that since
+the death of the last Haik monarch, which occurred in the eleventh century,
+Armenia had been governed both temporally and spiritually by certain
+personages called patriarchs; their temporal authority, however, was
+much circumscribed by the Persian and Turk, especially the former, of
+whom the Armenian spoke with much hatred, whilst their spiritual authority
+had at various times been considerably undermined by the emissaries
+of the Papa of Rome, as the Armenian called him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Papa of Rome sent his emissaries at an early period amongst
+us,&rsquo; said the Armenian, &lsquo;seducing the minds of weak-headed
+people, persuading them that the hillocks of Rome are higher than the
+ridges of Ararat; that the Roman Papa has more to say in heaven than
+the Armenian patriarch, and that puny Latin is a better language than
+nervous and sonorous Haik.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They are both dialects,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;of the language
+of Mr. Petulengro, one of whose race I believe to have been the original
+founder of Rome; but, with respect to religion, what are the chief points
+of your faith? you are Christians, I believe.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the Armenian, &lsquo;we are Christians in
+our way; we believe in God, the Holy Spirit, and Saviour, though we
+are not prepared to admit that the last personage is not only himself,
+but the other two.&nbsp; We believe . . .&rsquo; and then the Armenian
+told me of several things which the Haiks believed or disbelieved.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;But what we find most hard of all to believe,&rsquo; said he,
+&lsquo;is that the man of the mole-hills is entitled to our allegiance,
+he not being a Haik, or understanding the Haik language.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But, by your own confession,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;he has
+introduced a schism in your nation, and has amongst you many that believe
+in him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is true,&rsquo; said the Armenian, I that even on the confines
+of Ararat there are a great number who consider that mountain to be
+lower than the hillocks of Rome; but the greater number of degenerate
+Armenians are to be found amongst those who have wandered to the west;
+most of the Haik churches of the west consider Rome to be higher than
+Ararat&mdash;most of the Armenians of this place hold that dogma; I,
+however, have always stood firm in the contrary opinion.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ha! ha!&rsquo;&mdash;here the Armenian laughed in his peculiar
+manner&mdash;&lsquo;talking of this matter puts me in mind of an adventure
+which lately befell me, with one of the emissaries of the Papa of Rome,
+for the Papa of Rome has at present many emissaries in this country,
+in order to seduce the people from their own quiet religion to the savage
+heresy of Rome; this fellow came to me partly in the hope of converting
+me, but principally to extort money for the purpose of furthering the
+designs of Rome in this country.&nbsp; I humoured the fellow at first,
+keeping him in play for nearly a month, deceiving and laughing at him.&nbsp;
+At last he discovered that he could make nothing of me, and departed
+with the scowl of Caiaphas, whilst I cried after him, &lsquo;The roots
+of Ararat are <i>deeper</i> than those of Rome.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The Armenian had occasionally reverted to the subject of the translation
+of the Haik Esop, which he had still a lurking desire that I should
+execute; but I had invariably declined the undertaking, without, however,
+stating my reasons.&nbsp; On one occasion, when we had been conversing
+on the subject, the Armenian, who had been observing my countenance
+for some time with much attention, remarked, &lsquo;Perhaps, after all,
+you are right, and you might employ your time to better advantage.&nbsp;
+Literature is a fine thing, especially Haik literature, but neither
+that nor any other would be likely to serve as a foundation to a man&rsquo;s
+fortune: and to make a fortune should be the principal aim of every
+one&rsquo;s life; therefore listen to me.&nbsp; Accept a seat at the
+desk opposite to my Moldavian clerk, and receive the rudiments of a
+merchant&rsquo;s education.&nbsp; You shall be instructed in the Armenian
+way of doing business&mdash;I think you would make an excellent merchant.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why do you think so?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because you have something of the Armenian look.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I understand you,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;you mean to say that
+I squint!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not exactly,&rsquo; said the Armenian, &lsquo;but there is
+certainly a kind of irregularity in your features.&nbsp; One eye appears
+to me larger than the other&mdash;never mind, but rather rejoice; in
+that irregularity consists your strength.&nbsp; All people with regular
+features are fools; it is very hard for them, you&rsquo;ll say, but
+there is no help: all we can do, who are not in such a predicament,
+is to pity those who are.&nbsp; Well! will you accept my offer?&nbsp;
+No! you are a singular individual; but I must not forget my own concerns.&nbsp;
+I must now go forth, having an appointment by which I hope to make money.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER L</h2>
+<p>Wish fulfilled&mdash;Extraordinary figure&mdash;Bueno&mdash;Noah&mdash;The
+two faces&mdash;I don&rsquo;t blame him&mdash;Too fond of money&mdash;Were
+I an Armenian.</p>
+<p>The fulfilment of the Armenian&rsquo;s grand wish was nearer at hand
+than either he or I had anticipated.&nbsp; Partly owing to the success
+of a bold speculation, in which he had some time previously engaged,
+and partly owing to the bequest of a large sum of money by one of his
+nation who died at this period in Paris, he found himself in the possession
+of a fortune somewhat exceeding two hundred thousand pounds; this fact
+he communicated to me one evening about an hour after the close of &lsquo;Change;
+the hour at which I generally called, and at which I mostly found him
+at home.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;and what do you intend to do next?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I scarcely know,&rsquo; said the Armenian.&nbsp; &lsquo;I
+was thinking of that when you came in.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t see anything
+that I can do, save going on in my former course.&nbsp; After all, I
+was perhaps too moderate in making the possession of two hundred thousand
+pounds the summit of my ambition; there are many individuals in this
+town who possess three times that sum, and are not yet satisfied.&nbsp;
+No, I think I can do no better than pursue the old career; who knows
+but I may make the two hundred thousand three or four?&mdash;there is
+already a surplus, which is an encouragement; however, we will consider
+the matter over a goblet of wine; I have observed of late that you have
+become partial to my Cyprus.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And it came to pass that, as we were seated over the Cyprus wine,
+we heard a knock at the door.&nbsp; &lsquo;Adelante!&rsquo; cried the
+Armenian; whereupon the door opened, and in walked a somewhat extraordinary
+figure&mdash;a man in a long loose tunic of a stuff striped with black
+and yellow; breeches of plush velvet, silk stockings, and shoes with
+silver buckles.&nbsp; On his head he wore a high-peaked hat; he was
+tall, had a hooked nose, and in age was about fifty.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Welcome, Rabbi Manasseh,&rsquo; said the Armenian.&nbsp; &lsquo;I
+know your knock&mdash;you are welcome; sit down.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am welcome,&rsquo; said Manasseh, sitting down; &lsquo;he&mdash;he&mdash;he!
+you know my knock&mdash;I bring you money&mdash;<i>bueno</i>!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>There was something very peculiar in the sound of that bueno&mdash;I
+never forgot it.</p>
+<p>Thereupon a conversation ensued between Rabbi Manasseh and the Armenian,
+in a language which I knew to be Spanish, though a peculiar dialect.&nbsp;
+It related to a mercantile transaction.&nbsp; The Rabbi sighed heavily
+as he delivered to the other a considerable sum of money.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is right,&rsquo; said the Armenian, handing a receipt.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;It is right; and I am quite satisfied.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are satisfied&mdash;you have taken money.&nbsp; <i>Bueno</i>,
+I have nothing to say against your being satisfied.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come, Rabbi,&rsquo; said the Armenian, &lsquo;do not despond;
+it may be your turn next to take money; in the meantime, can&rsquo;t
+you be persuaded to taste my Cyprus?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He&mdash;he&mdash;he! se&ntilde;or, you know I do not love
+wine.&nbsp; I love Noah when he is himself; but, as Janus, I love him
+not.&nbsp; But you are merry; <i>bueno</i>, you have a right to be so.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Excuse me,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;but does Noah ever appear
+as Janus?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He&mdash;he&mdash;he!&rsquo; said the Rabbi, &lsquo;he only
+appeared as Janus once&mdash;una vez quando estuvo borracho; which means&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I understand,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;when he was . . .&rsquo;
+and I drew the side of my right hand sharply across my left wrist.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are you one of our people?&rsquo; said the Rabbi.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I am one of the Goyim; but I am
+only half enlightened.&nbsp; Why should Noah be Janus when he was in
+that state?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He&mdash;he&mdash;he! you must know that in Lasan akhades
+wine is janin.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In Armenian, kini,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;in Welsh, gwin; Latin,
+vinum; but do you think that Janus and janin are one?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do I think?&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t the commentators say so?&nbsp;
+Does not Master Leo Abarbenel say so in his <i>Dialogues of Divine Love</i>&rsquo;?</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I always thought that Janus was
+a god of the ancient Romans, who stood in a temple open in time of war,
+and shut in time of peace; he was represented with two faces, which&mdash;which&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He&mdash;he&mdash;he!&rsquo; said the Rabbi, rising from his
+seat; &lsquo;he had two faces, had he?&nbsp; And what did those two
+faces typify?&nbsp; You do not know; no, nor did the Romans who carved
+him with two faces know why they did so; for they were only half enlightened,
+like you and the rest of the Goyim.&nbsp; Yet they were right in carving
+him with two faces looking from each other&mdash;they were right, though
+they knew not why; there was a tradition among them that the Janinoso
+had two faces, but they knew not that one was for the world which was
+gone and the other for the world before him&mdash;for the drowned world
+and for the present, as Master Leo Abarbenel says in his <i>Dialogues
+of Divine Love</i>.&nbsp; He&mdash;he&mdash;he!&rsquo; continued the
+Rabbi, who had by this time advanced to the door, and, turning round,
+waved the two forefingers of his right hand in our faces; &lsquo;the
+Goyims and Epicouraiyim are clever men, they know how to make money
+better than we of Israel.&nbsp; My good friend there is a clever man,
+I bring him money, he never brought me any; <i>bueno</i>, I do not blame
+him, he knows much, very much; but one thing there is my friend does
+not know, nor any of the Epicureans, he does not know the sacred thing&mdash;he
+has never received the gift of interpretation which God alone gives
+to the seed&mdash;he has his gift, I have mine&mdash;he is satisfied,
+I don&rsquo;t blame him, <i>bueno</i>.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And, with this last word in his mouth, he departed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is that man a native of Spain?&rsquo; I demanded.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not a native of Spain,&rsquo; said the Armenian, &lsquo;though
+he is one of those who call themselves Spanish Jews, and who are to
+be found scattered throughout Europe, speaking the Spanish language
+transmitted to them by their ancestors, who were expelled from Spain
+in the time of Ferdinand and Isabella.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Jews are a singular people,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A race of cowards and dastards,&rsquo; said the Armenian,
+&lsquo;without a home or country; servants to servants; persecuted and
+despised by all.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what are the Haiks?&rsquo; I demanded.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very different from the Jews,&rsquo; replied the Armenian;
+&lsquo;the Haiks have a home&mdash;a country, and can occasionally use
+a good sword; though it is true they are not what they might be.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then it is a shame that they do not become so,&rsquo; said
+I; &lsquo;but they are too fond of money.&nbsp; There is yourself, with
+two hundred thousand pounds in your pocket, craving for more, whilst
+you might be turning your wealth to the service of your country.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In what manner?&rsquo; said the Armenian.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have heard you say that the grand oppressor of your country
+is the Persian; why not attempt to free your country from his oppression&mdash;you
+have two hundred thousand pounds, and money is the sinew of war?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Would you, then, have me attack the Persian?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I scarcely know what to say; fighting is a rough trade, and
+I am by no means certain that you are calculated for the scratch.&nbsp;
+It is not every one who has been brought up in the school of Mr. Petulengro
+and Tawno Chikno.&nbsp; All I can say is, that if I were an Armenian,
+and had two hundred thousand pounds to back me, I would attack the Persian.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Hem!&rsquo; said the Armenian.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LI</h2>
+<p>The one half-crown&mdash;Merit in patience&mdash;Cementer of friendship&mdash;Dreadful
+perplexity&mdash;The usual guttural&mdash;Armenian letters&mdash;Much
+indebted to you&mdash;Pure helplessness&mdash;Dumb people.</p>
+<p>One morning on getting up I discovered that my whole worldly wealth
+was reduced to one half-crown&mdash;throughout that day I walked about
+in considerable distress of mind; it was now requisite that I should
+come to a speedy decision with respect to what I was to do; I had not
+many alternatives, and, before I had retired to rest on the night of
+the day in question, I had determined that I could do no better than
+accept the first proposal of the Armenian, and translate under his superintendence
+the Haik Esop into English.</p>
+<p>I reflected, for I made a virtue of necessity, that, after all, such
+an employment would be an honest and honourable one; honest, inasmuch
+as by engaging in it I should do harm to nobody; honourable, inasmuch
+as it was a literary task, which not every one was capable of executing.
+it was not every one of the booksellers&rsquo; writers of London who
+was competent to translate the Haik Esop.&nbsp; I determined to accept
+the offer of the Armenian.</p>
+<p>Once or twice the thought of what I might have to undergo in the
+translation from certain peculiarities of the Armenian&rsquo;s temper
+almost unsettled me; but a mechanical diving of my hand into my pocket,
+and the feeling of the solitary half-crown, confirmed me; after all,
+this was a life of trial and tribulation, and I had read somewhere or
+other that there was much merit in patience, so I determined to hold
+fast in my resolution of accepting the offer of the Armenian.</p>
+<p>But all of a sudden I remembered that the Armenian appeared to have
+altered his intentions towards me: he appeared no longer desirous that
+I should render the Haik Esop into English for the benefit of the stock-jobbers
+on Exchange, but rather that I should acquire the rudiments of doing
+business in the Armenian fashion, and accumulate a fortune, which would
+enable me to make a figure upon &lsquo;Change with the best of the stock-jobbers.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; thought I, withdrawing my hand from my pocket, whither
+it had again mechanically dived, &lsquo;after all, what would the world,
+what would this city, be without commerce?&nbsp; I believe the world,
+and particularly this city, would cut a very poor figure without commerce;
+and then there is something poetical in the idea of doing business after
+the Armenian fashion, dealing with dark-faced Lascars and Rabbins of
+the Sephardim.&nbsp; Yes, should the Armenian insist upon it, I will
+accept a seat at the desk, opposite the Moldavian clerk.&nbsp; I do
+not like the idea of cuffs similar to those the Armenian bestowed upon
+the Moldavian clerk; whatever merit there may be in patience, I do not
+think that my estimation of the merit of patience would be sufficient
+to induce me to remain quietly sitting under the infliction of cuffs.&nbsp;
+I think I should, in the event of his cuffing me, knock the Armenian
+down.&nbsp; Well, I think I have heard it said somewhere, that a knock-down
+blow is a great cementer of friendship; I think I have heard of two
+people being better friends than ever after the one had received from
+the other a knock-down blow.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>That night I dreamed I had acquired a colossal fortune, some four
+hundred thousand pounds, by the Armenian way of doing business, but
+suddenly awoke in dreadful perplexity as to how I should dispose of
+it.</p>
+<p>About nine o&rsquo;clock next morning I set off to the house of the
+Armenian; I had never called upon him so early before, and certainly
+never with a heart beating with so much eagerness; but the situation
+of my affairs had become very critical, and I thought that I ought to
+lose no time in informing the Armenian that I was at length perfectly
+willing either to translate the Haik Esop under his superintendence,
+or to accept a seat at the desk opposite to the Moldavian clerk, and
+acquire the secrets of Armenian commerce.&nbsp; With a quick step I
+entered the counting-room, where, notwithstanding the earliness of the
+hour, I found the clerk, busied as usual at his desk.</p>
+<p>He had always appeared to me a singular being, this same Moldavian
+clerk.&nbsp; A person of fewer words could scarcely be conceived: provided
+his master were at home, he would, on my inquiring, nod his head; and,
+provided he were not, he would invariably reply with the monosyllable
+No, delivered in a strange guttural tone.&nbsp; On the present occasion,
+being full of eagerness and impatience, I was about to pass by him to
+the apartment above, without my usual inquiry, when he lifted his head
+from the ledger in which he was writing, and, laying down his pen, motioned
+to me with his forefinger, as if to arrest my progress; whereupon I
+stopped, and, with a palpitating heart, demanded whether the master
+of the house was at home.&nbsp; The Moldavian clerk replied with his
+usual guttural, and, opening his desk, ensconced his head therein.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It does not much matter,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;I suppose I
+shall find him at home after &lsquo;Change; it does not much matter,
+I can return.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I was turning away with the intention of leaving the room; at this
+moment, however, the head of the Moldavian clerk became visible, and
+I observed a letter in his hand, which he had inserted in the desk at
+the same time with his head; this he extended towards me, making at
+the same time a sidelong motion with his head, as much as to say that
+it contained something which interested me.</p>
+<p>I took the letter, and the Moldavian clerk forthwith resumed his
+occupation.&nbsp; The back of the letter bore my name, written in Armenian
+characters; with a trembling hand I broke the seal, and, unfolding the
+letter, I beheld several lines also written in the letters of Mesroub,
+the Cadmus of the Armenians.</p>
+<p>I stared at the lines, and at first could not make out a syllable
+of their meaning; at last, however, by continued staring, I discovered
+that, though the letters were Armenian, the words were English; in about
+ten minutes I had contrived to decipher the sense of the letter; it
+ran somewhat in this style:&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;<span class="smcap">My Dear Friend</span>&mdash;The
+words which you uttered in our last conversation have made a profound
+impression upon me; I have thought them over day and night, and have
+come to the conclusion that it is my bounden duty to attack the Persians.&nbsp;
+When these lines are delivered to you, I shall be on the route to Ararat.&nbsp;
+A mercantile speculation will be to the world the ostensible motive
+of my journey, and it is singular enough that one which offers considerable
+prospect of advantage has just presented itself on the confines of Persia.&nbsp;
+Think not, however, that motives of lucre would have been sufficiently
+powerful to tempt me to the East at the present moment.&nbsp; I may
+speculate, it is true, but I should scarcely have undertaken the journey
+but for your pungent words inciting me to attack the Persians.&nbsp;
+Doubt not that I will attack them on the first opportunity.&nbsp; I
+thank you heartily for putting me in mind of my duty.&nbsp; I have hitherto,
+to use your own words, been too fond of money-getting, like all my countrymen.&nbsp;
+I am much indebted to you; farewell! and may every prosperity await
+you.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>For some time after I had deciphered the epistle, I stood as if rooted
+to the floor.&nbsp; I felt stunned&mdash;my last hope was gone; presently
+a feeling arose in my mind&mdash;a feeling of self-reproach.&nbsp; Whom
+had I to blame but myself for the departure of the Armenian?&nbsp; Would
+he have ever thought of attacking the Persians had I not put the idea
+into his head? he had told me in his epistle that he was indebted to
+me for the idea.&nbsp; But for that, he might at the present moment
+have been in London, increasing his fortune by his usual methods, and
+I might be commencing under his auspices the translation of the Haik
+Esop, with the promise, no doubt, of a considerable remuneration for
+my trouble; or I might be taking a seat opposite the Moldavian clerk,
+and imbibing the first rudiments of doing business after the Armenian
+fashion, with the comfortable hope of realising, in a short time, a
+fortune of three or four hundred thousand pounds; but the Armenian was
+now gone, and farewell to the fine hopes I had founded upon him the
+day before.&nbsp; What was I to do?&nbsp; I looked wildly around, till
+my eyes rested on the Moldavian clerk, who was writing away in his ledger
+with particular vehemence.&nbsp; Not knowing well what to do or to say,
+I thought I might as well ask the Moldavian clerk when the Armenian
+had departed, and when he thought that he would return.&nbsp; It is
+true it mattered little to me when he departed, seeing that he was gone,
+and it was evident that he would not be back soon; but I knew not what
+to do, and in pure helplessness thought I might as well ask; so I went
+up to the Moldavian clerk, and asked him when the Armenian had departed,
+and whether he had been gone two days or three.&nbsp; Whereupon the
+Moldavian clerk, looking up from his ledger, made certain signs, which
+I could by no means understand.&nbsp; I stood astonished, but, presently
+recovering myself, inquired when he considered it probable that the
+master would return, and whether he thought it would be two months or&mdash;my
+tongue faltered&mdash;two years; whereupon the Moldavian clerk made
+more signs than before, and yet more unintelligible; as I persisted,
+however, he flung down his pen, and, putting his thumb into his mouth,
+moved it rapidly, causing the nail to sound against the lower jaw; whereupon
+I saw that he was dumb, and hurried away, for I had always entertained
+a horror of dumb people, having once heard my another say, when I was
+a child, that dumb people were half demoniacs, or little better.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LII</h2>
+<p>Kind of stupor&mdash;Peace of God&mdash;Divine hand&mdash;Farewell,
+child&mdash;The fair&mdash;Massive edifice&mdash;Battered tars&mdash;Lost!
+lost!&mdash;Good-day, gentlemen.</p>
+<p>Leaving the house of the Armenian, I strolled about for some time;
+almost mechanically my feet conducted me to London Bridge, to the booth
+in which stood the stall of the old apple-woman; the sound of her voice
+aroused me, as I sat in a kind of stupor on the stone bench beside her;
+she was inquiring what was the matter with me.</p>
+<p>At first, I believe, I answered her very incoherently, for I observed
+alarm beginning to depict itself upon her countenance.&nbsp; Rousing
+myself, however, I in my turn put a few questions to her upon her present
+condition and prospects.&nbsp; The old woman&rsquo;s countenance cleared
+up instantly; she informed me that she had never been more comfortable
+in her life; that her trade, her <i>honest</i> trade&mdash;laying an
+emphasis on the word honest&mdash;had increased of late wonderfully;
+that her health was better, and, above all, that she felt no fear and
+horror &lsquo;here,&rsquo; laying her hand on her breast.</p>
+<p>On my asking her whether she still heard voices in the night, she
+told me that she frequently did; but that the present were mild voices,
+sweet voices, encouraging voices, very different from the former ones;
+that a voice, only the night previous, had cried out about &lsquo;the
+peace of God,&rsquo; in particularly sweet accents; a sentence which
+she remembered to have read in her early youth in the primer, but which
+she had clean forgotten till the voice the night before brought it to
+her recollection.</p>
+<p>After a pause, the old woman said to me, &lsquo;I believe, dear,
+that it is the blessed book you brought me which has wrought this goodly
+change.&nbsp; How glad I am now that I can read; but oh what a difference
+between the book you brought to me and the one you took away!&nbsp;
+I believe the one you brought is written by the finger of God, and the
+other by&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t abuse the book,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;it is an
+excellent book for those who can understand it; it was not exactly suited
+to you, and perhaps it had been better that you had never read it&mdash;and
+yet, who knows?&nbsp; Peradventure, if you had not read that book, you
+would not have been fitted for the perusal of the one which you say
+is written by the finger of God&rsquo;; and, pressing my hand to my
+head, I fell into a deep fit of musing.&nbsp; &lsquo;What, after all,&rsquo;
+thought I, &lsquo;if there should be more order and system in the working
+of the moral world than I have thought?&nbsp; Does there not seem in
+the present instance to be something like the working of a Divine hand?&nbsp;
+I could not conceive why this woman, better educated than her mother,
+should have been, as she certainly was, a worse character than her mother.&nbsp;
+Yet perhaps this woman may be better and happier than her mother ever
+was; perhaps she is so already&mdash;perhaps this world is not a wild,
+lying dream, as I have occasionally supposed it to be.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>But the thought of my own situation did not permit me to abandon
+myself much longer to these musings.&nbsp; I started up.&nbsp; &lsquo;Where
+are you going, child?&rsquo; said the woman, anxiously.&nbsp; &lsquo;I
+scarcely know,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;anywhere.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Then
+stay here, child,&rsquo; said she; &lsquo;I have much to say to you.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I shall be better moving about&rsquo;;
+and I was moving away, when it suddenly occurred to me that I might
+never see this woman again; and turning round I offered her my hand,
+and bade her good-bye.&nbsp; &lsquo;Farewell, child,&rsquo; said the
+old woman, &lsquo;and God bless you!&rsquo;&nbsp; I then moved along
+the bridge until I reached the Southwark side, and, still holding on
+my course, my mind again became quickly abstracted from all surrounding
+objects.</p>
+<p>At length I found myself in a street or road, with terraces on either
+side, and seemingly of interminable length, leading, as it would appear,
+to the south-east.&nbsp; I was walking at a great rate&mdash;there were
+likewise a great number of people, also walking at a great rate; also
+carts and carriages driving at a great rate; and all&mdash;men, carts,
+and carriages&mdash;going in the selfsame direction, namely to the south-east.&nbsp;
+I stopped for a moment and deliberated whether or not I should proceed.&nbsp;
+What business had I in that direction?&nbsp; I could not say that I
+had any particular business in that direction, but what could I do were
+I to turn back? only walk about well-known streets; and, if I must walk,
+why not continue in the direction in which I was to see whither the
+road and its terraces led?&nbsp; I was here in a <i>terra incognita</i>,
+and an unknown place had always some interest for me; moreover, I had
+a desire to know whither all this crowd was going, and for what purpose.&nbsp;
+I thought they could not be going far, as crowds seldom go far, especially
+at such a rate; so I walked on more lustily than before, passing group
+after group of the crowd, and almost vying in speed with some of the
+carriages, especially the hackney-coaches; and, by dint of walking at
+this rate, the terraces and houses becoming somewhat less frequent as
+I advanced, I reached in about three-quarters of an hour a kind of low
+dingy town, in the neighbourhood of the river; the streets were swarming
+with people, and I concluded, from the number of wild-beast shows, caravans,
+gingerbread stalls, and the like, that a fair was being held.&nbsp;
+Now, as I had always been partial to fairs, I felt glad that I had fallen
+in with the crowd which had conducted me to the present one, and, casting
+away as much as I was able all gloomy thoughts, I did my best to enter
+into the diversions of the fair; staring at the wonderful representations
+of animals on canvas hung up before the shows of wild beasts, which,
+by the bye, are frequently found much more worthy of admiration than
+the real beasts themselves; listening to the jokes of the merry-andrews
+from the platforms in front of the temporary theatres, or admiring the
+splendid tinsel dresses of the performers who thronged the stages in
+the intervals of the entertainments; and in this manner, occasionally
+gazing and occasionally listening, I passed through the town till I
+came in front of a large edifice looking full upon the majestic bosom
+of the Thames.</p>
+<p>It was a massive stone edifice, built in an antique style, and black
+with age, with a broad esplanade between it and the river, on which,
+mixed with a few people from the fair, I observed moving about a great
+many individuals in quaint dresses of blue, with strange three-cornered
+hats on their heads; most of them were mutilated; this had a wooden
+leg&mdash;this wanted an arm; some had but one eye; and as I gazed upon
+the edifice, and the singular-looking individuals who moved before it,
+I guessed where I was.&nbsp; &lsquo;I am at  &mdash;&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;these
+individuals are battered tars of Old England, and this edifice, once
+the favourite abode of Glorious Elizabeth, is the refuge which a grateful
+country has allotted to them.&nbsp; Here they can rest their weary bodies;
+at their ease talk over the actions in which they have been injured;
+and, with the tear of enthusiasm flowing from their eyes, boast how
+they have trod the deck of fame with Rodney, or Nelson, or others whose
+names stand emblazoned in the naval annals of their country.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Turning to the right, I entered a park or wood consisting of enormous
+trees, occupying the foot, sides, and top of a hill which rose behind
+the town; there were multitudes of people among the trees, diverting
+themselves in various ways.&nbsp; Coming to the top of the hill, I was
+presently stopped by a lofty wall, along which I walked, till,
+coming to a small gate, I passed through, and found myself on an extensive
+green plain, on one side bounded in part by the wall of the park, and
+on the others, in the distance, by extensive ranges of houses; to the
+south-east was a lofty eminence, partially clothed with wood.&nbsp;
+The plain exhibited an animated scene, a kind of continuation of the
+fair below; there were multitudes of people upon it, many tents, and
+shows; there was also horse-racing, and much noise and shouting, the
+sun shining brightly overhead.&nbsp; After gazing at the horse-racing
+for a little time, feeling myself somewhat tired, I went up to one of
+the tents, and laid myself down on the grass.&nbsp; There was much noise
+in the tent.&nbsp; &lsquo;Who will stand me?&rsquo; said a voice with
+a slight tendency to lisp.&nbsp; &lsquo;Will you, my lord?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said another voice.&nbsp; Then there was a sound
+as of a piece of money banging on a table.&nbsp; &lsquo;Lost! lost!
+lost!&rsquo; cried several voices; and then the banging down of the
+money, and the &lsquo;lost! lost! lost!&rsquo; were frequently repeated;
+at last the second voice exclaimed, &lsquo;I will try no more; you have
+cheated me.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Never cheated any one in my life, my
+lord&mdash;all fair&mdash;all chance.&nbsp; Them that finds, wins&mdash;them
+that can&rsquo;t finds, loses.&nbsp; Anyone else try?&nbsp; Who&rsquo;ll
+try?&nbsp; Will you, my lord?&rsquo; and then it appeared that some
+other lord tried, for I heard more money flung down.&nbsp; Then again
+the cry of &lsquo;lost! lost!&rsquo;&mdash;then again the sound of money,
+and so on.&nbsp; Once or twice, but not more, I heard &lsquo;Won! won!&rsquo;
+but the predominant cry was &lsquo;Lost! lost!&rsquo;&nbsp; At last
+there was a considerable hubbub, and the words &lsquo;Cheat!&rsquo;
+&lsquo;Rogue!&rsquo; and &lsquo;You filched away the pea!&rsquo; were
+used freely by more voices than one, to which the voice with the tendency
+to lisp replied, &lsquo;Never filched a pea in my life; would scorn
+it.&nbsp; Always glad when folks wins; but, as those here don&rsquo;t
+appear to be civil, not to wish to play any more, I shall take myself
+off with my table; so, good-day, gentlemen.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LIII</h2>
+<p>Singular table&mdash;No money&mdash;Out of employ&mdash;My bonnet&mdash;We
+of the thimble&mdash;Good wages&mdash;Wisely resolved&mdash;Strangest
+way in the world&mdash;Fat gentleman&mdash;Not such another&mdash;First
+edition&mdash;Not very easy&mdash;Won&rsquo;t close&mdash;Avella gorgio&mdash;Alarmed
+look.</p>
+<p>Presently a man emerged from the tent, bearing before him a rather
+singular table; it appeared to be of white deal, was exceedingly small
+at the top, and with very long legs.&nbsp; At a few yards from the entrance
+he paused, and looked round, as if to decide on the direction which
+he should take; presently, his eye glancing on me as I lay upon the
+ground, he started, and appeared for a moment inclined to make off as
+quick as possible, table and all.&nbsp; In a moment, however, he seemed
+to recover assurance, and, coming up to the place where I was, the long
+legs of the table projecting before him, he cried, &lsquo;Glad to see
+you here, my lord.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thank you,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;it&rsquo;s a fine day.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very fine, my lord; will your lordship play?&nbsp; Them that
+finds, wins&mdash;them that don&rsquo;t finds, loses.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Play at what?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Only at the thimble and pea, my lord.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I never heard of such a game.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Didn&rsquo;t you?&nbsp; Well, I&rsquo;ll soon teach you,&rsquo;
+said he, placing the table down.&nbsp; &lsquo;All you have to do is
+to put a sovereign down on my table, and to find the pea, which I put
+under one of my thimbles.&nbsp; If you find it,&mdash;and it is easy
+enough to find it,&mdash;I give you a sovereign besides your own: for
+them that finds, wins.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And them that don&rsquo;t finds, loses,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;no,
+I don&rsquo;t wish to play.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why not, my lord?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, in the first place, I have no money.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, you have no money, that of course alters the case.&nbsp;
+If you have no money, you can&rsquo;t play.&nbsp; Well, I suppose I
+must be seeing after my customers,&rsquo; said he, glancing over the
+plain.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Good-day,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Good-day,&rsquo; said the man slowly, but without moving,
+and as if in reflection.&nbsp; After a moment or two, looking at me
+inquiringly, he added, &lsquo;Out of employ?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;out of employ.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The man measured me with his eye as I lay on the ground.&nbsp; At
+length he said, &lsquo;May I speak a word or two to you, my lord?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As many as you please,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then just come a little out of hearing, a little farther on
+the grass, if you please, my lord.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why do you call me my lord?&rsquo; said I, as I arose and
+followed him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We of the thimble always calls our customers lords,&rsquo;
+said the man; &lsquo;but I won&rsquo;t call you such a foolish name
+any more; come along.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The man walked along the plain till he came to the side of a dry
+pit, when, looking round to see that no one was nigh, he laid his table
+on the grass, and, sitting down with his legs over the side of the pit,
+he motioned me to do the same.&nbsp; &lsquo;So you are in want of employ?&rsquo;
+said he, after I had sat down beside him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I am very much in want of employ.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I think I can find you some.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What kind?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why,&rsquo; said the man, &lsquo;I think you would do to be
+my bonnet.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Bonnet!&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;what is that?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t you know?&nbsp; However, no wonder, as you had
+never heard of the thimble and pea game, but I will tell you.&nbsp;
+We of the game are very much exposed; folks when they have lost their
+money, as those who play with us mostly do, sometimes uses rough language,
+calls us cheats, and sometimes knocks our hats over our eyes; and what&rsquo;s
+more, with a kick under our table, cause the top deals to fly off; this
+is the third table I have used this day, the other two being broken
+by uncivil customers: so we of the game generally like to have gentlemen
+go about with us to take our part, and encourage us, though pretending
+to know nothing about us; for example, when the customer says, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m
+cheated,&rdquo; the bonnet must say, &ldquo;No, you ain&rsquo;t, it
+is all right&rdquo;; or, when my hat is knocked over my eyes, the bonnet
+must square, and say, &ldquo;I never saw the man before in all my life,
+but I won&rsquo;t see him ill-used&rdquo;; and so, when they kicks at
+the table, the bonnet must say, &ldquo;I won&rsquo;t see the table ill-used,
+such a nice table, too; besides, I want to play myself&rdquo;; and then
+I would say to the bonnet, &ldquo;Thank you, my lord, them that finds,
+wins&rdquo;; and then the bonnet plays, and I lets the bonnet win.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In a word,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;the bonnet means the man
+who covers you, even as the real bonnet covers the head.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Just so,&rsquo; said the man; &lsquo;I see you are awake,
+and would soon make a first-rate bonnet.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Bonnet,&rsquo; said I, musingly; &lsquo;bonnet; it is metaphorical.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is it?&rsquo; said the man.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;like the cant words&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Bonnet is cant,&rsquo; said the man; &lsquo;we of the thimble,
+as well as all cly-fakers and the like, understand cant, as, of course,
+must every bonnet; so, if you are employed by me, you had better learn
+it as soon as you can, that we may discourse together without being
+understood by every one.&nbsp; Besides covering his principal, a bonnet
+must have his eyes about him, for the trade of the pea, though a strictly
+honest one, is not altogether lawful; so it is the duty of the bonnet,
+if he sees the constable coming, to say, The gorgio&rsquo;s welling.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That is not cant,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;that is the language
+of the Rommany Chals.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you know those people?&rsquo; said the man.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Perfectly,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;and their language too.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I wish I did,&rsquo; said the man; &lsquo;I would give ten
+pounds and more to know the language of the Rommany Chals.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s
+some of it in the language of the pea and thimble; how it came there
+I don&rsquo;t know, but so it is.&nbsp; I wish I knew it, but it is
+difficult.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll make a capital bonnet; shall we close?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What would the wages be?&rsquo; I demanded.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, to a first-rate bonnet, as I think you would prove, I
+could afford to give from forty to fifty shillings a week.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is it possible?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Good wages, ain&rsquo;t they?&rsquo; said the man.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;First-rate,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;bonneting is more profitable
+than reviewing.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Anan?&rsquo; said the man.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Or translating; I don&rsquo;t think the Armenian would have
+paid me at that rate for translating his Esop.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who is he?&rsquo; said the man.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Esop?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, I know what that is, Esop&rsquo;s cant for a hunchback;
+but t&rsquo;other?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You should know,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Never saw the man in all my life.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, you have,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;and felt him too; don&rsquo;t
+you remember the individual from whom you took the pocket-book?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, that was he; well, the less said about that matter the
+better; I have left off that trade, and taken to this, which is a much
+better.&nbsp; Between ourselves, I am not sorry that I did not carry
+off that pocket-book; if I had, it might have encouraged me in the trade,
+in which had I remained, I might have been lagged, sent abroad, as I
+had been already imprisoned; so I determined to leave it off at all
+hazards, though I was hard up, not having a penny in the world.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And wisely resolved,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;it was a bad and
+dangerous trade, I wonder you should ever have embraced it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is all very well talking,&rsquo; said the man, &lsquo;but
+there is a reason for everything; I am the son of a Jewess, by a military
+officer&rsquo;&mdash;and then the man told me his story.&nbsp; I shall
+not repeat the man&rsquo;s story, it was a poor one, a vile one; at
+last he observed, &lsquo;So that affair which you know of determined
+me to leave the filching trade, and take up with a more honest and safe
+one; so at last I thought of the pea and thimble, but I wanted funds,
+especially to pay for lessons at the hands of a master, for I knew little
+about it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;how did you get over that difficulty?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why,&rsquo; said the man, &lsquo;I thought I should never
+have got over it.&nbsp; What funds could I raise?&nbsp; I had nothing
+to sell; the few clothes I had I wanted, for we of the thimble must
+always appear decent, or nobody would come near us.&nbsp; I was at my
+wits&rsquo; ends; at last I got over my difficulty in the strangest
+way in the world.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What was that?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;By an old thing which I had picked up some time before&mdash;a
+book.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A book?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, which I had taken out of your lordship&rsquo;s pocket
+one day as you were walking the streets in a great hurry.&nbsp; I thought
+it was a pocket-book at first, full of bank-notes, perhaps,&rsquo; continued
+he, laughing.&nbsp; &lsquo;It was well for me, however, that it was
+not, for I should have soon spent the notes; as it was, I had flung
+the old thing down with an oath, as soon as I brought it home.&nbsp;
+When I was so hard up, however, after the affair with that friend of
+yours, I took it up one day, and thought I might make something by it
+to support myself a day with.&nbsp; Chance or something else led me
+into a grand shop; there was a man there who seemed to be the master,
+talking to a jolly, portly old gentleman, who seemed to be a country
+squire.&nbsp; Well, I went up to the first, and offered it for sale;
+he took the book, opened it at the title-page, and then all of a sudden
+his eyes glistened, and he showed it to the fat, jolly gentleman, and
+his eyes glistened too, and I heard him say &ldquo;How singular!&rdquo;
+and then the two talked together in a speech I didn&rsquo;t understand&mdash;I
+rather thought it was French, at any rate it wasn&rsquo;t cant; and
+presently the first asked me what I would take for the book.&nbsp; Now
+I am not altogether a fool, nor am I blind, and I had narrowly marked
+all that passed, and it came into my head that now was the time for
+making a man of myself, at any rate I could lose nothing by a little
+confidence; so I looked the man boldly in the face, and said, &ldquo;I
+will have five guineas for that book, there ain&rsquo;t such another
+in the whole world.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Nonsense,&rdquo; said the first
+man, &ldquo;there are plenty of them, there have been nearly fifty editions,
+to my knowledge; I will give you five shillings.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;No,&rdquo;
+said I, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll not take it, for I don&rsquo;t like to be
+cheated, so give me my book again&rdquo;; and I attempted to take it
+away from the fat gentleman&rsquo;s hand.&nbsp; &ldquo;Stop,&rdquo;
+said the younger man; &ldquo;are you sure that you won&rsquo;t take
+less?&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Not a farthing,&rdquo; said I; which was not
+altogether true, but I said so.&nbsp; &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said the fat
+gentleman, &ldquo;I will give you what you ask&rdquo;; and sure enough
+he presently gave me the money; so I made a bow, and was leaving the
+shop, when it came into my head that there was something odd in all
+this, and, as I had the money in my pocket, I turned back, and, making
+another bow, said, &ldquo;May I be so bold as to ask why you gave me
+all this money for that &lsquo;ere dirty book?&nbsp; When I came into
+the shop, I should have been glad to get a shilling for it; but I saw
+you wanted it, and asked five guineas.&rdquo;&nbsp; Then they looked
+at one another, and smiled, and shrugged up their shoulders.&nbsp; Then
+the first man, looking at me, said, &ldquo;Friend, you have been a little
+too sharp for us; however, we can afford to forgive you, as my friend
+here has long been in quest of this particular book; there are plenty
+of editions, as I told you, and a common copy is not worth five shillings;
+but this is a first edition, and a copy of the first edition is worth
+its weight in gold.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So, after all, they outwitted you,&rsquo; I observed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Clearly,&rsquo; said the man; &lsquo;I might have got double
+the price, had I known the value; but I don&rsquo;t care, much good
+may it do them, it has done me plenty.&nbsp; By means of it I have got
+into an honest, respectable trade, in which there&rsquo;s little danger
+and plenty of profit, and got out of one which would have got me lagged,
+sooner or later.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;you ought to remember that the
+thing was not yours; you took it from me, who had been requested by
+a poor old apple-woman to exchange it for a Bible.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said the man, &lsquo;did she ever get her Bible?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;she got her Bible.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then she has no cause to complain; and, as for you, chance
+or something else has sent you to me, that I may make you reasonable
+amends for any loss you may have had.&nbsp; Here am I ready to make
+you my bonnet, with forty or fifty shillings a week, which you say yourself
+are capital wages.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I find no fault with the wages,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;but
+I don&rsquo;t like the employ.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not like bonneting,&rsquo; said the man; &lsquo;ah, I see,
+you would like to be principal; well, a time may come&mdash;those long
+white fingers of yours would just serve for the business.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is it a difficult one?&rsquo; I demanded.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, it is not very easy: two things are needful&mdash;natural
+talent, and constant practice; but I&rsquo;ll show you a point or two
+connected with the game&rsquo;; and, placing his table between his knees
+as he sat over the side of the pit, he produced three thimbles, and
+a small brown pellet, something resembling a pea.&nbsp; He moved the
+thimble and pellet about, now placing it to all appearance under one,
+and now under another; &lsquo;Under which is it now?&rsquo; he said
+at last.&nbsp; &lsquo;Under that,&rsquo; said I, pointing to the lowermost
+of the thimbles, which, as they stood, formed a kind of triangle.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;it is not, but lift it up&rsquo;;
+and, when I lifted up the thimble, the pellet, in truth, was not under
+it.&nbsp; &lsquo;It was under none of them,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;it
+was pressed by my little finger against my palm&rsquo;; and then he
+showed me how he did the trick, and asked me if the game was not a funny
+one; and, on my answering in the affirmative, he said, &lsquo;I am glad
+you like it; come along and let us win some money.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Thereupon, getting up, he placed the table before him, and was moving
+away; observing, however, that I did not stir, he asked me what I was
+staying for.&nbsp; &lsquo;Merely for my own pleasure,&rsquo; said I;
+&lsquo;I like sitting here very well.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Then you won&rsquo;t
+close?&rsquo; said the man.&nbsp; &lsquo;By no means,&rsquo; I replied;
+&lsquo;your proposal does not suit me.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;You may be
+principal in time,&rsquo; said the man.&nbsp; &lsquo;That makes no difference,&rsquo;
+said I; and, sitting with my legs over the pit, I forthwith began to
+decline an Armenian noun.&nbsp; &lsquo;That ain&rsquo;t cant,&rsquo;
+said the man; &lsquo;no, nor gypsy either.&nbsp; Well, if you won&rsquo;t
+close, another will, I can&rsquo;t lose any more time,&rsquo; and forthwith
+he departed.</p>
+<p>And after I had declined four Armenian nouns, of different declensions,
+I rose from the side of the pit, and wandered about amongst the various
+groups of people scattered over the green.&nbsp; Presently I came to
+where the man of the thimbles was standing, with the table before him,
+and many people about him.&nbsp; &lsquo;Them who finds, wins, and them
+who can&rsquo;t find, loses,&rsquo; he cried.&nbsp; Various individuals
+tried to find the pellet, but all were unsuccessful, till at last considerable
+dissatisfaction was expressed, and the terms rogue and cheat were lavished
+upon him.&nbsp; &lsquo;Never cheated anybody in all my life,&rsquo;
+he cried; and, observing me at hand, &lsquo;didn&rsquo;t I play fair,
+my lord?&rsquo; he inquired.&nbsp; But I made no answer.&nbsp; Presently
+some more played, and he permitted one or two to win, and the eagerness
+to play with him became greater.&nbsp; After I had looked on for some
+time, I was moving away: just then I perceived a short, thick personage,
+with a staff in his hand, advancing in a great hurry; whereupon, with
+a sudden impulse, I exclaimed&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>Shoon thimble-engro;<br />
+Avella gorgio.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>The man, who was in the midst of his pea-and-thimble process, no
+sooner heard the last word of the distich than he turned an alarmed
+look in the direction of where I stood; then, glancing around, and perceiving
+the constable, he slipped forthwith his pellet and thimbles into his
+pocket, and, lifting up his table, he cried to the people about him,
+&lsquo;Make way!&rsquo; and with a motion with his head to me, as if
+to follow him, he darted off with a swiftness which the short, pursy
+constable could by no means rival; and whither he went, or what became
+of him, I know not, inasmuch as I turned away in another direction.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LIV</h2>
+<p>Mr. Petulengro&mdash;Rommany Rye&mdash;Lil-writers&mdash;One&rsquo;s
+own horn&mdash;Lawfully-earnt money&mdash;The wooded hill&mdash;A great
+favourite&mdash;The shop window&mdash;Much wanted.</p>
+<p>And, as I wandered along the green, I drew near to a place where
+several men, with a cask beside them, sat carousing in the neighbourhood
+of a small tent.&nbsp; &lsquo;Here he comes,&rsquo; said one of them,
+as I advanced, and standing up he raised his voice and sang:&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;Here the Gypsy gemman see,<br />
+With his Roman jib and his rome and dree&mdash;<br />
+Rome and dree, rum and dry<br />
+Rally round the Rommany Rye.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>It was Mr. Petulengro, who was here diverting himself with several
+of his comrades; they all received me with considerable frankness.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Sit down, brother,&rsquo; said Mr. Petulengro, &lsquo;and take
+a cup of good ale.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I sat down.&nbsp; &lsquo;Your health, gentlemen,&rsquo; said I, as
+I took the cup which Mr. Petulengro handed to me.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Aukko tu pios adrey Rommanis.&nbsp; Here is your health in
+Rommany, brother,&rsquo; said Mr. Petulengro; who, having refilled the
+cup, now emptied it at a draught.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Your health in Rommany, brother,&rsquo; said Tawno Chikno,
+to whom the cup came next.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Rommany Rye,&rsquo; said a third.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Gypsy gentleman,&rsquo; exclaimed a fourth, drinking.</p>
+<p>And then they all sang in chorus:&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;Here the Gypsy gemman see,<br />
+With his Roman jib and his rome and dree&mdash;<br />
+Rome and dree, rum and dry<br />
+Rally round the Rommany Rye.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page304b.jpg">
+<img alt="&lsquo;Here the Gipsy gemman see.&rsquo;" src="images/page304s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>&lsquo;And now, brother,&rsquo; said Mr. Petulengro, &lsquo;seeing
+that you have drunk and been drunken, you will perhaps tell us where
+you have been, and what about?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have been in the Big City,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;writing
+lils.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How much money have you got in your pocket, brother?&rsquo;
+said Mr. Petulengro.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Eighteenpence,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;all I have in the world.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have been in the Big City, too,&rsquo; said Mr. Petulengro;
+&lsquo;but I have not written lils&mdash;I have fought in the ring&mdash;I
+have fifty pounds in my pocket&mdash;I have much more in the world.&nbsp;
+Brother, there is considerable difference between us.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I would rather be the lil-writer, after all,&rsquo; said the
+tall, handsome, black man; &lsquo;indeed, I would wish for nothing better.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why so?&rsquo; said Mr. Petulengro.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because they have so much to say for themselves,&rsquo; said
+the black man, &lsquo;even when dead and gone.&nbsp; When they are laid
+in the churchyard, it is their own fault if people ain&rsquo;t talking
+of them.&nbsp; Who will know, after I am dead, or bitchadey pawdel,
+that I was once the beauty of the world, or that you Jasper were&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The best man in England of my inches.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s true,
+Tawno&mdash;however, here&rsquo;s our brother will perhaps let the world
+know something about us.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not he,&rsquo; said the other, with a sigh; &lsquo;he&rsquo;ll
+have quite enough to do in writing his own lils, and telling the world
+how handsome and clever he was; and who can blame him?&nbsp; Not I.&nbsp;
+If I could write lils, every word should be about myself and my own
+tacho Rommanis&mdash;my own lawful wedded wife, which is the same thing.&nbsp;
+I tell you what, brother, I once heard a wise man say in Brummagem,
+that &ldquo;there is nothing like blowing one&rsquo;s own horn,&rdquo;
+which I conceive to be much the same thing as writing one&rsquo;s own
+lil.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>After a little more conversation, Mr. Petulengro arose, and motioned
+me to follow him.&nbsp; &lsquo;Only eighteenpence in the world, brother?&rsquo;
+said he, as we walked together.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nothing more, I assure you.&nbsp; How came you to ask me how
+much money I had?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because there was something in your look, brother, something
+very much resembling that which a person showeth who does not carry
+much money in his pocket.&nbsp; I was looking at my own face this morning
+in my wife&rsquo;s looking-glass&mdash;I did not look as you do, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I believe your sole motive for inquiring,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;was
+to have an opportunity of venting a foolish boast, and to let me know
+that you were in possession of fifty pounds.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is the use of having money unless you let people know
+you have it?&rsquo; said Mr. Petulengro.&nbsp; &lsquo;It is not every
+one can read faces, brother; and, unless you knew I had money, how could
+you ask me to lend you any?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am not going to ask you to lend me any.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you may have it without asking; as I said before, I have
+fifty pounds, all lawfully-earnt money, got by fighting in the ring&mdash;I
+will lend you that, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are very kind,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;but I will not take
+it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then the half of it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nor the half of it; but it is getting towards evening, I must
+go back to the Great City.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what will you do in the Boro Foros?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know not,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Earn money?</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If I can.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And if you can&rsquo;t?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Starve!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You look ill, brother,&rsquo; said Mr. Petulengro.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not feel well; the Great City does not agree with me.&nbsp;
+Should I be so fortunate as to earn some money, I would leave the Big
+City, and take to the woods and fields.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You may do that, brother,&rsquo; said Mr. Petulengro, &lsquo;whether
+you have money or not.&nbsp; Our tents and horses are on the other side
+of yonder wooded hill, come and stay with us; we shall all be glad of
+your company, but more especially myself and my wife Pakomovna.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What hill is that?&rsquo; I demanded.</p>
+<p>And then Mr. Petulengro told me the name of the hill.&nbsp; &lsquo;We
+shall stay on t&rsquo;other side of the hill a fortnight,&rsquo; he
+continued; &lsquo;and, as you are fond of lil-writing, you may employ
+yourself profitably whilst there.&nbsp; You can write the lil of him
+whose dock gallops down that hill every night, even as the living man
+was wont to do long ago.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who was he?&rsquo; I demanded.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Jemmy Abershaw,&rsquo; said Mr. Petulengro; &lsquo;one of
+those whom we call Boro drom engroes, and the gorgios highway-men.&nbsp;
+I once heard a rye say that the life of that man would fetch much money;
+so come to the other side of the hill, and write the lil in the tent
+of Jasper and his wife Pakomovna.&rsquo;</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page307b.jpg">
+<img alt="&lsquo;Even as the living man was wont to do long ago.&rsquo;" src="images/page307s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>At first I felt inclined to accept the invitation of Mr. Petulengro;
+a little consideration, however, determined me to decline it.&nbsp;
+I had always been on excellent terms with Mr. Petulengro, but I reflected
+that people might be excellent friends when they met occasionally in
+the street, or on the heath, or in the wood; but that these very people
+when living together in a house, to say nothing of a tent, might quarrel.&nbsp;
+I reflected, moreover, that Mr. Petulengro had a wife.&nbsp; I had always,
+it is true, been a great favourite with Mrs. Petulengro, who had frequently
+been loud in her commendation of the young rye, as she called me, and
+his turn of conversation; but this was at a time when I stood in need
+of nothing, lived under my parents&rsquo; roof, and only visited at
+the tents to divert and to be diverted.&nbsp; The times were altered,
+and I was by no means certain that Mrs. Petulengro, when she should
+discover that I was in need both of shelter and subsistence, might not
+alter her opinion both with respect to the individual and what he said&mdash;stigmatising
+my conversation as saucy discourse, and myself as a scurvy companion;
+and that she might bring over her husband to her own way of thinking,
+provided, indeed, he should need any conducting.&nbsp; I therefore,
+though without declaring my reasons, declined the offer of Mr. Petulengro,
+and presently, after shaking him by the hand, bent again my course towards
+the Great City.</p>
+<p>I crossed the river at a bridge considerably above that hight of
+London; for, not being acquainted with the way, I missed the turning
+which should have brought me to the latter.&nbsp; Suddenly I found myself
+in a street of which I had some recollection, and mechanically stopped
+before the window of a shop at which various publications were exposed;
+it was that of the bookseller to whom I had last applied in the hope
+of selling my ballads or Ab Gwilym, and who had given me hopes that,
+in the event of my writing a decent novel, or a tale, he would prove
+a purchaser.&nbsp; As I stood listlessly looking at the window, and
+the publications which it contained, I observed a paper affixed to the
+glass by wafers with something written upon it.&nbsp; I drew yet nearer
+for the purpose of inspecting it; the writing was in a fair round hand&mdash;&lsquo;A
+Novel or Tale is much wanted,&rsquo; was what was written.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LV</h2>
+<p>Bread and water&mdash;Pair play&mdash;Fashion&mdash;Colonel B---&mdash;Joseph
+Sell&mdash;The kindly glow&mdash;Easiest manner imaginable.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I must do something,&rsquo; said I, as I sat that night in
+my lonely apartment, with some bread and a pitcher of water before me.</p>
+<p>Thereupon taking some of the bread, and eating it, I considered what
+I was to do.&nbsp; &lsquo;I have no idea what I am to do,&rsquo; said
+I, as I stretched my hand towards the pitcher, &lsquo;unless (and here
+I took a considerable draught) I write a tale or a novel&mdash;That
+bookseller,&rsquo; I continued, speaking to myself, &lsquo;is certainly
+much in need of a tale or a novel, otherwise he would not advertise
+for one.&nbsp; Suppose I write one, I appear to have no other chance
+of extricating myself from my present difficulties; surely it was Fate
+that conducted me to his window.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will do it,&rsquo; said I, as I struck my hand against the
+table; &lsquo;I will do it.&rsquo;&nbsp; Suddenly a heavy cloud of despondency
+came over me.&nbsp; Could I do it?&nbsp; Had I the imagination requisite
+to write a tale or a novel?&nbsp; &lsquo;Yes, yes,&rsquo; said I, as
+I struck my hand again against the table, &lsquo;I can manage it; give
+me fair play, and I can accomplish anything.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>But should I have fair play?&nbsp; I must have something to maintain
+myself with whilst I wrote my tale, and I had but eighteenpence in the
+world.&nbsp; Would that maintain me whilst I wrote my tale?&nbsp; Yes,
+I thought it would, provided I ate bread, which did not cost much, and
+drank water, which cost nothing; it was poor diet, it was true, but
+better men than myself had written on bread and water; had not the big
+man told me so? or something to that effect, months before?</p>
+<p>It was true there was my lodging to pay for; but up to the present
+time I owed nothing, and perhaps, by the time that the people of the
+house asked me for money, I should have written a tale or a novel, which
+would bring me in money; I had paper, pens, and ink, and, let me not
+forget them, I had candles in my closet, all paid for, to light me during
+my night work.&nbsp; Enough, I would go doggedly to work upon my tale
+or novel.</p>
+<p>But what was the tale or novel to be about?&nbsp; Was it to be a
+tale of fashionable life, about Sir Harry Somebody, and the Countess
+something?&nbsp; But I knew nothing about fashionable people, and cared
+less; therefore how should I attempt to describe fashionable life? What
+should the tale consist of?&nbsp; The life and adventures of some one.&nbsp;
+Good&mdash;but of whom?&nbsp; Did not Mr. Petulengro mention one Jemmy
+Abershaw?&nbsp; Yes.&nbsp; Did he not tell me that the life and adventures
+of Jemmy Abershaw would bring in much money to the writer?&nbsp; Yes,
+but I knew nothing of that worthy.&nbsp; I heard, it is true, from Mr.
+Petulengro, that when alive he committed robberies on the hill, on the
+side of which Mr. Petulengro had pitched his tents, and that his ghost
+still haunted the hill at midnight; but those were scant materials out
+of which to write the man&rsquo;s life.&nbsp; It is probable indeed,
+that Mr. Petulengro would be able to supply me with further materials
+if I should apply to him, but I was in a hurry, and could not afford
+the time which it would be necessary to spend in passing to and from
+Mr. Petulengro, and consulting him.&nbsp; Moreover, my pride revolted
+at the idea of being beholden to Mr. Petulengro for the materials of
+the history.&nbsp; No, I would not write the history of Abershaw.&nbsp;
+Whose then&mdash;Harry Simms?&nbsp; Alas, the life of Harry Simms had
+been already much better written by himself than I could hope to do
+it; and, after all, Harry Simms, like Jemmy Abershaw, was merely a robber.&nbsp;
+Both, though bold and extraordinary men, were merely highwaymen.&nbsp;
+I questioned whether I could compose a tale likely to excite any particular
+interest out of the exploits of a mere robber.&nbsp; I want a character
+for my hero, thought I, something higher than a mere robber; some one
+like&mdash;like Colonel B---.&nbsp; By the way, why should I not write
+the life and adventures of Colonel B---, of Londonderry in Ireland?</p>
+<p>A truly singular man was this same Colonel B---, of Londonderry in
+Ireland; a personage of most strange and incredible feats and daring,
+who had been a partizan soldier, a bravo&mdash;who, assisted by certain
+discontented troopers, nearly succeeded in stealing the crown and regalia
+from the Tower of London; who attempted to hang the Duke of Ormond at
+Tyburn; and whose strange, eventful career did not terminate even with
+his life, his dead body, on the circulation of an unfounded report that
+he did not come to his death by fair means, having been exhumed by the
+mob of his native place, where he had retired to die, and carried in
+the coffin through the streets.</p>
+<p>Of his life I had inserted an account in the <i>Newgate Lives and
+Trials</i>; it was bare and meagre, and written in the stiff, awkward
+style of the seventeenth century; it had, however, strongly captivated
+my imagination, and I now thought that out of it something better could
+be made; that, if I added to the adventures, and purified the style,
+I might fashion out of it a very decent tale or novel.&nbsp; On a sudden,
+however, the proverb of mending old garments with new cloth occurred
+to me.&nbsp; &lsquo;I am afraid,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;any new adventures
+which I can invent will not fadge well with the old tale; one will but
+spoil the other.&rsquo;&nbsp; I had better have nothing to do with Colonel
+B---, thought I, but boldly and independently sit down and write the
+life of Joseph Sell.</p>
+<p>This Joseph Sell, dear reader, was a fictitious personage who had
+just come into my head.&nbsp; I had never even heard of the name, but
+just at that moment it happened to come into my head; I would write
+an entirely fictitious narrative, called the <i>Life and Adventures
+of Joseph Sell</i>, the great traveller.</p>
+<p>I had better begin at once, thought I; and removing the bread and
+the jug, which latter was now empty, I seized pen and paper, and forthwith
+essayed to write the life of Joseph Sell, but soon discovered that it
+is much easier to resolve upon a thing than to achieve it, or even to
+commence it; for the life of me I did not know how to begin, and, after
+trying in vain to write a line, I thought it would be as well to go
+to bed, and defer my projected undertaking till the morrow.</p>
+<p>So I went to bed, but not to sleep.&nbsp; During the greater part
+of the night I lay awake, musing upon the work which I had determined
+to execute.&nbsp; For a long time my brain was dry and unproductive;
+I could form no plan which appeared feasible.&nbsp; At length I felt
+within my brain a kindly glow; it was the commencement of inspiration;
+in a few minutes I had formed my plan; I then began to imagine the scenes
+and the incidents.&nbsp; Scenes and incidents flitted before my mind&rsquo;s
+eye so plentifully, that I knew not how to dispose of them; I was in
+a regular embarrassment.&nbsp; At length I got out of the difficulty
+in the easiest manner imaginable, namely, by consigning to the depths
+of oblivion all the feebler and less stimulant scenes and incidents,
+and retaining the better and more impressive ones.&nbsp; Before morning
+I had sketched the whole work on the tablets of my mind, and then resigned
+myself to sleep in the pleasing conviction that the most difficult part
+of my undertaking was achieved.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LVI</h2>
+<p>Considerably sobered&mdash;Power of writing&mdash;The tempter&mdash;Hungry
+talent&mdash;Work concluded.</p>
+<p>Rather late in the morning I awoke; for a few minutes I lay still,
+perfectly still; my imagination was considerably sobered; the scenes
+and situations which had pleased me so much over night appeared to me
+in a far less captivating guise that morning.&nbsp; I felt languid and
+almost hopeless&mdash;the thought, however, of my situation soon roused
+me&mdash;I must make an effort to improve the posture of my affairs;
+there was no time to be lost; so I sprang out of bed, breakfasted on
+bread and water, and then sat down doggedly to write the life of Joseph
+Sell.</p>
+<p>It was a great thing to have formed my plan, and to have arranged
+the scenes in my head, as I had done on the preceding night.&nbsp; The
+chief thing requisite at present was the mere mechanical act of committing
+them to paper.&nbsp; This I did not find at first so easy as I could
+wish&mdash;I wanted mechanical skill; but I persevered, and before evening
+I had written ten pages.&nbsp; I partook of some bread and water; and
+before I went to bed that night, I had completed fifteen pages of my
+life of Joseph Sell.</p>
+<p>The next day I resumed my task&mdash;I found my power of writing
+considerably increased; my pen hurried rapidly over the paper&mdash;my
+brain was in a wonderfully teeming state; many scenes and visions which
+I had not thought of before were evolved, and, as fast as evolved, written
+down; they seemed to be more pat to my purpose, and more natural to
+my history, than many others which I had imagined before, and which
+I made now give place to these newer creations: by about midnight I
+had added thirty fresh pages to my <i>Life and Adventures of Joseph
+Sell</i>.</p>
+<p>The third day arose&mdash;it was dark and dreary out of doors, and
+I passed it drearily enough within; my brain appeared to have lost much
+of its former glow, and my pen much of its power; I, however, toiled
+on, but at midnight had only added seven pages to my history of Joseph
+Sell.</p>
+<p>On the fourth day the sun shone brightly&mdash;I arose, and, having
+breakfasted as usual, I fell to work.&nbsp; My brain was this day wonderfully
+prolific, and my pen never before or since glided so rapidly over the
+paper; towards night I began to feel strangely about the back part of
+my head, and my whole system was extraordinarily affected.&nbsp; I likewise
+occasionally saw double&mdash;a tempter now seemed to be at work within
+me.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You had better leave off now for a short space,&rsquo; said
+the tempter, &lsquo;and go out and drink a pint of beer; you have still
+one shilling left&mdash;if you go on at this rate, you will go mad&mdash;go
+out and spend sixpence, you can afford it, more than half your work
+is done.&rsquo;&nbsp; I was about to obey the suggestion of the tempter,
+when the idea struck me that, if I did not complete the work whilst
+the fit was on me, I should never complete it; so I held on. I am almost
+afraid to state how many pages I wrote that day of the life of Joseph
+Sell.</p>
+<p>From this time I proceeded in a somewhat more leisurely manner; but,
+as I drew nearer and nearer to the completion of my task, dreadful fears
+and despondencies came over me.&mdash;It will be too late, thought I;
+by the time I have finished the work, the bookseller will have been
+supplied with a tale or a novel.&nbsp; Is it probable that, in a town
+like this, where talent is so abundant&mdash;hungry talent too&mdash;a
+bookseller can advertise for a tale or a novel, without being supplied
+with half a dozen in twenty-four hours?&nbsp; I may as well fling down
+my pen&mdash;I am writing to no purpose.&nbsp; And these thoughts came
+over my mind so often, that at last, in utter despair, I flung down
+the pen.&nbsp; Whereupon the tempter within me said&mdash;&lsquo;And,
+now you have flung down the pen, you may as well fling yourself out
+of the window; what remains for you to do?&rsquo;&nbsp; Why, to take
+it up again, thought I to myself, for I did not like the latter suggestion
+at all&mdash;and then forthwith I resumed the pen, and wrote with greater
+vigour than before, from about six o&rsquo;clock in the evening until
+I could hardly see, when I rested for a while, when the tempter within
+me again said, or appeared to say&mdash;&lsquo;All you have been writing
+is stuff, it will never do&mdash;a drug&mdash;a mere drug&rsquo;; and
+methought these last words were uttered in the gruff tones of the big
+publisher.&nbsp; &lsquo;A thing merely to be sneezed at,&rsquo; a voice
+like that of Taggart added; and then I seemed to hear a sternutation,&mdash;as
+I probably did, for, recovering from a kind of swoon, I found myself
+shivering with cold.&nbsp; The next day I brought my work to a conclusion.</p>
+<p>But the task of revision still remained; for an hour or two I shrank
+from it, and remained gazing stupidly at the pile of paper which I had
+written over.&nbsp; I was all but exhausted, and I dreaded, on inspecting
+the sheets, to find them full of absurdities which I had paid no regard
+to in the furor of composition.&nbsp; But the task, however trying to
+my nerves, must be got over; at last, in a kind of desperation, I entered
+upon it.&nbsp; It was far from an easy one; there were, however, fewer
+errors and absurdities than I had anticipated.&nbsp; About twelve o&rsquo;clock
+at night I had got over the task of revision.&nbsp; &lsquo;To-morrow
+for the bookseller,&rsquo; said I, as my head sank on the pillow.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Oh me!&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LVII</h2>
+<p>Nervous look&mdash;The bookseller&rsquo;s wife&mdash;The last stake&mdash;Terms&mdash;God
+forbid!&mdash;Will you come to tea?&mdash;A light heart.</p>
+<p>On arriving at the bookseller&rsquo;s shop, I cast a nervous look
+at the window, for the purpose of observing whether the paper had been
+removed or not.&nbsp; To my great delight the paper was in its place;
+with a beating heart I entered, there was nobody in the shop; as I stood
+at the counter, however, deliberating whether or not I should call out,
+the door of what seemed to be a back-parlour opened, and out came a
+well-dressed lady-like female, of about thirty, with a good-looking
+and intelligent countenance.&nbsp; &lsquo;What is your business, young
+man?&rsquo; said she to me, after I had made her a polite bow.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I wish to speak to the gentleman of the house,&rsquo; said I.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;My husband is not within at present,&rsquo; she replied; &lsquo;what
+is your business?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I have merely brought something
+to show him,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;but I will call again.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;If you are the young gentleman who has been here before,&rsquo;
+said the lady, &lsquo;with poems and ballads, as, indeed, I know you
+are,&rsquo; she added, smiling, &lsquo;for I have seen you through the
+glass door, I am afraid it will be useless; that is,&rsquo; she added
+with another smile, &lsquo;if you bring us nothing else.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I have not brought you poems and ballads now,&rsquo; said I,
+&lsquo;but something widely different; I saw your advertisement for
+a tale or a novel, and have written something which I think will suit;
+and here it is,&rsquo; I added, showing the roll of paper which I held
+in my hand.&nbsp; &lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said the bookseller&rsquo;s wife,
+&lsquo;you may leave it, though I cannot promise you much chance of
+its being accepted.&nbsp; My husband has already had several offered
+to him; however, you may leave it; give it me.&nbsp; Are you afraid
+to intrust it to me?&rsquo; she demanded somewhat hastily, observing
+that I hesitated.&nbsp; &lsquo;Excuse me,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;but
+it is all I have to depend upon in the world; I am chiefly apprehensive
+that it will not be read.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;On that point I can reassure
+you,&rsquo; said the good lady, smiling, and there was now something
+sweet in her smile.&nbsp; &lsquo;I give you my word that it shall be
+read; come again to-morrow morning at eleven, when, if not approved,
+it shall be returned to you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I returned to my lodging, and forthwith betook myself to bed, notwithstanding
+the earliness of the hour.&nbsp; I felt tolerably tranquil; I had now
+cast my last stake, and was prepared to abide by the result.&nbsp; Whatever
+that result might be, I could have nothing to reproach myself with;
+I had strained all the energies which nature had given me in order to
+rescue myself from the difficulties which surrounded me.&nbsp; I presently
+sank into a sleep, which endured during the remainder of the day, and
+the whole of the succeeding night.&nbsp; I awoke about nine on the morrow,
+and spent my last threepence on a breakfast somewhat more luxurious
+than the immediately preceding ones, for one penny of the sum was expended
+on the purchase of milk.</p>
+<p>At the appointed hour I repaired to the house of the bookseller;
+the bookseller was in his shop.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ah,&rsquo; said he, as
+soon as I entered, &lsquo;I am glad to see you.&rsquo;&nbsp; There was
+an unwonted heartiness in the bookseller&rsquo;s tones, an unwonted
+benignity in his face.&nbsp; &lsquo;So,&rsquo; said he, after a pause,
+&lsquo;you have taken my advice, written a book of adventure; nothing
+like taking the advice, young man, of your superiors in age.&nbsp; Well,
+I think your book will do, and so does my wife, for whose judgment I
+have a great regard; as well I may, as she is the daughter of a first-rate
+novelist, deceased.&nbsp; I think I shall venture on sending your book
+to the press.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;But,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;we have
+not yet agreed upon terms.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Terms, terms,&rsquo;
+said the bookseller; &lsquo;ahem! well, there is nothing like coming
+to terms at once.&nbsp; I will print the book, and give you half the
+profit when the edition is sold.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;That will not do,&rsquo;
+said I; &lsquo;I intend shortly to leave London: I must have something
+at once.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Ah, I see,&rsquo; said the bookseller,
+&lsquo;in distress; frequently the case with authors, especially young
+ones.&nbsp; Well, I don&rsquo;t care if I purchase it of you, but you
+must be moderate; the public are very fastidious, and the speculation
+may prove a losing one after all.&nbsp; Let me see, will five&mdash;hem&mdash;&rsquo;
+he stopped.&nbsp; I looked the bookseller in the face; there was something
+peculiar in it.&nbsp; Suddenly it appeared to me as if the voice of
+him of the thimble sounded in my ear, &lsquo;Now is your time, ask enough,
+never such another chance of establishing yourself; respectable trade,
+pea and thimble.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I at last, &lsquo;I
+have no objection to take the offer which you were about to make, though
+I really think five-and-twenty guineas to be scarcely enough, everything
+considered.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Five-and-twenty guineas!&rsquo; said
+the bookseller; &lsquo;are you&mdash;what was I going to say&mdash;I
+never meant to offer half as much&mdash;I mean a quarter; I was going
+to say five guineas&mdash;I mean pounds; I will, however, make it up
+guineas.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;That will not do,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;but,
+as I find we shall not deal, return me my manuscript, that I may carry
+it to some one else.&rsquo;&nbsp; The bookseller looked blank.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Dear me,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;I should never have supposed
+that you would have made any objection to such an offer; I am quite
+sure that you would have been glad to take five pounds for either of
+the two huge manuscripts of songs and ballads that you brought me on
+a former occasion.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;if
+you will engage to publish either of those two manuscripts, you shall
+have the present one for five pounds.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;God forbid
+that I should make any such bargain!&rsquo; said the bookseller; &lsquo;I
+would publish neither on any account; but, with respect to this last
+book, I have really an inclination to print it, both for your sake and
+mine; suppose we say ten pounds.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;No,&rsquo; said
+I, &lsquo;ten pounds will not do; pray restore me my manuscript.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Stay,&rsquo; said the bookseller, &lsquo;my wife is in the next
+room, I will go and consult her.&rsquo;&nbsp; Thereupon he went into
+his back room, where I heard him conversing with his wife in a low tone;
+in about ten minutes he returned.&nbsp; &lsquo;Young gentleman,&rsquo;
+said he, &lsquo;perhaps you will take tea with us this evening, when
+we will talk further over the matter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>That evening I went and took tea with the bookseller and his wife,
+both of whom, particularly the latter, overwhelmed me with civility.&nbsp;
+It was not long before I learned that the work had been already sent
+to the press, and was intended to stand at the head of a series of entertaining
+narratives, from which my friends promised themselves considerable profit.&nbsp;
+The subject of terms was again brought forward.&nbsp; I stood firm to
+my first demand for a long time; when, however, the bookseller&rsquo;s
+wife complimented me on my production in the highest terms, and said
+that she discovered therein the germs of genius, which she made no doubt
+would some day prove ornamental to my native land, I consented to drop
+my demand to twenty pounds, stipulating, however, that I should not
+be troubled with the correction of the work.</p>
+<p>Before I departed, I received the twenty pounds, and departed with
+a light heart to my lodgings.</p>
+<p>Reader, amidst the difficulties and dangers of this life, should
+you ever be tempted to despair, call to mind these latter chapters of
+the life of Lavengro.&nbsp; There are few positions, however difficult,
+from which dogged resolution and perseverance may not liberate you.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LVIII</h2>
+<p>Indisposition&mdash;A resolution&mdash;Poor equivalents&mdash;The
+piece of gold&mdash;Flashing eyes&mdash;How beautiful&mdash;Bon jour,
+Monsieur.</p>
+<p>I had long ago determined to leave London as soon as the means should
+be in my power, and, now that they were, I determined to leave the Great
+City; yet I felt some reluctance to go.&nbsp; I would fain have pursued
+the career of original authorship which had just opened itself to me,
+and have written other tales of adventure.&nbsp; The bookseller had
+given me encouragement enough to do so; he had assured me that he should
+be always happy to deal with me for an article (that was the word) similar
+to the one I had brought him, provided my terms were moderate; and the
+bookseller&rsquo;s wife, by her complimentary language, had given me
+yet more encouragement.&nbsp; But for some months past I had been far
+from well, and my original indisposition, brought on partly by the peculiar
+atmosphere of the Big City, partly by anxiety of mind, had been much
+increased by the exertions which I had been compelled to make during
+the last few days.&nbsp; I felt that, were I to remain where I was,
+I should die, or become a confirmed valetudinarian.&nbsp; I would go
+forth into the country, travelling on foot, and, by exercise and inhaling
+pure air, endeavour to recover my health, leaving my subsequent movements
+to be determined by Providence.</p>
+<p>But whither should I bend my course?&nbsp; Once or twice I thought
+of walking home to the old town, stay some time with my mother and my
+brother, and enjoy the pleasant walks in the neighbourhood; but, though
+I wished very much to see my mother and my brother, and felt much disposed
+to enjoy the said pleasant walks, the old town was not exactly the place
+to which I wished to go at this present juncture.&nbsp; I was afraid
+that people would ask, Where are your Northern Ballads?&nbsp; Where
+are your alliterative translations from Ab Gwilym&mdash;of which you
+were always talking, and with which you promised to astonish the world?&nbsp;
+Now, in the event of such interrogations, what could I answer?&nbsp;
+It is true I had compiled <i>Newgate Lives and Trials</i>, and had written
+the life of Joseph Sell, but I was afraid that the people of the old
+town would scarcely consider these as equivalents for the Northern Ballads
+and the songs of Ab Gwilym.&nbsp; I would go forth and wander in any
+direction but that of the old town.</p>
+<p>But how one&rsquo;s sensibility on any particular point diminishes
+with time; at present I enter the old town perfectly indifferent as
+to what the people may be thinking on the subject of the songs and ballads.&nbsp;
+With respect to the people themselves, whether, like my sensibility,
+their curiosity has altogether evaporated, whether, which is at least
+equally probable, they never entertained any, one thing is certain,
+that never in a single instance have they troubled me with any remarks
+on the subject of the songs and ballads.</p>
+<p>As it was my intention to travel on foot, with a bundle and a stick,
+I despatched my trunk containing some few clothes and books to the old
+town.&nbsp; My preparations were soon made; in about three days I was
+in readiness to start.</p>
+<p>Before departing, however, I bethought me of my old friend the apple-woman
+of London Bridge.&nbsp; Apprehensive that she might be labouring under
+the difficulties of poverty, I sent her a piece of gold by the hands
+of a young maiden in the house in which I lived.&nbsp; The latter punctually
+executed her commission, but brought me back the piece of gold.&nbsp;
+The old woman would not take it; she did not want it, she said.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Tell the poor thin lad,&rsquo; she added, &lsquo;to keep it for
+himself, he wants it more than I.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Rather late one afternoon I departed from my lodging, with my stick
+in one hand and a small bundle in the other, shaping my course to the
+south-west: when I first arrived, somewhat more than a year before,
+I had entered the city by the north-east.&nbsp; As I was not going home,
+I determined to take my departure in the direction the very opposite
+to home.</p>
+<p>Just as I was about to cross the street called the Haymarket, at
+the lower part, a cabriolet, drawn by a magnificent animal, came dashing
+along at a furious rate; it stopped close by the curb-stone where I
+was, a sudden pull of the reins nearly bringing the spirited animal
+upon its haunches.&nbsp; The Jehu who had accomplished this feat was
+Francis Ardry.&nbsp; A small beautiful female, with flashing eyes, dressed
+in the extremity of fashion, sat beside him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Holloa, friend,&rsquo; said Francis Ardry, &lsquo;whither
+bound?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not know,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;all I can say is, that
+I am about to leave London.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And the means?&rsquo; said Francis Ardry.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have them,&rsquo; said I, with a cheerful smile.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Qui est celui-ci?&rsquo; demanded the small female, impatiently.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;C&rsquo;est&mdash;mon ami le plus intime; so you were about
+to leave London, without telling me a word,&rsquo; said Francis Ardry,
+somewhat angrily.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I intended to have written to you,&rsquo; said I: &lsquo;what
+a splendid mare that is.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is she not?&rsquo; said Francis Ardry, who was holding in
+the mare with difficulty; &lsquo;she cost a hundred guineas.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Qu&rsquo;est ce qu&rsquo;il dit?&rsquo; demanded his companion.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Il dit que le jument est bien beau.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Allons, mon ami, il est tard,&rsquo; said the beauty, with
+a scornful toss of her head; &lsquo;allons!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Encore un moment,&rsquo; said Francis Ardry; &lsquo;and when
+shall I see you again?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I scarcely know,&rsquo; I replied: &lsquo;I never saw a more
+splendid turn out.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Qu&rsquo;est ce qu&rsquo;il dit?&rsquo; I said the lady again.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Il dit que tout l&rsquo;&eacute;quipage est en assez bon go&ucirc;t.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Allons, c&rsquo;est un ours,&rsquo; said the lady; &lsquo;le
+cheval m&ecirc;me en a peur,&rsquo; added she, as the mare reared up
+on high.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Can you find nothing else to admire but the mare and the equipage?&rsquo;
+said Francis Ardry, reproachfully, after he had with some difficulty
+brought the mare to order.</p>
+<p>Lifting my hand, in which I held my stick, I took off my hat.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;How beautiful!&rsquo; said I, looking the lady full in the face.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Comment?&rsquo; said the lady, inquiringly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Il dit que vous &ecirc;tes belle comme un ange,&rsquo; said
+Francis Ardry, emphatically.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Mais, &agrave; la bonne heure! arr&ecirc;tez, mon ami,&rsquo;
+said the lady to Francis Ardry, who was about to drive off; &lsquo;je
+voudrais bien causer un moment avec lui; arr&ecirc;tez, il est d&eacute;licieux.&mdash;Est-ce
+bien ainsi que vous traitez vos amis?&rsquo; said she passionately,
+as Francis Ardry lifted up his whip.&nbsp; &lsquo;Bon jour, Monsieur,
+bon jour,&rsquo; said she, thrusting her head from the side and looking
+back, as Francis Ardry drove off at the rate of thirteen miles an hour.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LIX</h2>
+<p>The milestone&mdash;The meditation&mdash;Want to get up?&mdash;The
+off-hand leader&mdash;Sixteen shillings&mdash;The near-hand wheeler&mdash;All
+right.</p>
+<p>In about two hours I had cleared the Great City, and got beyond the
+suburban villages, or rather towns, in the direction in which I was
+travelling; I was in a broad and excellent road, leading I knew not
+whither.&nbsp; I now slackened my pace, which had hitherto been great.&nbsp;
+Presently, coming to a milestone on which was graven nine miles, I rested
+against it, and looking round towards the vast city, which had long
+ceased to be visible, I fell into a train of meditation.</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page321b.jpg">
+<img alt="Presently, coming to a milestone, I rested against it, and, looking round towards the vast city, I fell into a train of meditation" src="images/page321s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>I thought of all my ways and doings since the day of my first arrival
+in that vast city&mdash;I had worked and toiled, and, though I had accomplished
+nothing at all commensurate with the hopes which I had entertained previous
+to my arrival, I had achieved my own living, preserved my independence,
+and become indebted to no one.&nbsp; I was now quitting it, poor in
+purse, it is true, but not wholly empty; rather ailing it may be, but
+not broken in health; and, with hope within my bosom, had I not cause
+upon the whole to be thankful?&nbsp; Perhaps there were some who, arriving
+at the same time under not more favourable circumstances, had accomplished
+much more, and whose future was far more hopeful&mdash;Good!&nbsp; But
+there might be others who, in spite of all their efforts, had been either
+trodden down in the press, never more to be heard of, or were quitting
+that mighty town broken in purse, broken in health, and, oh! with not
+one dear hope to cheer them.&nbsp; Had I not, upon the whole, abundant
+cause to be grateful?&nbsp; Truly, yes!</p>
+<p>My meditation over, I left the milestone and proceeded on my way
+in the same direction as before until the night began to close in.&nbsp;
+I had always been a good pedestrian; but now, whether owing to indisposition
+or to not having for some time past been much in the habit of taking
+such lengthy walks, I began to feel not a little weary.&nbsp; Just as
+I was thinking of putting up for the night at the next inn or public-house
+I should arrive at, I heard what sounded like a coach coming up rapidly
+behind me.&nbsp; Induced, perhaps, by the weariness which I felt, I
+stopped and looked wistfully in the direction of the sound; presently
+up came a coach, seemingly a mail, drawn by four bounding horses&mdash;there
+was no one upon it but the coachman and the guard; when nearly parallel
+with me it stopped.&nbsp; &lsquo;Want to get up?&rsquo; sounded a voice,
+in the true coachman-like tone&mdash;half querulous, half authoritative.&nbsp;
+I hesitated; I was tired, it is true, but I had left London bound on
+a pedestrian excursion, and I did not much like the idea of having recourse
+to a coach after accomplishing so very inconsiderable a distance.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Come, we can&rsquo;t be staying here all night,&rsquo; said the
+voice, more sharply than before.&nbsp; &lsquo;I can ride a little way,
+and get down whenever I like,&rsquo; thought I; and springing forward
+I clambered up the coach, and was going to sit down upon the box, next
+the coachman.&nbsp; &lsquo;No, no,&rsquo; said the coachman, who was
+a man about thirty, with a hooked nose and red face, dressed in a fashionably-cut
+greatcoat, with a fashionable black castor on his head.&nbsp; &lsquo;No,
+no, keep behind&mdash;the box ain&rsquo;t for the like of you,&rsquo;
+said he, as he drove off; &lsquo;the box is for lords, or gentlemen
+at least.&rsquo;&nbsp; I made no answer.&nbsp; &lsquo;D--- that off-hand
+leader,&rsquo; said the coachman, as the right-hand front horse made
+a desperate start at something he saw in the road; and, half rising,
+he with great dexterity hit with his long whip the off-hand leader a
+cut on the off cheek.&nbsp; &lsquo;These seem to be fine horses,&rsquo;
+said I.&nbsp; The coachman made no answer.&nbsp; &lsquo;Nearly thoroughbred,&rsquo;
+I continued; the coachman drew his breath, with a kind of hissing sound,
+through his teeth.&nbsp; &lsquo;Come, young fellow, none of your chaff.&nbsp;
+Don&rsquo;t you think, because you ride on my mail, I&rsquo;m going
+to talk to you about &rsquo;orses.&nbsp; I talk to nobody about &lsquo;orses
+except lords.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I have
+been called a lord in my time.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;It must have been
+by a thimble-rigger, then,&rsquo; said the coachman, bending back, and
+half turning his face round with a broad leer.&nbsp; &lsquo;You have
+hit the mark wonderfully,&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;You coachmen,
+whatever else you may be, are certainly no fools.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;We
+ain&rsquo;t, ain&rsquo;t we?&rsquo; said the coachman.&nbsp; &lsquo;There
+you are right; and, to show you that you are, I&rsquo;ll now trouble
+you for your fare.&nbsp; If you have been amongst the thimble-riggers
+you must be tolerably well cleared out.&nbsp; Where are you going?&mdash;to&mdash;?&nbsp;
+I think I have seen you there.&nbsp; The fare is sixteen shillings.&nbsp;
+Come, tip us the blunt; them that has no money can&rsquo;t ride on my
+mail.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sixteen shillings was a large sum, and to pay it would make a considerable
+inroad on my slender finances; I thought, at first, that I would say
+I did not want to go so far; but then the fellow would ask at once where
+I wanted to go, and I was ashamed to acknowledge my utter ignorance
+of the road.&nbsp; I determined, therefore, to pay the fare, with a
+tacit determination not to mount a coach in future without knowing whither
+I was going.&nbsp; So I paid the man the money, who, turning round,
+shouted to the guard&mdash;&lsquo;All right, Jem; got fare to&mdash;&rsquo;;
+and forthwith whipped on his horses, especially the off hand leader,
+for whom he seemed to entertain a particular spite, to greater speed
+than before&mdash;the horses flew.</p>
+<p>A young moon gave a feeble light, partially illuminating a line of
+road which, appearing by no means interesting, I the less regretted
+having paid my money for the privilege of being hurried along it in
+the flying vehicle.&nbsp; We frequently changed horses; and at last
+my friend the coachman was replaced by another, the very image of himself&mdash;hawk
+nose, red face, with narrow-rimmed hat and fashionable benjamin.&nbsp;
+After he had driven about fifty yards, the new coachman fell to whipping
+one of the horses.&nbsp; &lsquo;D--- this near-hand wheeler,&rsquo;
+said he, &lsquo;the brute has got a corn.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Whipping
+him won&rsquo;t cure him of his corn,&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;Who
+told you to speak?&rsquo; said the driver, with an oath; &lsquo;mind
+your own business; &rsquo;tisn&rsquo;t from the like of you I am to
+learn to drive &lsquo;orses.&rsquo;&nbsp; Presently I fell into a broken
+kind of slumber.&nbsp; In an hour or two I was aroused by a rough voice&mdash;&lsquo;Got
+to ---, young man; get down if you please.&rsquo;&nbsp; I opened my
+eyes&mdash;there was a dim and indistinct light, like that which precedes
+dawn; the coach was standing still in something like a street; just
+below me stood the guard.&nbsp; &lsquo;Do you mean to get down,&rsquo;
+said he, &lsquo;or will you keep us here till morning? other fares want
+to get up.&rsquo;&nbsp; Scarcely knowing what I did, I took my bundle
+and stick and descended, whilst two people mounted.&nbsp; &lsquo;All
+right, John,&rsquo; said the guard to the coachman, springing up behind;
+whereupon off whisked the coach, one or two individuals who were standing
+by disappeared, and I was left alone.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LX</h2>
+<p>The still hour&mdash;A thrill&mdash;The wondrous circle&mdash;The
+shepherd&mdash;Heaps and barrows&mdash;What do you mean?&mdash;Milk
+of the plains&mdash;Hengist spared it&mdash;No presents.</p>
+<p>After standing still a minute or two, considering what I should do,
+I moved down what appeared to be the street of a small straggling town;
+presently I passed by a church, which rose indistinctly on my right
+hand; anon there was the rustling of foliage and the rushing of waters.&nbsp;
+I reached a bridge, beneath which a small stream was running in the
+direction of the south.&nbsp; I stopped and leaned over the parapet,
+for I have always loved to look upon streams, especially at the still
+hours.&nbsp; &lsquo;What stream is this, I wonder?&rsquo; said I, as
+I looked down from the parapet into the water, which whirled and gurgled
+below.</p>
+<p>Leaving the bridge, I ascended a gentle acclivity, and presently
+reached what appeared to be a tract of moory undulating ground.&nbsp;
+It was now tolerably light, but there was a mist or haze abroad which
+prevented my seeing objects with much precision.&nbsp; I felt chill
+in the damp air of the early morn, and walked rapidly forward.&nbsp;
+In about half an hour I arrived where the road divided into two, at
+an angle or tongue of dark green sward.&nbsp; &lsquo;To the right or
+the left?&rsquo; said I, and forthwith took, without knowing why, the
+left-hand road, along which I proceeded about a hundred yards, when,
+in the midst of the tongue of sward formed by the two roads, collaterally
+with myself, I perceived what I at first conceived to be a small grove
+of blighted trunks of oaks, barked and gray.&nbsp; I stood still for
+a moment, and then, turning off the road, advanced slowly towards it
+over the sward; as I drew nearer, I perceived that the objects which
+had attracted my curiosity, and which formed a kind of circle, were
+not trees, but immense upright stones.&nbsp; A thrill pervaded my system;
+just before me were two, the mightiest of the whole, tall as the stems
+of proud oaks, supporting on their tops a huge transverse stone, and
+forming a wonderful doorway.&nbsp; I knew now where I was, and, laying
+down my stick and bundle, and taking off my hat, I advanced slowly,
+and cast myself&mdash;it was folly, perhaps, but I could not help what
+I did&mdash;cast myself, with my face on the dewy earth, in the middle
+of the portal of giants, beneath the transverse stone.</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page326b.jpg">
+<img alt="I cast myself with my face on the dewy earth.  The spirit of Stonehenge was strong upon me!" src="images/page326s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>The spirit of Stonehenge was strong upon me!</p>
+<p>And after I had remained with my face on the ground for some time,
+I arose, placed my hat on my head, and, taking up my stick and bundle,
+wandered round the wondrous circle, examining each individual stone,
+from the greatest to the least; and then, entering by the great door,
+seated myself upon an immense broad stone, one side of which was supported
+by several small ones, and the other slanted upon the earth; and there,
+in deep meditation, I sat for an hour or two, till the sun shone in
+my face above the tall stones of the eastern side.</p>
+<p>And as I still sat there, I heard the noise of bells, and presently
+a large number of sheep came browsing past the circle of stones; two
+or three entered, and grazed upon what they could find, and soon a man
+also entered the circle at the northern side.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Early here, sir,&rsquo; said the man, who was tall, and dressed
+in a dark green slop, and had all the appearance of a shepherd; &lsquo;a
+traveller, I suppose?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I am a traveller; are these sheep
+yours?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They are, sir; that is, they are my master&rsquo;s.&nbsp;
+A strange place this, sir,&rsquo; said he, looking at the stones; &lsquo;ever
+here before?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Never in body, frequently in mind.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Heard of the stones, I suppose; no wonder&mdash;all the people
+of the plain talk of them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do the people of the plain say of them?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, they say&mdash;How did they ever come here?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do they not suppose them to have been brought?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who should have brought them?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have read that they were brought by many thousand men.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Where from?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ireland.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How did they bring them?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what did they bring them for?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To form a temple, perhaps.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is that?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A place to worship God in.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A strange place to worship God in.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It has no roof.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, it has.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Where?&rsquo; said the man, looking up.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do you see above you?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The sky.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Have you anything to say?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How did these stones come here?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are there other stones like these on the plains?&rsquo; said
+I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;None; and yet there are plenty of strange things on these
+downs.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What are they?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Strange heaps, and barrows, and great walls of earth built
+on the tops of hills.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do the people of the plain wonder how they came there?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They do not.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They were raised by hands.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And these stones?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How did they ever come here?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I wonder whether they are here?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;These stones?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So sure as the world,&rsquo; said the man; &lsquo;and, as
+the world, they will stand as long.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I wonder whether there is a world.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do you mean?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;An earth, and sea, moon and stars, sheep and men.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you doubt it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sometimes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I never heard it doubted before.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is impossible there should be a world.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It ain&rsquo;t possible there shouldn&rsquo;t be a world.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Just so.&rsquo;&nbsp; At this moment a fine ewe, attended
+by a lamb, rushed into the circle and fondled the knees of the shepherd.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I suppose you would not care to have some milk,&rsquo; said the
+man.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why do you suppose so?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because, so be there be no sheep, no milk, you know; and what
+there ben&rsquo;t is not worth having.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You could not have argued better,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;that
+is, supposing you have argued; with respect to the milk you may do as
+you please.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Be still, Nanny,&rsquo; said the man; and producing a tin
+vessel from his scrip, he milked the ewe into it.&nbsp; &lsquo;Here
+is milk of the plains, master,&rsquo; said the man, as he handed the
+vessel to me.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Where are those barrows and great walls of earth you were
+speaking of?&rsquo; said I, after I had drunk some of the milk; &lsquo;are
+there any near where we are?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not within many miles; the nearest is yonder away,&rsquo;
+said the shepherd, pointing to the south-east.&nbsp; &lsquo;It&rsquo;s
+a grand place, that, but not like this; quite different, and from it
+you have a sight of the finest spire in the world.&rsquo;</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page329b.jpg">
+<img alt="&lsquo;The nearest is yonder away,&rsquo; said the shepherd, pointing to the south-east" src="images/page329s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>&lsquo;I must go to it,&rsquo; said I, and I drank the remainder
+of the milk; &lsquo;yonder, you say.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, yonder; but you cannot get to it in that direction, the
+river lies between.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What river?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Avon.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Avon is British,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the man, &lsquo;we are all British here.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, we are not,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What are we then?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;English.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ain&rsquo;t they one?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who were the British?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The men who are supposed to have worshipped God in this place,
+and who raised these stones.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Where are they now?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Our forefathers slaughtered them, spilled their blood all
+about, especially in this neighbourhood, destroyed their pleasant places,
+and left not, to use their own words, one stone upon another.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, they did,&rsquo; said the shepherd, looking aloft at
+the transverse stone.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And it is well for them they did; whenever that stone, which
+English hands never raised, is by English hands thrown down, woe, woe,
+woe to the English race; spare it, English! Hengist spared it!&mdash;Here
+is sixpence.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I won&rsquo;t have it,&rsquo; said the man.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why not?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You talk so prettily about these stones; you seem to know
+all about them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I never receive presents; with respect to the stones, I say
+with yourself, How did they ever come here?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How did they ever come here?&rsquo; said the shepherd.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXI</h2>
+<p>The river&mdash;Arid downs&mdash;A prospect.</p>
+<p>Leaving the shepherd, I bent my way in the direction pointed out
+by him as that in which the most remarkable of the strange remains of
+which he had spoken lay.&nbsp; I proceeded rapidly, making my way over
+the downs covered with coarse grass and fern; with respect to the river
+of which he had spoken, I reflected that, either by wading or swimming,
+I could easily transfer myself and what I bore to the opposite side.&nbsp;
+On arriving at its banks, I found it a beautiful stream, but shallow,
+with here and there a deep place where the water ran dark and still.</p>
+<p>Always fond of the pure lymph, I undressed, and plunged into one
+of these gulfs, from which I emerged, my whole frame in a glow, and
+tingling with delicious sensations.&nbsp; After conveying my clothes
+and scanty baggage to the farther side, I dressed, and then with hurried
+steps bent my course in the direction of some lofty ground; I at length
+found myself on a high-road, leading over wide and arid downs; following
+the road for some miles without seeing anything remarkable, I supposed
+at length that I had taken the wrong path, and wended on slowly and
+disconsolately for some time, till, having nearly surmounted a steep
+hill, I knew at once, from certain appearances, that I was near the
+object of my search.&nbsp; Turning to the right near the brow of the
+hill, I proceeded along a path which brought me to a causeway leading
+over a deep ravine, and connecting the hill with another which had once
+formed part of it, for the ravine was evidently the work of art.&nbsp;
+I passed over the causeway, and found myself in a kind of gateway which
+admitted me into a square space of many acres, surrounded on all sides
+by mounds or ramparts of earth.&nbsp; Though I had never been in such
+a place before, I knew that I stood within the precincts of what had
+been a Roman encampment, and one probably of the largest size, for many
+thousand warriors might have found room to perform their evolutions
+in that space, in which corn was now growing, the green ears waving
+in the morning wind.</p>
+<p>After I had gazed about the space for a time, standing in the gateway
+formed by the mounds, I clambered up the mound to the left hand, and
+on the top of that mound I found myself at a great altitude; beneath,
+at the distance of a mile, was a fair old city, situated amongst verdant
+meadows, watered with streams, and from the heart of that old city,
+from amidst mighty trees, I beheld towering to the sky the finest spire
+in the world.</p>
+<p>And after I had looked from the Roman rampart for a long time, I
+hurried away, and, retracing my steps along the cause-way, regained
+the road, and, passing over the brow of the hill, descended to the city
+of the spire.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXII</h2>
+<p>The hostelry&mdash;Life uncertain&mdash;Open countenance&mdash;The
+grand point&mdash;Thank you, master&mdash;A hard mother&mdash;Poor dear!&mdash;Considerable
+odds&mdash;The better country&mdash;English fashion&mdash;Landlord-looking
+person.</p>
+<p>And in the old city I remained two days, passing my time as I best
+could&mdash;inspecting the curiosities of the place, eating and drinking
+when I felt so disposed, which I frequently did, the digestive organs
+having assumed a tone to which for many months they had been strangers&mdash;enjoying
+at night balmy sleep in a large bed in a dusky room, at the end of a
+corridor, in a certain hostelry in which I had taken up my quarters&mdash;receiving
+from the people of the hostelry such civility and condescension as people
+who travel on foot with bundle and stick, but who nevertheless are perceived
+to be not altogether destitute of coin, are in the habit of receiving.&nbsp;
+On the third day, on a fine sunny afternoon, I departed from the city
+of the spire.</p>
+<p>As I was passing through one of the suburbs, I saw, all on a sudden,
+a respectable-looking female fall down in a fit; several persons hastened
+to her assistance.&nbsp; &lsquo;She is dead,&rsquo; said one.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;No, she is not,&rsquo; said another.&nbsp; &lsquo;I am afraid
+she is,&rsquo; said a third.&nbsp; &lsquo;Life is very uncertain,&rsquo;
+said a fourth.&nbsp; &lsquo;It is Mrs. ---,&rsquo; said a fifth; &lsquo;let
+us carry her to her own house.&rsquo;&nbsp; Not being able to render
+any assistance, I left the poor female in the hands of her townsfolk,
+and proceeded on my way.&nbsp; I had chosen a road in the direction
+of the north-west, it led over downs where corn was growing, but where
+neither tree nor hedge was to be seen; two or three hours&rsquo; walking
+brought me to a beautiful valley, abounding with trees of various kinds,
+with a delightful village at its farthest extremity; passing through
+it, I ascended a lofty acclivity, on the top of which I sat down on
+a bank, and, taking off my hat, permitted a breeze, which swept coolly
+and refreshingly over the downs, to dry my hair, dripping from the effects
+of exercise and the heat of the day.</p>
+<p>And as I sat there, gazing now at the blue heavens, now at the downs
+before me, a man came along the road in the direction in which I had
+hitherto been proceeding: just opposite to me he stopped, and, looking
+at me, cried&mdash;&lsquo;Am I right for London, master?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He was dressed like a sailor, and appeared to be between twenty-five
+and thirty years of age&mdash;he had an open manly countenance, and
+there was a bold and fearless expression in his eye.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said I, in reply to his question; &lsquo;this
+is one of the ways to London.&nbsp; Do you come from far?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;From ---,&rsquo; said the man, naming a well-known seaport.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is this the direct road to London from that place?&rsquo;
+I demanded.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said the man; &lsquo;but I had to visit two or
+three other places on certain commissions I was intrusted with; amongst
+others to ---, where I had to take a small sum of money.&nbsp; I am
+rather tired, master; and, if you please, I will sit down beside you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have as much right to sit down here as I have,&rsquo;
+said I; &lsquo;the road is free for every one; as for sitting down beside
+me, you have the look of an honest man, and I have no objection to your
+company.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, as for being honest, master,&rsquo; said the man, laughing
+and sitting down by me, &lsquo;I haven&rsquo;t much to say&mdash;many
+is the wild thing I have done when I was younger; however, what is done,
+is done.&nbsp; To learn, one must live, master; and I have lived long
+enough to learn the grand point of wisdom.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is that?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That honesty is the best policy, master.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You appear to be a sailor,&rsquo; said I, looking at his dress.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I was not bred a sailor,&rsquo; said the man, &lsquo;though,
+when my foot is on the salt water, I can play the part&mdash;and play
+it well too.&nbsp; I am now from a long voyage.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;From America?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Farther than that,&rsquo; said the man.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Have you any objection to tell me?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;From New South Wales,&rsquo; said the man, looking me full
+in the face.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Dear me,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why do you say &ldquo;Dear me&rdquo;?&rsquo; said the man.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is a very long way off,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Was that your reason for saying so?&rsquo; said the man.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not exactly,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said the man, with something of a bitter smile;
+&lsquo;it was something else that made you say so; you were thinking
+of the convicts.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;what then&mdash;you are no convict.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How do you know?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You do not look like one.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thank you, master,&rsquo; said the man cheerfully; &lsquo;and,
+to a certain extent, you are right&mdash;bygones are bygones&mdash;I
+am no longer what I was, nor ever will be again; the truth, however,
+is the truth&mdash;a convict I have been&mdash;a convict at Sydney Cove.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And you have served out the period for which you were sentenced,
+and are now returned?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As to serving out my sentence,&rsquo; replied the man, &lsquo;I
+can&rsquo;t say that I did; I was sentenced for fourteen years, and
+I was in Sydney Cove little more than half that time.&nbsp; The truth
+is that I did the Government a service.&nbsp; There was a conspiracy
+amongst some of the convicts to murder and destroy&mdash;I overheard
+and informed the Government; mind one thing, however, I was not concerned
+in it; those who got it up were no comrades of mine, but a bloody gang
+of villains.&nbsp; Well, the Government, in consideration of the service
+I had done them, remitted the remainder of my sentence; and some kind
+gentlemen interested themselves about me, gave me good books and good
+advice, and, being satisfied with my conduct, procured me employ in
+an exploring expedition, by which I earned money.&nbsp; In fact, the
+being sent to Sydney was the best thing that ever happened to me in
+all my life.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And you have now returned to your native country.&nbsp; Longing
+to see home brought you from New South Wales.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There you are mistaken,&rsquo; said the man.&nbsp; &lsquo;Wish
+to see England again would never have brought me so far; for, to tell
+you the truth, master, England was a hard mother to me, as she has proved
+to many.&nbsp; No, a wish to see another kind of mother&mdash;a poor
+old woman, whose son I am&mdash;has brought me back.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have a mother, then?&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;Does
+she reside in London?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;She used to live in London,&rsquo; said the man; &lsquo;but
+I am afraid she is long since dead.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How did she support herself?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Support herself! with difficulty enough; she used to keep
+a small stall on London Bridge, where she sold fruit; I am afraid she
+is dead, and that she died perhaps in misery.&nbsp; She was a poor sinful
+creature; but I loved her, and she loved me.&nbsp; I came all the way
+back merely for the chance of seeing her.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Did you ever write to her,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;or cause
+others to write to her?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I wrote to her myself,&rsquo; said the man, &lsquo;about two
+years ago; but I never received an answer.&nbsp; I learned to write
+very tolerably over there, by the assistance of the good people I spoke
+of.&nbsp; As for reading, I could do that very well before I went&mdash;my
+poor mother taught me to read, out of a book that she was very fond
+of; a strange book it was, I remember.&nbsp; Poor dear!&mdash;what I
+would give only to know that she is alive.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Life is very uncertain,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That is true,&rsquo; said the man, with a sigh.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We are here one moment, and gone the next,&rsquo; I continued.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;As I passed through the streets of a neighbouring town, I saw
+a respectable woman drop down, and people said she was dead.&nbsp; Who
+knows but that she too had a son coming to see her from a distance,
+at that very time?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who knows, indeed?&rsquo; said the man.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ah, I
+am afraid my mother is dead.&nbsp; Well, God&rsquo;s will be done.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;However,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I should not wonder at your
+finding your mother alive.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You wouldn&rsquo;t?&rsquo; said the man, looking at me wistfully.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I should not wonder at all,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;indeed,
+something within me seems to tell me you will; I should not much mind
+betting five shillings to fivepence that you will see your mother within
+a week.&nbsp; Now, friend, five shillings to fivepence&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is very considerable odds,&rsquo; said the man, rubbing his
+hands; &lsquo;sure you must have good reason to hope, when you are willing
+to give such odds.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;After all,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;it not unfrequently happens
+that those who lay the long odds lose.&nbsp; Let us hope, however.&nbsp;
+What do you mean to do in the event of finding your mother alive?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I scarcely know,&rsquo; said the man; &lsquo;I have frequently
+thought that if I found my mother alive I would attempt to persuade
+her to accompany me to the country which I have left&mdash;it is a better
+country for a man&mdash;that is, a free man&mdash;to live in than this;
+however, let me first find my mother&mdash;if I could only find my mother&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Farewell,&rsquo; said I, rising.&nbsp; &lsquo;Go your way,
+and God go with you&mdash;I will go mine.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I have
+but one thing to ask you,&rsquo; said the man.&nbsp; &lsquo;What is
+that?&rsquo; I inquired.&nbsp; &lsquo;That you would drink with me before
+we part&mdash;you have done me so much good.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;How
+should we drink?&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;we are on the top of a hill where
+there is nothing to drink.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;But there is a village
+below,&rsquo; said the man; &lsquo;do let us drink before we part.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I have been through that village already,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;and
+I do not like turning back.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Ah,&rsquo; said the
+man, sorrowfully, &lsquo;you will not drink with me because I told you
+I was&mdash;&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;You are quite mistaken,&rsquo; said
+I, &lsquo;I would as soon drink with a convict as with a judge.&nbsp;
+I am by no means certain that, under the same circumstances, the judge
+would be one whit better than the convict.&nbsp; Come along!&nbsp; I
+will go back to oblige you.&nbsp; I have an odd sixpence in my pocket,
+which I will change that I may drink with you.&rsquo;&nbsp; So we went
+down the hill together to the village through which I had already passed,
+where, finding a public-house, we drank together in true English fashion,
+after which we parted, the sailor-looking man going his way and I mine.</p>
+<p>After walking about a dozen miles, I came to a town, where I rested
+for the night.&nbsp; The next morning I set out again in the direction
+of the north-west.&nbsp; I continued journeying for four days, my daily
+journeys varying from twenty to twenty-five miles.&nbsp; During this
+time nothing occurred to me worthy of any especial notice.&nbsp; The
+weather was brilliant, and I rapidly improved both in strength and spirits.&nbsp;
+On the fifth day, about two o&rsquo;clock, I arrived at a small town.&nbsp;
+Feeling hungry, I entered a decent-looking inn&mdash;within a kind of
+bar I saw a huge, fat, landlord-looking person, with a very pretty,
+smartly-dressed maiden.&nbsp; Addressing myself to the fat man, &lsquo;House!&rsquo;
+said I, &lsquo;house!&nbsp; Can I have dinner, house?&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXIII</h2>
+<p>Primitive habits&mdash;Rosy-faced damsel&mdash;A pleasant moment&mdash;Suit
+of black&mdash;The furtive glance&mdash;The mighty round&mdash;Degenerate
+times&mdash;The newspaper&mdash;The evil chance&mdash;I congratulate
+you.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Young gentleman,&rsquo; said the huge fat landlord, &lsquo;you
+are come at the right time; dinner will be taken up in a few minutes,
+and such a dinner,&rsquo; he continued, rubbing his hands, &lsquo;as
+you will not see every day in these times.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am hot and dusty,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;and should wish
+to cool my hands and face.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Jenny!&rsquo; said the huge landlord, with the utmost gravity,
+&lsquo;show the gentleman into number seven, that he may wash his hands
+and face.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;By no means,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I am a person of primitive
+habits, and there is nothing like the pump in weather like this.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Jenny,&rsquo; said the landlord, with the same gravity as
+before, &lsquo;go with the young gentleman to the pump in the back kitchen,
+and take a clean towel along with you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Thereupon the rosy-faced clean-looking damsel went to a drawer, and
+producing a large, thick, but snowy white towel, she nodded to me to
+follow her; whereupon I followed Jenny through a long passage into the
+back kitchen.</p>
+<p>And at the end of the back kitchen there stood a pump; and going
+to it I placed my hands beneath the spout, and said, &lsquo;Pump, Jenny&rsquo;;
+and Jenny incontinently, without laying down the towel, pumped with
+one hand, and I washed and cooled my heated hands.</p>
+<p>And, when my hands were washed and cooled, I took off my neckcloth,
+and, unbuttoning my shirt collar, I placed my head beneath the spout
+of the pump, and I said unto Jenny, &lsquo;Now, Jenny, lay down the
+towel, and pump for your life.&rsquo;</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page338b.jpg">
+<img alt="&lsquo;Now, Jenny, lay down the towel and pump for your life.&rsquo;" src="images/page338s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>Thereupon Jenny, placing the towel on a linen-horse, took the handle
+of the pump with both hands and pumped over my head as handmaid had
+never pumped before; so that the water poured in torrents from my head,
+my face, and my hair down upon the brick floor.</p>
+<p>And, after the lapse of somewhat more than a minute, I called out
+with a half-strangled voice, &lsquo;Hold, Jenny!&rsquo; and Jenny desisted.&nbsp;
+I stood for a few moments to recover my breath, then taking the towel
+which Jenny proffered, I dried composedly my hands and head, my face
+and hair; then, returning the towel to Jenny, I gave a deep sigh and
+said, &lsquo;Surely this is one of the pleasant moments of life.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Then, having set my dress to rights, and combed my hair with a pocket
+comb, I followed Jenny, who conducted me back through the long passage,
+and showed me into a neat sanded parlour on the ground-floor.</p>
+<p>I sat down by a window which looked out upon the dusty street; presently
+in came the handmaid, and commenced laying the table-cloth.&nbsp; &lsquo;Shall
+I spread the table for one, sir,&rsquo; said she, &lsquo;or do you expect
+anybody to dine with you?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I can&rsquo;t say that
+I expect anybody,&rsquo; said I, laughing inwardly to myself; &lsquo;however,
+if you please you can lay for two, so that if any acquaintance of mine
+should chance to step in, he may find a knife and fork ready for him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>So I sat by the window, sometimes looking out upon the dusty street,
+and now glancing at certain old-fashioned prints which adorned the wall
+over against me.&nbsp; I fell into a kind of doze, from which I was
+almost instantly awakened by the opening of the door.&nbsp; Dinner,
+thought I; and I sat upright in my chair.&nbsp; No; a man of the middle
+age, and rather above the middle height, dressed in a plain suit of
+black, made his appearance, and sat down in a chair at some distance
+from me, but near to the table, and appeared to be lost in thought.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The weather is very warm, sir,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very,&rsquo; said the stranger, laconically, looking at me
+for the first time.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Would you like to see the newspaper?&rsquo; said I, taking
+up one which lay upon the window seat.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I never read newspapers,&rsquo; said the stranger, &lsquo;nor,
+indeed,&mdash;&rsquo;&nbsp; Whatever it might be that he had intended
+to say he left unfinished.&nbsp; Suddenly he walked to the mantelpiece
+at the farther end of the room, before which he placed himself with
+his back towards me.&nbsp; There he remained motionless for some time;
+at length, raising his hand, he touched the corner of the mantelpiece
+with his finger, advanced towards the chair which he had left, and again
+seated himself.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Have you come far?&rsquo; said he, suddenly looking towards
+me, and speaking in a frank and open manner, which denoted a wish to
+enter into conversation.&nbsp; &lsquo;You do not seem to be of this
+place.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I come from some distance,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;indeed, I
+am walking for exercise, which I find as necessary to the mind as the
+body.&nbsp; I believe that by exercise people would escape much mental
+misery.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Scarcely had I uttered these words when the stranger laid his hand,
+with seeming carelessness, upon the table, near one of the glasses;
+after a moment or two he touched the glass with his finger as if inadvertently,
+then, glancing furtively at me, he withdrew his hand and looked towards
+the window.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are you from these parts?&rsquo; said I at last, with apparent
+carelessness.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;From this vicinity,&rsquo; replied the stranger.&nbsp; &lsquo;You
+think, then, that it is as easy to walk off the bad humours of the mind
+as of the body?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I, at least, am walking in that hope,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I wish you may be successful,&rsquo; said the stranger; and
+here he touched one of the forks which lay on the table near him.</p>
+<p>Here the door, which was slightly ajar, was suddenly pushed open
+with some fracas, and in came the stout landlord, supporting with some
+difficulty an immense dish, in which was a mighty round mass of smoking
+meat garnished all round with vegetables; so high was the mass that
+it probably obstructed his view, for it was not until he had placed
+it upon the table that he appeared to observe the stranger; he almost
+started, and quite out of breath exclaimed, &lsquo;God bless me, your
+honour; is your honour the acquaintance that the young gentleman was
+expecting?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is the young gentleman expecting an acquaintance?&rsquo; said
+the stranger.</p>
+<p>There is nothing like putting a good face upon these matters, thought
+I to myself; and, getting up, I bowed to the unknown.&nbsp; &lsquo;Sir,&rsquo;
+said I, &lsquo;when I told Jenny that she might lay the table-cloth
+for two, so that in the event of any acquaintance dropping in he might
+find a knife and fork ready for him, I was merely jocular, being an
+entire stranger in these parts, and expecting no one.&nbsp; Fortune,
+however, it would seem, has been unexpectedly kind to me; I flatter
+myself, sir, that since you have been in this room I have had the honour
+of making your acquaintance; and in the strength of that hope I humbly
+entreat you to honour me with your company to dinner, provided you have
+not already dined.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The stranger laughed outright.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sir,&rsquo; I continued, &lsquo;the round of beef is a noble
+one, and seems exceedingly well boiled, and the landlord was just right
+when he said I should have such a dinner as is not seen every day.&nbsp;
+A round of beef, at any rate such a round of beef as this, is seldom
+seen smoking upon the table in these degenerate times.&nbsp; Allow me,
+sir,&rsquo; said I, observing that the stranger was about to speak,
+&lsquo;allow me another remark.&nbsp; I think I saw you just now touch
+the fork; I venture to hail it as an omen that you will presently seize
+it, and apply it to its proper purpose, and its companion the knife
+also.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The stranger changed colour, and gazed upon me in silence.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do, sir,&rsquo; here put in the landlord; &lsquo;do, sir,
+accept the young gentleman&rsquo;s invitation.&nbsp; Your honour has
+of late been looking poorly, and the young gentleman is a funny young
+gentleman, and a clever young gentleman; and I think it will do your
+honour good to have a dinner&rsquo;s chat with the young gentleman.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is not my dinner hour,&rsquo; said the stranger; &lsquo;I
+dine considerably later; taking anything now would only discompose me;
+I shall, however, be most happy to sit down with the young gentleman;
+reach me that paper, and, when the young gentleman has satisfied his
+appetite, we may perhaps have a little chat together.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The landlord handed the stranger the newspaper, and, bowing, retired
+with his maid Jenny.&nbsp; I helped myself to a portion of the smoking
+round, and commenced eating with no little appetite.&nbsp; The stranger
+appeared to be soon engrossed with the newspaper.&nbsp; We continued
+thus a considerable time&mdash;the one reading and the other dining.&nbsp;
+Chancing suddenly to cast my eyes upon the stranger, I saw his brow
+contract; he gave a slight stamp with his foot, and flung the newspaper
+to the ground, then stooping down he picked it up, first moving his
+forefinger along the floor, seemingly slightly scratching it with his
+nail.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you hope, sir,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;by that ceremony with
+the finger to preserve yourself from the evil chance?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The stranger started; then, after looking at me for some time in
+silence, he said, &lsquo;Is it possible that you&mdash;?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ay, ay,&rsquo; said I, helping myself to some more of the
+round; &lsquo;I have touched myself in my younger days, both for the
+evil chance and the good.&nbsp; Can&rsquo;t say, though, that I ever
+trusted much in the ceremony.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The stranger made no reply, but appeared to be in deep thought; nothing
+farther passed between us until I had concluded the dinner, when I said
+to him, &lsquo;I shall now be most happy, sir, to have the pleasure
+of your conversation over a pint of wine.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The stranger rose; &lsquo;No, my young friend,&rsquo; said he, smiling,
+&lsquo;that would scarce be fair.&nbsp; It is my turn now&mdash;pray
+do me the favour to go home with me, and accept what hospitality my
+poor roof can offer; to tell you the truth, I wish to have some particular
+discourse with you which would hardly be possible in this place.&nbsp;
+As for wine, I can give you some much better than you can get here:
+the landlord is an excellent fellow, but he is an innkeeper after all.&nbsp;
+I am going out for a moment, and will send him in, so that you may settle
+your account; I trust you will not refuse me, I only live about two
+miles from here.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I looked in the face of the stranger&mdash;it was a fine intelligent
+face, with a cast of melancholy in it.&nbsp; &lsquo;Sir,&rsquo; said
+I, &lsquo;I would go with you though you lived four miles instead of
+two.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who is that gentleman?&rsquo; said I to the landlord, after
+I had settled his bill; &lsquo;I am going home with him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I wish I were going too,&rsquo; said the fat landlord, laying
+his hand upon his stomach.&nbsp; &lsquo;Young gentleman, I shall be
+a loser by his honour&rsquo;s taking you away; but, after all, the truth
+is the truth&mdash;there are few gentlemen in these parts like his honour,
+either for learning or welcoming his friends.&nbsp; Young gentleman,
+I congratulate you.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXIV</h2>
+<p>New acquaintance&mdash;Old French style&mdash;The portrait&mdash;Taciturnity&mdash;The
+evergreen tree&mdash;The dark hour&mdash;The flash&mdash;Ancestors&mdash;A
+fortunate man&mdash;A posthumous child&mdash;Antagonist ideas&mdash;The
+hawks&mdash;Flaws&mdash;The pony&mdash;Irresistible impulse&mdash;Favourable
+crisis&mdash;The topmost branch&mdash;Twenty feet&mdash;Heartily ashamed.</p>
+<p>I found the stranger awaiting me at the door of the inn.&nbsp; &lsquo;Like
+yourself, I am fond of walking,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;and when any
+little business calls me to this place I generally come on foot.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>We were soon out of the town, and in a very beautiful country.&nbsp;
+After proceeding some distance on the high-road, we turned off, and
+were presently in one of those mazes of lanes for which England is famous;
+the stranger at first seemed inclined to be taciturn; a few observations,
+however, which I made appeared to rouse him, and he soon exhibited not
+only considerable powers of conversation, but stores of information
+which surprised me.&nbsp; So pleased did I become with my new acquaintance
+that I soon ceased to pay the slightest attention either to place or
+distance.&nbsp; At length the stranger was silent, and I perceived that
+we had arrived at a handsome iron gate and a lodge; the stranger having
+rung a bell, the gate was opened by an old man, and we proceeded along
+a gravel path, which in about five minutes brought us to a large brick
+house, built something in the old French style, having a spacious lawn
+before it, and immediately in front a pond in which were golden fish,
+and in the middle a stone swan discharging quantities of water from
+its bill.&nbsp; We ascended a spacious flight of steps to the door,
+which was at once flung open, and two servants with powdered hair and
+in livery of blue plush came out and stood one on either side as we
+passed the threshold.&nbsp; We entered a large hall, and the stranger,
+taking me by the hand, welcomed me to his poor home, as he called it,
+and then gave orders to another servant, but out of livery, to show
+me to an apartment, and give me whatever assistance I might require
+in my toilet.&nbsp; Notwithstanding the plea as to primitive habits
+which I had lately made to my other host in the town, I offered no objection
+to this arrangement, but followed the bowing domestic to a spacious
+and airy chamber, where he rendered me all those little nameless offices
+which the somewhat neglected state of my dress required.&nbsp; When
+everything had been completed to my perfect satisfaction, he told me
+that if I pleased he would conduct me to the library, where dinner would
+be speedily served.</p>
+<p>In the library I found a table laid for two; my host was not there,
+having as I supposed not been quite so speedy with his toilet as his
+guest.&nbsp; Left alone, I looked round the apartment with inquiring
+eyes; it was long and tolerably lofty, the walls from the top to the
+bottom were lined with cases containing books of all sizes and bindings;
+there was a globe or two, a couch, and an easy-chair.&nbsp; Statues
+and busts there were none, and only one painting, a portrait, that of
+my host, but not him of the mansion.&nbsp; Over the mantelpiece, the
+features staringly like, but so ridiculously exaggerated that they scarcely
+resembled those of a human being, daubed evidently by the hand of the
+commonest sign-artist, hung a half-length portrait of him of round of
+beef celebrity&mdash;my sturdy host of the town.</p>
+<p>I had been in the library about ten minutes, amusing myself as I
+best could, when my friend entered; he seemed to have resumed his taciturnity&mdash;scarce
+a word escaped his lips till dinner was served, when he said, smiling,
+&lsquo;I suppose it would be merely a compliment to ask you to partake?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know,&rsquo; said I, seating myself; &lsquo;your
+first course consists of troutlets, I am fond of troutlets, and I always
+like to be companionable.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The dinner was excellent, though I did but little justice to it from
+the circumstance of having already dined; the stranger also, though
+without my excuse, partook but slightly of the good cheer; he still
+continued taciturn, and appeared lost in thought, and every attempt
+which I made to induce him to converse was signally unsuccessful.</p>
+<p>And now dinner was removed, and we sat over our wine, and I remember
+that the wine was good, and fully justified the encomiums of my host
+of the town.&nbsp; Over the wine I made sure that my entertainer would
+have loosened the chain which seemed to tie his tongue&mdash;but no!&nbsp;
+I endeavoured to tempt him by various topics, and talked of geometry
+and the use of the globes, of the heavenly sphere, and the star Jupiter,
+which I said I had heard was a very large star, also of the evergreen
+tree, which, according to Olaus, stood of old before the heathen temple
+of Upsal, and which I affirmed was a yew&mdash;but no, nothing that
+I said could induce my entertainer to relax his taciturnity.</p>
+<p>It grew dark, and I became uncomfortable.&nbsp; &lsquo;I must presently
+be going,&rsquo; I at last exclaimed.</p>
+<p>At these words he gave a sudden start; &lsquo;Going,&rsquo; said
+he, &lsquo;are you not my guest, and an honoured one?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You know best,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;but I was apprehensive
+I was an intruder; to several of my questions you have returned no answer.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ten thousand pardons!&rsquo; he exclaimed, seizing me by the
+hand; &lsquo;but you cannot go now, I have much to talk to you about&mdash;there
+is one thing in particular&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If it be the evergreen tree at Upsal,&rsquo; said I, interrupting
+him, &lsquo;I hold it to have been a yew&mdash;what else?&nbsp; The
+evergreens of the south, as the old bishop observes, will not grow in
+the north, and a pine was unfitted for such a locality, being a vulgar
+tree.&nbsp; What else could it have been but the yew&mdash;the sacred
+yew which our ancestors were in the habit of planting in their churchyards?&nbsp;
+Moreover, I affirm it to have been the yew for the honour of the tree;
+for I love the yew, and had I home and land, I would have one growing
+before my front windows.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You would do right, the yew is indeed a venerable tree, but
+it is not about the yew.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The star Jupiter, perhaps?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nor the star Jupiter, nor its moons; an observation which
+escaped you at the inn has made a considerable impression upon me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But I really must take my departure,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;the
+dark hour is at hand.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And as I uttered these latter words the stranger touched rapidly
+something which lay near him&mdash;I forget what it was.&nbsp; It was
+the first action of the kind which I had observed on his part since
+we sat down to table.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You allude to the evil chance,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;but it
+is getting both dark and late.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I believe we are going to have a storm,&rsquo; said my friend,
+&lsquo;but I really hope that you will give me your company for a day
+or two; I have, as I said before, much to talk to you about.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I shall be most happy to be your
+guest for this night; I am ignorant of the country, and it is not pleasant
+to travel unknown paths by night&mdash;dear me, what a flash of lightning.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>It had become very dark; suddenly a blaze of sheet lightning illumed
+the room.&nbsp; By the momentary light I distinctly saw my host touch
+another object upon the table.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Will you allow me to ask you a question or two?&rsquo; said
+he at last.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As many as you please,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;but shall we
+not have lights?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not unless you particularly wish it,&rsquo; said my entertainer;
+&lsquo;I rather like the dark, and though a storm is evidently at hand,
+neither thunder nor lightning has any terrors for me.&nbsp; It is other
+things I quake at&mdash;I should rather say ideas.&nbsp; Now permit
+me to ask you&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And then my entertainer asked me various questions, to all of which
+I answered unreservedly; he was then silent for some time, at last he
+exclaimed, &lsquo;I should wish to tell you the history of my life&mdash;though
+not an adventurous one, I think it contains some things which will interest
+you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Without waiting for my reply he began.&nbsp; Amidst darkness and
+gloom, occasionally broken by flashes of lightning, the stranger related
+to me, as we sat at table in the library, his truly touching history.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Before proceeding to relate the events of my life, it will
+not be amiss to give you some account of my ancestors.&nbsp; My great-grandfather
+on the male side was a silk mercer, in Cheapside, who, when he died,
+left his son, who was his only child, a fortune of one hundred thousand
+pounds and a splendid business; the son, however, had no inclination
+for trade, the summit of his ambition was to be a country gentleman,
+to found a family, and to pass the remainder of his days in rural ease
+and dignity, and all this he managed to accomplish; he disposed of his
+business, purchased a beautiful and extensive estate for fourscore thousand
+pounds, built upon it the mansion to which I had the honour of welcoming
+you to-day, married the daughter of a neighbouring squire, who brought
+him a fortune of five thousand pounds, became a magistrate, and only
+wanted a son and heir to make him completely happy; this blessing, it
+is true, was for a long time denied him; it came, however, at last,
+as is usual, when least expected.&nbsp; His lady was brought to bed
+of my father, and then who so happy a man as my grandsire; he gave away
+two thousand pounds in charities, and in the joy of his heart made a
+speech at the next quarter sessions; the rest of his life was spent
+in ease, tranquillity, and rural dignity; he died of apoplexy on the
+day that my father came of age; perhaps it would be difficult to mention
+a man who in all respects was so fortunate as my grandfather: his death
+was sudden it is true, but I am not one of those who pray to be delivered
+from a sudden death.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I should not call my father a fortunate man; it is true that
+he had the advantage of a first-rate education; that he made the grand
+tour with a private tutor, as was the fashion at that time; that he
+came to a splendid fortune on the very day that he came of age; that
+for many years he tasted all the diversions of the capital that, at
+last determined to settle, he married the sister of a baronet, an amiable
+and accomplished lady, with a large fortune; that he had the best stud
+of hunters in the county, on which, during the season, he followed the
+fox gallantly; had he been a fortunate man he would never have cursed
+his fate, as he was frequently known to do; ten months after his marriage
+his horse fell upon him, and so injured him, that he expired in a few
+days in great agony.&nbsp; My grandfather was, indeed, a fortunate man;
+when he died he was followed to the grave by the tears of the poor&mdash;my
+father was not.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Two remarkable circumstances are connected with my birth&mdash;I
+am a posthumous child, and came into the world some weeks before the
+usual time, the shock which my mother experienced at my father&rsquo;s
+death having brought on the pangs of premature labour; both my mother&rsquo;s
+life and my own were at first despaired of; we both, however, survived
+the crisis.&nbsp; My mother loved me with the most passionate fondness,
+and I was brought up in this house under her own eye&mdash;I was never
+sent to school.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have already told you that mine is not a tale of adventure;
+my life has not been one of action, but of wild imaginings and strange
+sensations; I was born with excessive sensibility, and that has been
+my bane.&nbsp; I have not been a fortunate man.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No one is fortunate unless he is happy, and it is impossible
+for a being constructed like myself to be happy for an hour, or even
+enjoy peace and tranquillity; most of our pleasures and pains are the
+effects of imagination, and wherever the sensibility is great, the imagination
+is great also.&nbsp; No sooner has my imagination raised up an image
+of pleasure, than it is sure to conjure up one of distress and gloom;
+these two antagonist ideas instantly commence a struggle in my mind,
+and the gloomy one generally, I may say invariably, prevails.&nbsp;
+How is it possible that I should be a happy man?</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It has invariably been so with me from the earliest period
+that I can remember; the first playthings that were given me caused
+me for a few minutes excessive pleasure: they were pretty and glittering;
+presently, however, I became anxious and perplexed, I wished to know
+their history, how they were made, and what of&mdash;were the materials
+precious?&nbsp; I was not satisfied with their outward appearance.&nbsp;
+In less than an hour I had broken the playthings in an attempt to discover
+what they were made of.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;When I was eight years of age my uncle the baronet, who was
+also my godfather, sent me a pair of Norway hawks, with directions for
+managing them; he was a great fowler.&nbsp; Oh, how rejoiced was I with
+the present which had been made me, my joy lasted for at least five
+minutes; I would let them breed, I would have a house of hawks; yes,
+that I would&mdash;but&mdash;and here came the unpleasant idea&mdash;suppose
+they were to fly away, how very annoying!&nbsp; Ah, but, said hope, there&rsquo;s
+little fear of that; feed them well and they will never fly away, or
+if they do they will come back, my uncle says so; so sunshine triumphed
+for a little time.&nbsp; Then the strangest of all doubts came into
+my head; I doubted the legality of my tenure of these hawks; how did
+I come by them? why, my uncle gave them to me, but how did they come
+into his possession? what right had he to them? after all, they might
+not be his to give.&nbsp; I passed a sleepless night.&nbsp; The next
+morning I found that the man who brought the hawks had not departed.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;How came my uncle by these hawks?&rdquo; I anxiously inquired.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;They were sent to him from Norway, master, with another pair.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+&ldquo;And who sent them?&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;That I don&rsquo;t know,
+master, but I suppose his honour can tell you.&rdquo;&nbsp; I was even
+thinking of scrawling a letter to my uncle to make inquiry on this point,
+but shame restrained me, and I likewise reflected that it would be impossible
+for him to give my mind entire satisfaction; it is true he could tell
+who sent him the hawks, but how was he to know how the hawks came into
+the possession of those who sent them to him, and by what right they
+possessed them or the parents of the hawks?&nbsp; In a word, I wanted
+a clear valid title, as lawyers would say, to my hawks, and I believe
+no title would have satisfied me that did not extend up to the time
+of the first hawk, that is, prior to Adam; and, could I have obtained
+such a title, I make no doubt that, young as I was, I should have suspected
+that it was full of flaws.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I was now disgusted with the hawks, and no wonder, seeing
+all the disquietude they had caused me; I soon totally neglected the
+poor birds, and they would have starved had not some of the servants
+taken compassion upon them and fed them.&nbsp; My uncle, soon hearing
+of my neglect, was angry, and took the birds away; he was a very good-natured
+man, however, and soon sent me a fine pony; at first I was charmed with
+the pony, soon, however, the same kind of thoughts arose which had disgusted
+me on a former occasion.&nbsp; How did my uncle become possessed of
+the pony?&nbsp; This question I asked him the first time I saw him.&nbsp;
+Oh, he had bought it of a gypsy, that I might learn to ride upon it.&nbsp;
+A gypsy; I had heard that gypsies were great thieves, and I instantly
+began to fear that the gypsy had stolen the pony, and it is probable
+that for this apprehension I had better grounds than for many others.&nbsp;
+I instantly ceased to set any value upon the pony, but for that reason,
+perhaps, I turned it to some account; I mounted it and rode it about,
+which I don&rsquo;t think I should have done had I looked upon it as
+a secure possession.&nbsp; Had I looked upon my title as secure, I should
+have prized it so much, that I should scarcely have mounted it for fear
+of injuring the animal; but now, caring not a straw for it, I rode it
+most unmercifully, and soon became a capital rider.&nbsp; This was very
+selfish in me, and I tell the fact with shame.&nbsp; I was punished,
+however, as I deserved; the pony had a spirit of its own, and, moreover,
+it had belonged to gypsies; once, as I was riding it furiously over
+the lawn, applying both whip and spur, it suddenly lifted up its heels,
+and flung me at least five yards over its head.&nbsp; I received some
+desperate contusions, and was taken up for dead; it was many months
+before I perfectly recovered.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But it is time for me to come to the touching part of my story.&nbsp;
+There was one thing that I loved better than the choicest gift which
+could be bestowed upon me, better than life itself&mdash;my mother;&mdash;at
+length she became unwell, and the thought that I might possibly lose
+her now rushed into my mind for the first time; it was terrible, and
+caused me unspeakable misery, I may say horror.&nbsp; My mother became
+worse, and I was not allowed to enter her apartment, lest by my frantic
+exclamations of grief I might aggravate her disorder.&nbsp; I rested
+neither day nor night, but roamed about the house like one distracted.&nbsp;
+Suddenly I found myself doing that which even at the time struck me
+as being highly singular; I found myself touching particular objects
+that were near me, and to which my fingers seemed to be attracted by
+an irresistible impulse.&nbsp; It was now the table or the chair that
+I was compelled to touch; now the bell-rope; now the handle of the door;
+now I would touch the wall, and the next moment, stooping down, I would
+place the point of my finger upon the floor: and so I continued to do
+day after day; frequently I would struggle to resist the impulse, but
+invariably in vain.&nbsp; I have even rushed away from the object, but
+I was sure to return, the impulse was too strong to be resisted: I quickly
+hurried back, compelled by the feeling within me to touch the object.&nbsp;
+Now I need not tell you that what impelled me to these actions was the
+desire to prevent my mother&rsquo;s death; whenever I touched any particular
+object, it was with the view of baffling the evil chance, as you would
+call it&mdash;in this instance my mother&rsquo;s death.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A favourable crisis occurred in my mother&rsquo;s complaint,
+and she recovered; this crisis took place about six o&rsquo;clock in
+the morning; almost simultaneously with it there happened to myself
+a rather remarkable circumstance connected with the nervous feeling
+which was rioting in my system.&nbsp; I was lying in bed in a kind of
+uneasy doze, the only kind of rest which my anxiety on account of my
+mother permitted me at this time to take, when all at once I sprang
+up as if electrified; the mysterious impulse was upon me, and it urged
+me to go without delay, and climb a stately elm behind the house, and
+touch the topmost branch; otherwise&mdash;you know the rest&mdash;the
+evil chance would prevail.&nbsp; Accustomed for some time as I had been,
+under this impulse, to perform extravagant actions, I confess to you
+that the difficulty and peril of such a feat startled me; I reasoned
+against the feeling, and strove more strenuously than I had ever done
+before; I even made a solemn vow not to give way to the temptation,
+but I believe nothing less than chains, and those strong ones, could
+have restrained me.&nbsp; The demoniac influence, for I can call it
+nothing else, at length prevailed; it compelled me to rise, to dress
+myself, to descend the stairs, to unbolt the door, and to go forth;
+it drove me to the foot of the tree, and it compelled me to climb the
+trunk; this was a tremendous task, and I only accomplished it after
+repeated falls and trials.&nbsp; When I had got amongst the branches,
+I rested for a time, and then set about accomplishing the remainder
+of the ascent; this for some time was not so difficult, for I was now
+amongst the branches; as I approached the top, however, the difficulty
+became greater, and likewise the danger; but I was a light boy, and
+almost as nimble as a squirrel, and, moreover, the nervous feeling was
+within me, impelling me upward.&nbsp; It was only by means of a spring,
+however, that I was enabled to touch the top of the tree; I sprang,
+touched the top of the tree, and fell a distance of at least twenty
+feet, amongst the branches; had I fallen to the bottom I must have been
+killed, but I fell into the middle of the tree, and presently found
+myself astride upon one of the boughs; scratched and bruised all over,
+I reached the ground, and regained my chamber unobserved; I flung myself
+on my bed quite exhausted; presently they came to tell me that my mother
+was better&mdash;they found me in the state which I have described,
+and in a fever besides.&nbsp; The favourable crisis must have occurred
+just about the time that I performed the magic touch; it certainly was
+a curious coincidence, yet I was not weak enough, even though a child,
+to suppose that I had baffled the evil chance by my daring feat.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Indeed, all the time that I was performing these strange feats,
+I knew them to be highly absurd, yet the impulse to perform them was
+irresistible&mdash;a mysterious dread hanging over me till I had given
+way to it; even at that early period I frequently used to reason within
+myself as to what could be the cause of my propensity to touch, but
+of course I could come to no satisfactory conclusion respecting it;
+being heartily ashamed of the practice, I never spoke of it to any one,
+and was at all times highly solicitous that no one should observe my
+weakness.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXV</h2>
+<p>Maternal anxiety&mdash;The baronet&mdash;Little zest&mdash;Country
+life&mdash;Mr. Speaker!&mdash;The craving&mdash;Spirited address&mdash;An
+author.</p>
+<p>After a short pause my host resumed his narration.&nbsp; &lsquo;Though
+I was never sent to school, my education was not neglected on that account;
+I had tutors in various branches of knowledge, under whom I made a tolerable
+progress; by the time I was eighteen I was able to read most of the
+Greek and Latin authors with facility; I was likewise, to a certain
+degree, a mathematician.&nbsp; I cannot say that I took much pleasure
+in my studies; my chief aim in endeavouring to accomplish my tasks was
+to give pleasure to my beloved parent, who watched my progress with
+anxiety truly maternal.&nbsp; My life at this period may be summed up
+in a few words: I pursued my studies, roamed about the woods, walked
+the green lanes occasionally, cast my fly in a trout stream, and sometimes,
+but not often, rode a-hunting with my uncle.&nbsp; A considerable part
+of my time was devoted to my mother, conversing with her and reading
+to her; youthful companions I had none, and as to my mother, she lived
+in the greatest retirement, devoting herself to the superintendence
+of my education, and the practice of acts of charity; nothing could
+be more innocent than this mode of life, and some people say that in
+innocence there is happiness, yet I can&rsquo;t say that I was happy.&nbsp;
+A continual dread overshadowed my mind, it was the dread of my mother&rsquo;s
+death.&nbsp; Her constitution had never been strong, and it had been
+considerably shaken by her last illness; this I knew, and this I saw&mdash;for
+the eyes of fear are marvellously keen.&nbsp; Well, things went on in
+this way till I had come of age; my tutors were then dismissed, and
+my uncle the baronet took me in hand, telling my mother that it was
+high time for him to exert his authority; that I must see something
+of the world, for that, if I remained much longer with her, I should
+be ruined.&nbsp; &ldquo;You must consign him to me,&rdquo; said he,
+&ldquo;and I will introduce him to the world.&rdquo;&nbsp; My mother
+sighed and consented; so my uncle the baronet introduced me to the world,
+took me to horse-races and to London, and endeavoured to make a man
+of me according to his idea of the term, and in part succeeded.&nbsp;
+I became moderately dissipated&mdash;I say moderately, for dissipation
+had but little zest for me.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In this manner four years passed over.&nbsp; It happened that
+I was in London in the height of the season with my uncle, at his house;
+one morning he summoned me into the parlour, he was standing before
+the fire, and looked very serious.&nbsp; &ldquo;I have had a letter,&rdquo;
+said he; &ldquo;your mother is very ill.&rdquo;&nbsp; I staggered, and
+touched the nearest object to me; nothing was said for two or three
+minutes, and then my uncle put his lips to my ear and whispered something.&nbsp;
+I fell down senseless.&nbsp; My mother was . . . I remember nothing
+for a long time&mdash;for two years I was out of my mind; at the end
+of this time I recovered, or partly so.&nbsp; My uncle the baronet was
+very kind to me; he advised me to travel, he offered to go with me.&nbsp;
+I told him he was very kind, but I would rather go by myself.&nbsp;
+So I went abroad, and saw, amongst other things, Rome and the Pyramids.&nbsp;
+By frequent change of scene my mind became not happy, but tolerably
+tranquil.&nbsp; I continued abroad some years, when, becoming tired
+of travelling, I came home, found my uncle the baronet alive, hearty,
+and unmarried, as he still is.&nbsp; He received me very kindly, took
+me to Newmarket, and said that he hoped by this time I was become quite
+a man of the world; by his advice I took a house in town, in which I
+lived during the season.&nbsp; In summer I strolled from one watering-place
+to another; and, in order to pass the time, I became very dissipated.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;At last I became as tired of dissipation as I had previously
+been of travelling, and I determined to retire to the country, and live
+on my paternal estate; this resolution I was not slow in putting into
+effect; I sold my house in town, repaired and refurnished my country
+house, and, for at least ten years, lived a regular country life; I
+gave dinner parties, prosecuted poachers, was charitable to the poor,
+and now and then went into my library; during this time I was seldom
+or never visited by the magic impulse, the reason being that there was
+nothing in the wide world for which I cared sufficiently to move a finger
+to preserve it.&nbsp; When the ten years, however, were nearly ended,
+I started out of bed one morning in a fit of horror, exclaiming, &ldquo;Mercy,
+mercy! what will become of me?&nbsp; I am afraid I shall go mad.&nbsp;
+I have lived thirty-five years and upwards without doing anything; shall
+I pass through life in this manner?&nbsp; Horror!&rdquo;&nbsp; And then
+in rapid succession I touched three different objects.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I dressed myself and went down, determining to set about something;
+but what was I to do?&mdash;there was the difficulty.&nbsp; I ate no
+breakfast, but walked about the room in a state of distraction; at last
+I thought that the easiest way to do something was to get into Parliament,
+there would be no difficulty in that.&nbsp; I had plenty of money, and
+could buy a seat; but what was I to do in Parliament?&nbsp; Speak, of
+course&mdash;but could I speak?&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll try at once,&rdquo;
+said I, and forthwith I rushed into the largest dining-room, and, locking
+the door, I commenced speaking: &ldquo;Mr. Speaker,&rdquo; said I, and
+then I went on speaking for about ten minutes as I best could, and then
+I left off, for I was talking nonsense.&nbsp; No, I was not formed for
+Parliament; I could do nothing there.&nbsp; What&mdash;what was I to
+do?</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Many, many times I thought this question over, but was unable
+to solve it; a fear now stole over me that I was unfit for anything
+in the world, save the lazy life of vegetation which I had for many
+years been leading; yet, if that were the case, thought I, why the craving
+within me to distinguish myself?&nbsp; Surely it does not occur fortuitously,
+but is intended to rouse and call into exercise certain latent powers
+that I possess? and then with infinite eagerness I set about attempting
+to discover these latent powers.&nbsp; I tried an infinity of pursuits,
+botany and geology amongst the rest, but in vain; I was fitted for none
+of them.&nbsp; I became very sorrowful and despondent, and at one time
+I had almost resolved to plunge again into the whirlpool of dissipation;
+it was a dreadful resource, it was true, but what better could I do?</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But I was not doomed to return to the dissipation of the world.&nbsp;
+One morning a young nobleman, who had for some time past showed a wish
+to cultivate my acquaintance, came to me in a considerable hurry.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;I am come to beg an important favour of you,&rdquo; said he;
+&ldquo;one of the county memberships is vacant&mdash;I intend to become
+a candidate; what I want immediately is a spirited address to the electors.&nbsp;
+I have been endeavouring to frame one all the morning, but in vain;
+I have, therefore, recourse to you as a person of infinite genius; pray,
+my dear friend, concoct me one by the morning!&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;What
+you require of me,&rdquo; I replied, &ldquo;is impossible; I have not
+the gift of words; did I possess it I would stand for the county myself,
+but I can&rsquo;t speak.&nbsp; Only the other day I attempted to make
+a speech, but left off suddenly, utterly ashamed, although I was quite
+alone, of the nonsense I was uttering.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;It is not
+a speech that I want,&rdquo; said my friend; &ldquo;I can talk for three
+hours without hesitating, but I want an address to circulate through
+the county, and I find myself utterly incompetent to put one together;
+do oblige me by writing one for me, I know you can; and, if at any time
+you want a person to speak for you, you may command me not for three
+but for six hours.&nbsp; Good-morning; to-morrow I will breakfast with
+you.&rdquo;&nbsp; In the morning he came again.&nbsp; &ldquo;Well,&rdquo;
+said he, &ldquo;what success?&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Very poor,&rdquo;
+said I; &ldquo;but judge for yourself&rdquo;; and I put into his hand
+a manuscript of several pages.&nbsp; My friend read it through with
+considerable attention.&nbsp; &ldquo;I congratulate you,&rdquo; said
+he, &ldquo;and likewise myself; I was not mistaken in my opinion of
+you; the address is too long by at least two-thirds, or I should rather
+say, that it is longer by two-thirds than addresses generally are; but
+it will do&mdash;I will not curtail it of a word.&nbsp; I shall win
+my election.&rdquo;&nbsp; And in truth he did win his election; and
+it was not only his own but the general opinion that he owed it to the
+address.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But, however that might be, I had, by writing the address,
+at last discovered what had so long eluded my search&mdash;what I was
+able to do.&nbsp; I, who had neither the nerve nor the command of speech
+necessary to constitute the orator&mdash;who had not the power of patient
+research required by those who would investigate the secrets of nature,
+had, nevertheless, a ready pen and teeming imagination.&nbsp; This discovery
+decided my fate&mdash;from that moment I became an author.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXVI</h2>
+<p>Trepidations&mdash;Subtle principle&mdash;Perverse imagination&mdash;Are
+they mine?&mdash;Another book&mdash;How hard!&mdash;Agricultural dinner&mdash;Incomprehensible
+actions&mdash;Inmost bosom&mdash;Give it up&mdash;Chance resemblance&mdash;Rascally
+newspaper.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;An author,&rsquo; said I, addressing my host; &lsquo;is it
+possible that I am under the roof of an author?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said my host, sighing, &lsquo;my name is so and
+so, and I am the author of so and so; it is more than probable that
+you have heard both of my name and works.&nbsp; I will not detain you
+much longer with my history; the night is advancing, and the storm appears
+to be upon the increase.&nbsp; My life since the period of my becoming
+an author may be summed briefly as an almost uninterrupted series of
+doubts, anxieties, and trepidations.&nbsp; I see clearly that it is
+not good to love anything immoderately in this world, but it has been
+my misfortune to love immoderately everything on which I have set my
+heart.&nbsp; This is not good, I repeat&mdash;but where is the remedy?&nbsp;
+The ancients were always in the habit of saying, &ldquo;Practise moderation,&rdquo;
+but the ancients appear to have considered only one portion of the subject.&nbsp;
+It is very possible to practise moderation in some things, in drink
+and the like&mdash;to restrain the appetites&mdash;but can a man restrain
+the affections of his mind, and tell them, so far you shall go, and
+no farther?&nbsp; Alas, no! for the mind is a subtle principle, and
+cannot be confined.&nbsp; The winds may be imprisoned; Homer says that
+Odysseus carried certain winds in his ship, confined in leathern bags,
+but Homer never speaks of confining the affections.&nbsp; It were but
+right that those who exhort us against inordinate affections, and setting
+our hearts too much upon the world and its vanities, would tell us how
+to avoid doing so.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I need scarcely tell you that no sooner did I become an author
+than I gave myself up immoderately to my vocation.&nbsp; It became my
+idol, and, as a necessary consequence, it has proved a source of misery
+and disquietude to me, instead of pleasure and blessing.&nbsp; I had
+trouble enough in writing my first work, and I was not long in discovering
+that it was one thing to write a stirring and spirited address to a
+set of county electors, and another widely different to produce a work
+at all calculated to make an impression upon the great world.&nbsp;
+I felt, however, that I was in my proper sphere, and by dint of unwearied
+diligence and exertion I succeeded in evolving from the depths of my
+agitated breast a work which, though it did not exactly please me, I
+thought would serve to make an experiment upon the public; so I laid
+it before the public, and the reception which it met with was far beyond
+my wildest expectations.&nbsp; The public were delighted with it, but
+what were my feelings?&nbsp; Anything, alas! but those of delight.&nbsp;
+No sooner did the public express its satisfaction at the result of my
+endeavours, than my perverse imagination began to conceive a thousand
+chimerical doubts; forthwith I sat down to analyse it; and my worst
+enemy, and all people have their enemies, especially authors&mdash;my
+worst enemy could not have discovered or sought to discover a tenth
+part of the faults which I, the author and creator of the unfortunate
+production, found or sought to find in it.&nbsp; It has been said that
+love makes us blind to the faults of the loved object&mdash;common love
+does, perhaps&mdash;the love of a father to his child, or that of a
+lover to his mistress, but not the inordinate love of an author to his
+works, at least not the love which one like myself bears to his works:
+to be brief, I discovered a thousand faults in my work, which neither
+public nor critics discovered.&nbsp; However, I was beginning to get
+over this misery, and to forgive my work all its imperfections, when&mdash;and
+I shake when I mention it&mdash;the same kind of idea which perplexed
+me with regard to the hawks and the gypsy pony rushed into my mind,
+and I forthwith commenced touching the objects around me, in order to
+baffle the evil chance, as you call it; it was neither more nor less
+than a doubt of the legality of my claim to the thoughts, expressions,
+and situations contained in the book; that is, to all that constituted
+the book.&nbsp; How did I get them?&nbsp; How did they come into my
+mind?&nbsp; Did I invent them?&nbsp; Did they originate with myself?&nbsp;
+Are they my own, or are they some other body&rsquo;s?&nbsp; You see
+into what difficulty I had got; I won&rsquo;t trouble you by relating
+all that I endured at that time, but will merely say that after eating
+my own heart, as the Italians say, and touching every object that came
+in my way for six months, I at length flung my book, I mean the copy
+of it which I possessed, into the fire, and began another.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But it was all in vain; I laboured at this other, finished
+it, and gave it to the world; and no sooner had I done so, than the
+same thought was busy in my brain, poisoning all the pleasure which
+I should otherwise have derived from my work.&nbsp; How did I get all
+the matter which composed it?&nbsp; Out of my own mind, unquestionably;
+but how did it come there&mdash;was it the indigenous growth of the
+mind?&nbsp; And then I would sit down and ponder over the various scenes
+and adventures in my book, endeavouring to ascertain how I came originally
+to devise them, and by dint of reflecting I remembered that to a single
+word in conversation, or some simple accident in a street or on a road,
+I was indebted for some of the happiest portions of my work; they were
+but tiny seeds, it is true, which in the soil of my imagination had
+subsequently become stately trees, but I reflected that without them
+no stately trees would have been produced, and that, consequently, only
+a part in the merit of these compositions which charmed the world&mdash;for
+the did charm the world&mdash;was due to myself.&nbsp; Thus, a dead
+fly was in my phial, poisoning all the pleasure which I should otherwise
+have derived from the result of my brain-sweat.&nbsp; &ldquo;How hard!&rdquo;
+I would exclaim, looking up to the sky, &ldquo;how hard!&nbsp; I am
+like Virgil&rsquo;s sheep, bearing fleeces not for themselves.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+But, not to tire you, it fared with my second work as it did with my
+first; I flung it aside, and, in order to forget it, I began a third,
+on which I am now occupied; but the difficulty of writing it is immense,
+my extreme desire to be original sadly cramping the powers of my mind;
+my fastidiousness being so great that I invariably reject whatever ideas
+I do not think to be legitimately my own.&nbsp; But there is one circumstance
+to which I cannot help alluding here, as it serves to show what miseries
+this love of originality must needs bring upon an author.&nbsp; I am
+constantly discovering that, however original I may wish to be, I am
+continually producing the same things which other people say or write.&nbsp;
+Whenever, after producing something which gives me perfect satisfaction,
+and which has cost me perhaps days and nights of brooding, I chance
+to take up a book for the sake of a little relaxation, a book which
+I never saw before, I am sure to find in it something more or less resembling
+some part of what I have been just composing.&nbsp; You will easily
+conceive the distress which then comes over me; &rsquo;tis then that
+I am almost tempted to execrate the chance which, by discovering my
+latent powers, induced me to adopt a profession of such anxiety and
+misery.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For some time past I have given up reading almost entirely,
+owing to the dread which I entertain of lighting upon something similar
+to what I myself have written.&nbsp; I scarcely ever transgress without
+having almost instant reason to repent.&nbsp; To-day, when I took up
+the newspaper, I saw in a speech of the Duke of Rhododendron, at an
+agricultural dinner, the very same ideas, and almost the same expressions
+which I had put into the mouth of an imaginary personage of mine, on
+a widely different occasion; you saw how I dashed the newspaper down&mdash;you
+saw how I touched the floor; the touch was to baffle the evil chance,
+to prevent the critics detecting any similarity between the speech of
+the Duke of Rhododendron at the agricultural dinner and the speech of
+my personage.&nbsp; My sensibility on the subject of my writings is
+so great that sometimes a chance word is sufficient to unman me, I apply
+it to them in a superstitious sense; for example, when you said some
+time ago that the dark hour was coming on, I applied it to my works&mdash;it
+appeared to bode them evil fortune; you saw how I touched, it was to
+baffle the evil chance; but I do not confine myself to touching when
+the fear of the evil chance is upon me.&nbsp; To baffle it I occasionally
+perform actions which must appear highly incomprehensible; I have been
+known, when riding in company with other people, to leave the direct
+road, and make a long circuit by a miry lane to the place to which we
+were going.&nbsp; I have also been seen attempting to ride across a
+morass, where I had no business whatever, and in which my horse finally
+sank up to its saddle-girths, and was only extricated by the help of
+a multitude of hands.&nbsp; I have, of course, frequently been asked
+the reason of such conduct, to which I have invariably returned no answer,
+for I scorn duplicity; whereupon people have looked mysteriously, and
+sometimes put their fingers to their foreheads.&nbsp; &ldquo;And yet
+it can&rsquo;t be,&rdquo; I once heard an old gentleman say; &ldquo;don&rsquo;t
+we know what he is capable of?&rdquo; and the old man was right; I merely
+did these things to avoid the evil chance, impelled by the strange feeling
+within me; and this evil chance is invariably connected with my writings,
+the only things at present which render life valuable to me.&nbsp; If
+I touch various objects, and ride into miry places, it is to baffle
+any mischance befalling me as an author, to prevent my books getting
+into disrepute; in nine cases out of ten to prevent any expressions,
+thoughts, or situations in any work which I am writing from resembling
+the thoughts, expressions, and situations of other authors, for my great
+wish, as I told you before, is to be original.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have now related my history, and have revealed to you the
+secrets of my inmost bosom.&nbsp; I should certainly not have spoken
+so unreservedly as I have done, had I not discovered in you a kindred
+spirit.&nbsp; I have long wished for an opportunity of discoursing on
+the point which forms the peculiar feature of my history with a being
+who could understand me; and truly it was a lucky chance which brought
+you to these parts; you who seem to be acquainted with all things strange
+and singular, and who are as well acquainted with the subject of the
+magic touch as with all that relates to the star Jupiter or the mysterious
+tree at Upsal.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Such was the story which my host related to me in the library, amidst
+the darkness, occasionally broken by flashes of lightning.&nbsp; Both
+of us remained silent for some time after it was concluded.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is a singular story,&rsquo; said I, at last, &lsquo;though
+I confess that I was prepared for some part of it.&nbsp; Will you permit
+me to ask you a question?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Certainly,&rsquo; said my host.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Did you never speak in public?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Never.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And when you made this speech of yours in the dining-room,
+commencing with Mr. Speaker, no one was present?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;None in the world, I double-locked the door; what do you mean?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;An idea came into my head&mdash;dear me how the rain is pouring&mdash;but,
+with respect to your present troubles and anxieties, would it not be
+wise, seeing that authorship causes you so much trouble and anxiety,
+to give it up altogether?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Were you an author yourself,&rsquo; replied my host, &lsquo;you
+would not talk in this manner; once an author, ever an author&mdash;besides,
+what could I do? return to my former state of vegetation? no, much as
+I endure, I do not wish that; besides, every now and then my reason
+tells me that these troubles and anxieties of mine are utterly without
+foundation that whatever I write is the legitimate growth of my own
+mind, and that it is the height of folly to afflict myself at any chance
+resemblance between my own thoughts and those of other writers, such
+resemblance being inevitable from the fact of our common human origin.&nbsp;
+In short&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I understand you,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;notwithstanding your
+troubles and anxieties you find life very tolerable; has your originality
+ever been called in question?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;On the contrary, every one declares that originality constitutes
+the most remarkable feature of my writings; the man has some faults,
+they say, but want of originality is certainly not one of them.&nbsp;
+He is quite different from others&mdash;a certain newspaper, it is true,
+the &mdash;&mdash; I think, once insinuated that in a certain work of mine I
+had taken a hint or two from the writings of a couple of authors which
+it mentioned; it happened, however, that I had never even read one syllable
+of the writings of either, and of one of them had never even heard the
+name; so much for the discrimination of the ---.&nbsp; By the bye, what
+a rascally newspaper that is!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A very rascally newspaper,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXVII</h2>
+<p>Disturbed slumbers&mdash;The bed-post&mdash;Two wizards&mdash;What
+can I do?&mdash;Real library&mdash;The Rev. Mr. Platitude&mdash;Toleration
+to Dissenters&mdash;Paradox&mdash;Sword of St. Peter&mdash;Enemy to
+humbug&mdash;High principles&mdash;False concord&mdash;The damsel&mdash;What
+religion?&mdash;Further conversation&mdash;That would never do!&mdash;May
+you prosper.</p>
+<p>During the greater part of that night my slumbers were disturbed
+by strange dreams.&nbsp; Amongst other things, I fancied that I was
+my host; my head appeared to be teeming with wild thoughts and imaginations,
+out of which I was endeavouring to frame a book.&nbsp; And now the book
+was finished and given to the world, and the world shouted; and all
+eyes were turned upon me, and I shrank from the eyes of the world.&nbsp;
+And, when I got into retired places, I touched various objects in order
+to baffle the evil chance.&nbsp; In short, during the whole night, I
+was acting over the story which I had heard before I went to bed.</p>
+<p>At about eight o&rsquo;clock I awoke.&nbsp; The storm had long since
+passed away, and the morning was bright and shining; my couch was so
+soft and luxurious that I felt loth to quit it, so I lay some time,
+my eyes wandering about the magnificent room to which fortune had conducted
+me in so singular a manner; at last I heaved a sigh; I was thinking
+of my own homeless condition, and imagining where I should find myself
+on the following morning.&nbsp; Unwilling, however, to indulge in melancholy
+thoughts, I sprang out of bed and proceeded to dress myself, and, whilst
+dressing, I felt an irresistible inclination to touch the bed-post.</p>
+<p>I finished dressing and left the room, feeling compelled, however,
+as I left it, to touch the lintel of the door.&nbsp; Is it possible,
+thought I, that from what I have lately heard the long-forgotten influence
+should have possessed me again? but I will not give way to it; so I
+hurried downstairs, resisting as I went a certain inclination which
+I occasionally felt to touch the rail of the banister.&nbsp; I was presently
+upon the gravel walk before the house: it was indeed a glorious morning.&nbsp;
+I stood for some time observing the golden fish disporting in the waters
+of the pond, and then strolled about amongst the noble trees of the
+park; the beauty and freshness of the morning&mdash;for the air had
+been considerably cooled by the late storm&mdash;soon enabled me to
+cast away the gloomy ideas which had previously taken possession of
+my mind, and, after a stroll of about half an hour, I returned towards
+the house in high spirits.&nbsp; It is true that once I felt very much
+inclined to go and touch the leaves of a flowery shrub which I saw at
+some distance, and had even moved two or three paces towards it; but,
+bethinking myself, I manfully resisted the temptation.&nbsp; &lsquo;Begone!&rsquo;
+I exclaimed, &lsquo;ye sorceries, in which I formerly trusted&mdash;begone
+for ever vagaries which I had almost forgotten; good luck is not to
+be obtained, or bad averted, by magic touches; besides, two wizards
+in one parish would be too much, in all conscience.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I returned to the house, and entered the library; breakfast was laid
+on the table, and my friend was standing before the portrait which I
+have already said hung above the mantelpiece; so intently was he occupied
+in gazing at it that he did not hear me enter, nor was aware of my presence
+till I advanced close to him and spoke, when he turned round and shook
+me by the hand.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What can possibly have induced you to hang up that portrait
+in your library? it is a staring likeness, it is true, but it appears
+to me a wretched daub.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Daub as you call it,&rsquo; said my friend, smiling, &lsquo;I
+would not part with it for the best piece of Rafael.&nbsp; For many
+a happy thought I am indebted to that picture&mdash;it is my principal
+source of inspiration; when my imagination flags, as of course it occasionally
+does, I stare upon those features, and forthwith strange ideas of fun
+and drollery begin to flow into my mind; these I round, amplify, or
+combine into goodly creations, and bring forth as I find an opportunity.&nbsp;
+It is true that I am occasionally tormented by the thought that, by
+doing this, I am committing plagiarism; though, in that case, all thoughts
+must be plagiarisms, all that we think being the result of what we hear,
+see, or feel.&nbsp; What can I do?&nbsp; I must derive my thoughts from
+some source or other; and, after all, it is better to plagiarise from
+the features of my landlord than from the works of Butler and Cervantes.&nbsp;
+My works, as you are aware, are of a serio-comic character.&nbsp; My
+neighbours are of opinion that I am a great reader, and so I am, but
+only of those features&mdash;my real library is that picture.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But how did you obtain it?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Some years ago a travelling painter came into this neighbourhood,
+and my jolly host, at the request of his wife, consented to sit for
+his portrait; she highly admired the picture, but she soon died, and
+then my fat friend, who is of an affectionate disposition, said he could
+not bear the sight of it, as it put him in mind of his poor wife.&nbsp;
+I purchased it of him for five pounds&mdash;I would not take five thousand
+for it; when you called that picture a daub, you did not see all the
+poetry of it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>We sat down to breakfast; my entertainer appeared to be in much better
+spirits than on the preceding day; I did not observe him touch once;
+ere breakfast was over a servant entered&mdash;&lsquo;The Reverend Mr.
+Platitude, sir,&rsquo; said he.</p>
+<p>A shade of dissatisfaction came over the countenance of my host.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;What does the silly pestilent fellow mean by coming here?&rsquo;
+said he, half to himself; &lsquo;let him come in,&rsquo; said he to
+the servant.</p>
+<p>The servant went out, and in a moment reappeared, introducing the
+Reverend Mr. Platitude.&nbsp; The Reverend Mr. Platitude, having what
+is vulgarly called a game leg, came shambling into the room; he was
+about thirty years of age, and about five feet three inches high; his
+face was of the colour of pepper, and nearly as rugged as a nutmeg-grater;
+his hair was black; with his eyes he squinted, and grinned with his
+lips, which were very much apart, disclosing two very irregular rows
+of teeth; he was dressed in the true Levitical fashion, in a suit of
+spotless black, and a neckerchief of spotless white.</p>
+<p>The Reverend Mr. Platitude advanced winking and grinning to my entertainer,
+who received him politely but with evident coldness; nothing daunted,
+however, the Reverend Mr. Platitude took a seat by the table, and, being
+asked to take a cup of coffee, winked, grinned, and consented.</p>
+<p>In company I am occasionally subject to fits of what is generally
+called absence; my mind takes flight and returns to former scenes, or
+presses forward into the future.&nbsp; One of these fits of absence
+came over me at this time&mdash;I looked at the Reverend Mr. Platitude
+for a moment, heard a word or two that proceeded from his mouth, and
+saying to myself, &lsquo;You are no man for me,&rsquo; fell into a fit
+of musing&mdash;into the same train of thought as in the morning, no
+very pleasant one&mdash;I was thinking of the future.</p>
+<p>I continued in my reverie for some time, and probably should have
+continued longer, had I not been suddenly aroused by the voice of Mr.
+Platitude raised to a very high key.&nbsp; &lsquo;Yes, my dear sir,&rsquo;
+said he, &lsquo;it is but too true; I have it on good authority&mdash;a
+gone church&mdash;a lost church&mdash;a ruined church&mdash;a demolished
+church is the Church of England.&nbsp; Toleration to Dissenters!&mdash;oh,
+monstrous!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I suppose,&rsquo; said my host, &lsquo;that the repeal of
+the Test Acts will be merely a precursor of the emancipation of the
+Papists?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of the Catholics,&rsquo; said the Reverend Mr. Platitude.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Ahem.&nbsp; There was a time, as I believe you are aware, my
+dear sir, when I was as much opposed to the emancipation of the Catholics
+as it was possible for any one to be; but I was prejudiced, my dear
+sir, labouring under a cloud of most unfortunate prejudice; but I thank
+my Maker I am so no longer.&nbsp; I have travelled, as you are aware.&nbsp;
+It is only by travelling that one can rub off prejudices; I think you
+will agree with me there.&nbsp; I am speaking to a traveller.&nbsp;
+I left behind all my prejudices in Italy.&nbsp; The Catholics are at
+least our fellow-Christians.&nbsp; I thank Heaven that I am no longer
+an enemy to Catholic emancipation.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And yet you would not tolerate Dissenters?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Dissenters, my dear sir; I hope you would not class such a
+set as the Dissenters with Catholics?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Perhaps it would be unjust,&rsquo; said my host, &lsquo;though
+to which of the two parties is another thing; but permit me to ask you
+a question: Does it not smack somewhat of paradox to talk of Catholics,
+whilst you admit there are Dissenters?&nbsp; If there are Dissenters,
+how should there be Catholics?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is not my fault that there are Dissenters,&rsquo; said
+the Reverend Mr. Platitude; &lsquo;if I had my will I would neither
+admit there were any, nor permit any to be.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of course you would admit there were such as long as they
+existed; but how would you get rid of them?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I would have the Church exert its authority.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do you mean by exerting its authority?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I would not have the Church bear the sword in vain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What, the sword of St. Peter?&nbsp; You remember what the
+founder of the religion which you profess said about the sword, &ldquo;He
+who striketh with it . . . &rdquo;&nbsp; I think those who have called
+themselves the Church have had enough of the sword.&nbsp; Two can play
+with the sword, Mr. Platitude.&nbsp; The Church of Rome tried the sword
+with the Lutherans: how did it fare with the Church of Rome?&nbsp; The
+Church of England tried the sword, Mr. Platitude, with the Puritans:
+how did it fare with Laud and Charles?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, as for the Church of England,&rsquo; said Mr. Platitude,
+&lsquo;I have little to say.&nbsp; Thank God, I left all my Church of
+England prejudices in Italy.&nbsp; Had the Church of England known its
+true interests, it would long ago have sought a reconciliation with
+its illustrious mother.&nbsp; If the Church of England had not been
+in some degree a schismatic church, it would not have fared so ill at
+the time of which you are speaking; the rest of the Church would have
+come to its assistance.&nbsp; The Irish would have helped it, so would
+the French, so would the Portuguese.&nbsp; Disunion has always been
+the bane of the Church.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Once more I fell into a reverie.&nbsp; My mind now reverted to the
+past; methought I was in a small comfortable room wainscoted with oak;
+I was seated on one side of a fireplace, close by a table on which were
+wine and fruit; on the other side of the fire sat a man in a plain suit
+of brown, with the hair combed back from his somewhat high forehead;
+he had a pipe in his mouth, which for some time he smoked gravely and
+placidly, without saying a word; at length, after drawing at the pipe
+for some time rather vigorously, he removed it from his mouth, and,
+emitting an accumulated cloud of smoke, he exclaimed in a slow and measured
+tone, &lsquo;As I was telling you just now, my good chap, I have always
+been an enemy to humbug.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>When I awoke from my reverie the Reverend Mr. Platitude was quitting
+the apartment.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who is that person?&rsquo; said I to my entertainer, as the
+door closed behind him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who is he?&rsquo; said my host; &lsquo;why, the Reverend Mr.
+Platitude.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Does he reside in this neighbourhood?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He holds a living about three miles from here; his history,
+as far as I am acquainted with it, is as follows.&nbsp; His father was
+a respectable tanner in the neighbouring town, who, wishing to make
+his son a gentleman, sent him to college.&nbsp; Having never been at
+college myself, I cannot say whether he took the wisest course; I believe
+it is more easy to unmake than to make a gentleman; I have known many
+gentlemanly youths go to college, and return anything but what they
+went.&nbsp; Young Mr. Platitude did not go to college a gentleman, but
+neither did he return one: he went to college an ass, and returned a
+prig; to his original folly was superadded a vast quantity of conceit.&nbsp;
+He told his father that he had adopted high principles, and was determined
+to discountenance everything low and mean; advised him to eschew trade,
+and to purchase him a living.&nbsp; The old man retired from business,
+purchased his son a living, and shortly after died, leaving him what
+remained of his fortune.&nbsp; The first thing the Reverend Mr. Platitude
+did, after his father&rsquo;s decease, was to send his mother and sister
+into Wales to live upon a small annuity, assigning as a reason that
+he was averse to anything low, and that they talked ungrammatically.&nbsp;
+Wishing to shine in the pulpit, he now preached high sermons, as he
+called them, interspersed with scraps of learning.&nbsp; His sermons
+did not, however, procure him much popularity; on the contrary, his
+church soon became nearly deserted, the greater part of his flock going
+over to certain dissenting preachers, who had shortly before made their
+appearance in the neighbourhood.&nbsp; Mr. Platitude was filled with
+wrath, and abused Dissenters in most unmeasured terms.&nbsp; Coming
+in contact with some of the preachers at a public meeting, he was rash
+enough to enter into argument with them.&nbsp; Poor Platitude! he had
+better have been quiet, he appeared like a child, a very infant, in
+their grasp; he attempted to take shelter under his college learning,
+but found, to his dismay, that his opponents knew more Greek and Latin
+than himself.&nbsp; These illiterate boors, as he had supposed them,
+caught him at once in a false concord, and Mr. Platitude had to slink
+home overwhelmed with shame.&nbsp; To avenge himself he applied to the
+ecclesiastical court, but was told that the Dissenters could not be
+put down by the present ecclesiastical law.&nbsp; He found the Church
+of England, to use his own expression, a poor, powerless, restricted
+Church.&nbsp; He now thought to improve his consequence by marriage,
+and made up to a rich and beautiful young lady in the neighbourhood;
+the damsel measured him from head to foot with a pair of very sharp
+eyes, dropped a curtsey, and refused him.&nbsp; Mr. Platitude, finding
+England a very stupid place, determined to travel; he went to Italy;
+how he passed his time there he knows best, to other people it is a
+matter of little importance.&nbsp; At the end of two years he returned
+with a real or assumed contempt for everything English, and especially
+for the Church to which he belongs, and out of which he is supported.&nbsp;
+He forthwith gave out that he had left behind him all his Church of
+England prejudices, and, as a proof thereof, spoke against sacerdotal
+wedlock and the toleration of schismatics.&nbsp; In an evil hour for
+myself he was introduced to me by a clergyman of my acquaintance, and
+from that time I have been pestered, as I was this morning, at least
+once a week.&nbsp; I seldom enter into any discussion with him, but
+fix my eyes on the portrait over the mantelpiece, and endeavour to conjure
+up some comic idea or situation, whilst he goes on talking tomfoolery
+by the hour about Church authority, schismatics, and the unlawfulness
+of sacerdotal wedlock; occasionally he brings with him a strange kind
+of being, whose acquaintance he says he made in Italy; I believe he
+is some sharking priest who has come over to proselytise and plunder.&nbsp;
+This being has some powers of conversation and some learning, but carries
+the countenance of an arch villain; Platitude is evidently his tool.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of what religion are you?&rsquo; said I to my host.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That of the Vicar of Wakefield&mdash;good, quiet, Church of
+England, which would live and let live, practises charity, and rails
+at no one; where the priest is the husband of one wife, takes care of
+his family and his parish&mdash;such is the religion for me, though
+I confess I have hitherto thought too little of religious matters.&nbsp;
+When, however, I have completed this plaguy work on which I am engaged,
+I hope to be able to devote more attention to them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>After some further conversation, the subjects being, if I remember
+right, college education, priggism, church authority, tomfoolery, and
+the like, I rose and said to my host, &lsquo;I must now leave you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Whither are you going?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not know.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Stay here, then&mdash;you shall be welcome as many days, months,
+and years as you please to stay.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you think I would hang upon another man?&nbsp; No, not
+if he were Emperor of all the Chinas.&nbsp; I will now make my preparations,
+and then bid you farewell.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I retired to my apartment and collected the handful of things which
+I carried with me on my travels.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will walk a little way with you,&rsquo; said my friend on
+my return.</p>
+<p>He walked with me to the park gate; neither of us said anything by
+the way.&nbsp; When we had come upon the road, I said, &lsquo;Farewell
+now; I will not permit you to give yourself any further trouble on my
+account.&nbsp; Receive my best thanks for your kindness; before we part,
+however, I should wish to ask you a question.&nbsp; Do you think you
+shall ever grow tired of authorship?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have my fears,&rsquo; said my friend, advancing his hand
+to one of the iron bars of the gate.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t touch,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;it is a bad habit.&nbsp;
+I have but one word to add: should you ever grow tired of authorship
+follow your first idea of getting into Parliament; you have words enough
+at command; perhaps you want manner and method; but, in that case, you
+must apply to a teacher, you must take lessons of a master of elocution.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That would never do!&rsquo; said my host; &lsquo;I know myself
+too well to think of applying for assistance to any one.&nbsp; Were
+I to become a parliamentary orator, I should wish to be an original
+one, even if not above mediocrity.&nbsp; What pleasure should I take
+in any speech I might make, however original as to thought, provided
+the gestures I employed and the very modulation of my voice were not
+my own?&nbsp; Take lessons, indeed! why, the fellow who taught me, the
+professor, might be standing in the gallery whilst I spoke; and, at
+the best parts of my speech, might say to himself, &ldquo;That gesture
+is mine&mdash;that modulation is mine.&rdquo;&nbsp; I could not bear
+the thought of such a thing.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Farewell,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;and may you prosper.&nbsp;
+I have nothing more to say.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I departed.&nbsp; At the distance of twenty yards I turned round
+suddenly; my friend was just withdrawing his finger from the bar of
+the gate.</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page369b.jpg">
+<img alt="My friend was just withdrawing his finger from the bar of the gate" src="images/page369s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>&lsquo;He has been touching,&rsquo; said I, as I proceeded on my
+way; &lsquo;I wonder what was the evil chance he wished to baffle.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXVIII</h2>
+<p>Elastic step&mdash;Disconsolate party&mdash;Not the season&mdash;Mend
+your draught&mdash;Good ale&mdash;Crotchet&mdash;Hammer and tongs&mdash;Schoolmaster&mdash;True
+Eden life&mdash;Flaming Tinman&mdash;Twice my size&mdash;Hard at work&mdash;My
+poor wife&mdash;Grey Moll&mdash;A Bible&mdash;Half-and-half&mdash;What
+to do&mdash;Half inclined&mdash;In no time&mdash;On one condition&mdash;Don&rsquo;t
+stare&mdash;Like the wind.</p>
+<p>After walking some time, I found myself on the great road, at the
+same spot where I had turned aside the day before with my new-made acquaintance,
+in the direction of his house.&nbsp; I now continued my journey as before,
+towards the north.&nbsp; The weather, though beautiful, was much cooler
+than it had been for some time past; I walked at a great rate, with
+a springing and elastic step.&nbsp; In about two hours I came to where
+a kind of cottage stood a little way back from the road, with a huge
+oak before it, under the shade of which stood a little pony and a cart,
+which seemed to contain various articles.&nbsp; I was going past&mdash;when
+I saw scrawled over the door of the cottage, &lsquo;Good beer sold here&rsquo;;
+upon which, feeling myself all of a sudden very thirsty, I determined
+to go in and taste the beverage.</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page371b.jpg">
+<img alt="I was going past&mdash;when I saw scrawled over the door of the cottage, &lsquo;Good beer sold here.&rsquo;" src="images/page371s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>I entered a well-sanded kitchen, and seated myself on a bench, on
+one side of a long white table; the other side, which was nearest to
+the wall, was occupied by a party, or rather family, consisting of a
+grimy-looking man, somewhat under the middle size, dressed in faded
+velveteens, and wearing a leather apron&mdash;a rather pretty-looking
+woman, but sun-burnt, and meanly dressed, and two ragged children, a
+boy and girl, about four or five years old.&nbsp; The man sat with his
+eyes fixed upon the table, supporting his chin with both his hands;
+the woman, who was next him, sat quite still, save that occasionally
+she turned a glance upon her husband with eyes that appeared to have
+been lately crying.&nbsp; The children had none of the vivacity so general
+at their age.&nbsp; A more disconsolate family I had never seen; a mug,
+which, when filled, might contain half a pint, stood empty before them;
+a very disconsolate party indeed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;House!&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;House!&rsquo; and then, as nobody
+appeared, I cried again as loud as I could, &lsquo;House! do you hear
+me, House!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What&rsquo;s your pleasure, young man?&rsquo; said an elderly
+woman, who now made her appearance from a side apartment.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To taste your ale,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How much?&rsquo; said the woman, stretching out her hand towards
+the empty mug upon the table.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The largest measure-full in your house,&rsquo; said I, putting
+back her hand gently.&nbsp; &lsquo;This is not the season for half-pint
+mugs.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As you will, young man,&rsquo; said the landlady; and presently
+brought in an earthen pitcher which might contain about three pints,
+and which foamed and frothed withal.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Will this pay for it?&rsquo; said I, putting down sixpence.</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page373b.jpg">
+<img alt="&lsquo;Will this pay for it?&rsquo; said I, putting down sixpence" src="images/page373s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have to return you a penny,&rsquo; said the landlady, putting
+her hand into her pocket.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I want no change,&rsquo; said I, flourishing my hand with
+an air.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As you please, young gentleman,&rsquo; said the landlady,
+and then, making a kind of curtsey, she again retired to the side apartment.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Here is your health, sir,&rsquo; said I to the grimy-looking
+man, as I raised the pitcher to my lips.</p>
+<p>The tinker, for such I supposed him to be, without altering his posture,
+raised his eyes, looked at me for a moment, gave a slight nod, and then
+once more fixed his eyes upon the table.&nbsp; I took a draught of the
+ale, which I found excellent; &lsquo;Won&rsquo;t you drink?&rsquo; said
+I, holding the pitcher to the tinker.</p>
+<p>The man again lifted up his eyes, looked at me, and then at the pitcher,
+and then at me again.&nbsp; I thought at one time that he was about
+to shake his head in sign of refusal; but no, he looked once more at
+the pitcher, and the temptation was too strong.&nbsp; Slowly removing
+his head from his arms, he took the pitcher, sighed, nodded, and drank
+a tolerable quantity, and then set the pitcher down before me upon the
+table.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You had better mend your draught,&rsquo; said I to the tinker;
+&lsquo;it is a sad heart that never rejoices.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That&rsquo;s true,&rsquo; said the tinker, and again raising
+the pitcher to his lips, he mended his draught as I had bidden him,
+drinking a larger quantity than before.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Pass it to your wife,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>The poor woman took the pitcher from the man&rsquo;s hand; before,
+however, raising it to her lips, she looked at the children.&nbsp; True
+mother&rsquo;s heart, thought I to myself, and taking the half-pint
+mug, I made her fill it, and then held it to the children, causing each
+to take a draught.&nbsp; The woman wiped her eyes with the corner of
+her gown, before she raised the pitcher and drank to my health.</p>
+<p>In about five minutes none of the family looked half so disconsolate
+as before, and the tinker and I were in deep discourse.</p>
+<p>Oh, genial and gladdening is the power of good ale, the true and
+proper drink of Englishmen.&nbsp; He is not deserving of the name of
+Englishman who speaketh against ale, that is good ale, like that which
+has just made merry the hearts of this poor family; and yet there are
+beings, calling themselves Englishmen, who say that it is a sin to drink
+a cup of ale, and who, on coming to this passage will be tempted to
+fling down the book and exclaim, &lsquo;The man is evidently a bad man,
+for behold, by his own confession, he is not only fond of ale himself,
+but is in the habit of tempting other people with it.&rsquo;&nbsp; Alas!
+alas! what a number of silly individuals there are in this world; I
+wonder what they would have had me do in this instance&mdash;given the
+afflicted family a cup of cold water? go to!&nbsp; They could have found
+water in the road, for there was a pellucid spring only a few yards
+distant from the house, as they were well aware&mdash;but they wanted
+not water; what should I have given them? meat and bread? go to!&nbsp;
+They were not hungry; there was stifled sobbing in their bosoms, and
+the first mouthful of strong meat would have choked them.&nbsp; What
+should I have given them?&nbsp; Money! what right had I to insult them
+by offering them money?&nbsp; Advice! words, words, words; friends,
+there is a time for everything; there is a time for a cup of cold water;
+there is a time for strong meat and bread; there is a time for advice,
+and there is a time for ale; and I have generally found that the time
+for advice is after a cup of ale.&nbsp; I do not say many cups; the
+tongue then speaketh more smoothly, and the ear listeneth more benignantly;
+but why do I attempt to reason with you? do I not know you for conceited
+creatures, with one idea&mdash;and that a foolish one;&mdash;a crotchet,
+for the sake of which ye would sacrifice anything, religion if required&mdash;country?&nbsp;
+There, fling down my book, I do not wish ye to walk any farther in my
+company, unless you cast your nonsense away, which ye will never do,
+for it is the breath of your nostrils; fling down my book, it was not
+written to support a crotchet, for know one thing, my good people, I
+have invariably been an enemy to humbug.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said the tinker, after we had discoursed some
+time, &lsquo;little thought, when I first saw you, that you were of
+my own trade.&rsquo;</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; Nor am I, at least not exactly.&nbsp; There
+is not much difference, &rsquo;tis true, between a tinker and a smith.</p>
+<p><i>Tinker</i>.&nbsp; You are a whitesmith then?</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; Not I, I&rsquo;d scorn to be anything so mean;
+no, friend, black&rsquo;s the colour; I am a brother of the horse-shoe.&nbsp;
+Success to the hammer and tongs.</p>
+<p><i>Tinker</i>.&nbsp; Well, I shouldn&rsquo;t have thought you had
+been a blacksmith by your hands.</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; I have seen them, however, as black as yours.&nbsp;
+The truth is, I have not worked for many a day.</p>
+<p><i>Tinker</i>.&nbsp; Where did you serve first?</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; In Ireland.</p>
+<p><i>Tinker</i>. That&rsquo;s a good way off, isn&rsquo;t it?</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; Not very far; over those mountains to the left,
+and the run of salt water that lies behind them, there&rsquo;s Ireland.</p>
+<p><i>Tinker</i>.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s a fine thing to be a scholar.</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; Not half so fine as to be a tinker.</p>
+<p><i>Tinker</i>.&nbsp; How you talk!</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; Nothing but the truth; what can be better than
+to be one&rsquo;s own master?&nbsp; Now a tinker is his own master,
+a scholar is not.&nbsp; Let us suppose the best of scholars, a schoolmaster
+for example, for I suppose you will admit that no one can be higher
+in scholarship than a schoolmaster; do you call his a pleasant life?&nbsp;
+I don&rsquo;t; we should call him a school-slave, rather than a schoolmaster.&nbsp;
+Only conceive him in blessed weather like this, in his close school,
+teaching children to write in copy-books, &lsquo;Evil communication
+corrupts good manners,&rsquo; or &lsquo;You cannot touch pitch without
+defilement,&rsquo; or to spell out of Abedariums, or to read out of
+Jack Smith, or Sandford and Merton.&nbsp; Only conceive him, I say,
+drudging in such guise from morning till night, without any rational
+enjoyment but to beat the children.&nbsp; Would you compare such a dog&rsquo;s
+life as that with your own&mdash;the happiest under heaven&mdash;true
+Eden life, as the Germans would say,&mdash;pitching your tent under
+the pleasant hedgerows, listening to the song of the feathered tribes,
+collecting all the leaky kettles in the neighbourhood, soldering and
+joining, earning your honest bread by the wholesome sweat of your brow&mdash;making
+ten holes&mdash;hey, what&rsquo;s this? what&rsquo;s the man crying
+for?</p>
+<p>Suddenly the tinker had covered his face with his hands, and begun
+to sob and moan like a man in the deepest distress; the breast of his
+wife was heaved with emotion; even the children were agitated, the youngest
+began to roar.</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s the matter with you; what are you
+all crying about?</p>
+<p><i>Tinker</i> (uncovering his face).&nbsp; Lord, why to hear you
+talk; isn&rsquo;t that enough to make anybody cry&mdash;even the poor
+babes?&nbsp; Yes, you said right, &rsquo;tis life in the garden of Eden&mdash;the
+tinker&rsquo;s; I see so now that I&rsquo;m about to give it up.</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; Give it up! you must not think of such a thing.</p>
+<p><i>Tinker</i>.&nbsp; No, I can&rsquo;t bear to think of it, and yet
+I must; what&rsquo;s to be done?&nbsp; How hard to be frightened to
+death, to be driven off the roads.</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; Who has driven you off the roads?</p>
+<p><i>Tinker</i>.&nbsp; Who! the Flaming Tinman.</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; Who is he?</p>
+<p><i>Tinker</i>.&nbsp; The biggest rogue in England, and the cruellest,
+or he wouldn&rsquo;t have served me as he has done&mdash;I&rsquo;ll
+tell you all about it.&nbsp; I was born upon the roads, and so was my
+father before me, and my mother too; and I worked with them as long
+as they lived, as a dutiful child, for I have nothing to reproach myself
+with on their account; and when my father died I took up the business,
+and went his beat, and supported my mother for the little time she lived;
+and when she died I married this young woman, who was not born upon
+the roads, but was a small tradesman&rsquo;s daughter, at Gloster.&nbsp;
+She had a kindness for me, and, notwithstanding her friends were against
+the match, she married the poor tinker, and came to live with him upon
+the roads.&nbsp; Well, young man, for six or seven years I&mdash;as
+the happiest fellow breathing, living just the life you described just
+now&mdash;respected by everybody in this beat; when in an evil hour
+comes this Black Jack, this flaming tinman, into these parts, driven
+as they say out of Yorkshire&mdash;for no good you may be sure.&nbsp;
+Now there is no beat will support two tinkers, as you doubtless know;
+mine was a good one, but it would not support the flying tinker and
+myself, though if it would have supported twenty it would have been
+all the same to the flying villain, who&rsquo;ll brook no one but himself;
+so he presently finds me out, and offers to fight me for the beat.&nbsp;
+Now, being bred upon the roads, I can fight a little, that is with anything
+like my match, but I was not going to fight him, who happens to be twice
+my size, and so I told him; whereupon he knocks me down, and would have
+done me farther mischief had not some men been nigh and prevented him;
+so he threatened to cut my throat, and went his way.&nbsp; Well, I did
+not like such usage at all, and was woundily frightened, and tried to
+keep as much out of his way as possible, going anywhere but where I
+thought I was likely to meet him; and sure enough for several months
+I contrived to keep out of his way.&nbsp; At last somebody told me that
+he was gone back to Yorkshire, whereupon I was glad at heart, and ventured
+to show myself, going here and there as I did before.&nbsp; Well, young
+man, it was yesterday that I and mine set ourselves down in a lane,
+about five miles from here, and lighted our fire, and had our dinner,
+and after dinner I sat down to mend three kettles and a frying pan which
+the people in the neighbourhood had given me to mend&mdash;for, as I
+told you before, I have a good connection, owing to my honesty.&nbsp;
+Well, as I sat there hard at work, happy as the day&rsquo;s long, and
+thinking of anything but what was to happen, who should come up but
+this Black Jack, this king of the tinkers, rattling along in his cart,
+with his wife, that they call Grey Moll, by his side&mdash;for the villain
+has got a wife, and a maid-servant too; the last I never saw, but they
+that has, says that she is as big as a house, and young, and well to
+look at, which can&rsquo;t be all said of Moll, who, though she&rsquo;s
+big enough in all conscience, is neither young nor handsome.&nbsp; Well,
+no sooner does he see me and mine, than, giving the reins to Grey Moll,
+he springs out of his cart, and comes straight at me; not a word did
+he say, but on he comes straight at me like a wild bull.&nbsp; I am
+a quiet man, young fellow, but I saw now that quietness would be of
+no use, so I sprang up upon my legs, and being bred upon the roads,
+and able to fight a little, I squared as he came running in upon me,
+and had a round or two with him.&nbsp; Lord bless you, young man, it
+was like a fly fighting with an elephant&mdash;one of those big beasts
+the show-folks carry about.&nbsp; I had not a chance with the fellow,
+he knocked me here, he knocked me there, knocked me into the hedge,
+and knocked me out again.&nbsp; I was at my last shifts, and my poor
+wife saw it.&nbsp; Now my poor wife, though she is as gentle as a pigeon,
+has yet a spirit of her own, and though she wasn&rsquo;t bred upon the
+roads, can scratch a little; so when she saw me at my last shifts, she
+flew at the villain&mdash;she couldn&rsquo;t bear to see her partner
+murdered&mdash;and scratched the villain&rsquo;s face.&nbsp; Lord bless
+you, young man, she had better have been quiet: Grey Moll no sooner
+saw what she was about, than, springing out of the cart, where she had
+sat all along perfectly quiet, save a little whooping and screeching
+to encourage her blade:&mdash;Grey Moll, I say (my flesh creeps when
+I think of it&mdash;for I am a kind husband, and love my poor wife)
+. . .</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; Take another draught of the ale; you look frightened,
+and it will do you good.&nbsp; Stout liquor makes stout heart, as the
+man says in the play.</p>
+<p><i>Tinker</i>.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s true, young man; here&rsquo;s to
+you&mdash;where was I?&nbsp; Grey Moll no sooner saw what my wife was
+about, than, springing out of the cart, she flew at my poor wife, clawed
+off her bonnet in a moment, and seized hold of her hair.&nbsp; Lord
+bless you, young man, my poor wife, in the hands of Grey Moll, was nothing
+better than a pigeon in the claws of a buzzard hawk, or I in the hands
+of the Flaming Tinman, which when I saw, my heart was fit to burst,
+and I determined to give up everything&mdash;everything to save my poor
+wife out of Grey Moll&rsquo;s claws.&nbsp; &lsquo;Hold!&rsquo; I shouted.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Hold, both of you&mdash;Jack, Moll.&nbsp; Hold, both of you,
+for God&rsquo;s sake, and I&rsquo;ll do what you will: give up trade,
+and business, connection, bread, and everything, never more travel the
+roads, and go down on my knees to you in the bargain.&rsquo;&nbsp; Well,
+this had some effect; Moll let go my wife, and the Blazing Tinman stopped
+for a moment; it was only for a moment, however, that he left off&mdash;all
+of a sudden he hit me a blow which sent me against a tree; and what
+did the villain then? why the flying villain seized me by the throat,
+and almost throttled me, roaring&mdash;what do you think, young man,
+that the flaming villain roared out?</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; I really don&rsquo;t know&mdash;something horrible,
+I suppose.</p>
+<p><i>Tinker</i>.&nbsp; Horrible, indeed; you may well say horrible,
+young man; neither more nor less than the Bible&mdash;&lsquo;A Bible,
+a Bible!&rsquo; roared the Blazing Tinman; and he pressed my throat
+so hard against the tree that my senses began to dwaul away&mdash;a
+Bible, a Bible, still ringing in my ears.&nbsp; Now, young man, my poor
+wife is a Christian woman, and, though she travels the roads, carries
+a Bible with her at the bottom of her sack, with which sometimes she
+teaches the children to read&mdash;it was the only thing she brought
+with her from the place of her kith and kin, save her own body and the
+clothes on her back; so my poor wife, half distracted, runs to her sack,
+pulls out the Bible, and puts it into the hand of the Blazing Tinman,
+who then thrusts the end of it into my mouth with such fury that it
+made my lips bleed, and broke short one of my teeth which happened to
+be decayed.&nbsp; &lsquo;Swear,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;swear, you mumping
+villain, take your Bible oath that you will quit and give up the beat
+altogether, or I&rsquo;ll&mdash;and then the hard-hearted villain made
+me swear by the Bible, and my own damnation, half-throttled as I was,
+to&mdash;to&mdash;I can&rsquo;t go on&mdash;</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; Take another draught&mdash;stout liquor&mdash;</p>
+<p><i>Tinker</i>.&nbsp; I can&rsquo;t, young man, my heart&rsquo;s too
+full, and what&rsquo;s more, the pitcher is empty.</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; And so he swore you, I suppose, on the Bible,
+to quit the roads?</p>
+<p><i>Tinker</i>.&nbsp; You are right, he did so, the gypsy villain.</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; Gypsy!&nbsp; Is he a gypsy?</p>
+<p><i>Tinker</i>.&nbsp; Not exactly; what they call a half-and-half.&nbsp;
+His father was a gypsy, and his mother, like mine, one who walked the
+roads.</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; Is he of the Smiths&mdash;the Petulengres?</p>
+<p><i>Tinker</i>.&nbsp; I say, young man, you know a thing or two; one
+would think, to hear you talk, you had been bred upon the roads.&nbsp;
+I thought none but those bred upon the roads knew anything of that name&mdash;Petulengres!&nbsp;
+No, not he, he fights the Petulengres whenever he meets them; he likes
+nobody but himself, and wants to be king of the roads.&nbsp; I believe
+he is a Boss, or a&mdash;at any rate he&rsquo;s a bad one, as I know
+to my cost.</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; And what are you going to do?</p>
+<p><i>Tinker</i>.&nbsp; Do! you may well ask that; I don&rsquo;t know
+what to do.&nbsp; My poor wife and I have been talking of that all the
+morning, over that half-pint mug of beer; we can&rsquo;t determine on
+what&rsquo;s to be done.&nbsp; All we know is, that we must quit the
+roads.&nbsp; The villain swore that the next time he saw us on the roads
+he&rsquo;d cut all our throats, and seize our horse and bit of a cart
+that are now standing out there under the tree.</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; And what do you mean to do with your horse and
+cart?</p>
+<p><i>Tinker</i>.&nbsp; Another question!&nbsp; What shall we do with
+our cart and pony? they are of no use to us now.&nbsp; Stay on the roads
+I will not, both for my oath&rsquo;s sake and my own.&nbsp; If we had
+a trifle of money, we were thinking of going to Bristol, where I might
+get up a little business, but we have none; our last three farthings
+we spent about the mug of beer.</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; But why don&rsquo;t you sell your horse and
+cart?</p>
+<p><i>Tinker</i>.&nbsp; Sell them! and who would buy them, unless some
+one who wished to set up in my line; but there&rsquo;s no beat, and
+what&rsquo;s the use of the horse and cart and the few tools without
+the beat?</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m half inclined to buy your cart and
+pony, and your beat too.</p>
+<p><i>Tinker</i>.&nbsp; You!&nbsp; How came you to think of such a thing?</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; Why, like yourself, I hardly know what to do.&nbsp;
+I want a home and work.&nbsp; As for a home, I suppose I can contrive
+to make a home out of your tent and cart; and as for work, I must learn
+to be a tinker, it would not be hard for one of my trade to learn to
+tinker; what better can I do?&nbsp; Would you have me go to Chester
+and work there now?&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t like the thoughts of it.&nbsp;
+If I go to Chester and work there, I can&rsquo;t be my own man; I must
+work under a master, and perhaps he and I should quarrel, and when I
+quarrel I am apt to hit folks, and those that hit folks are sometimes
+sent to prison; I don&rsquo;t like the thought either of going to Chester
+or to Chester prison.&nbsp; What do you think I could earn at Chester?</p>
+<p><i>Tinker</i>.&nbsp; A matter of eleven shillings a week, if anybody
+would employ you, which I don&rsquo;t think they would with those hands
+of yours.&nbsp; But whether they would or not, if you are of a quarrelsome
+nature you must not go to Chester; you would be in the castle in no
+time.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t know how to advise you.&nbsp; As for selling
+you my stock, I&rsquo;d see you farther first, for your own sake.</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; Why?</p>
+<p><i>Tinker</i>.&nbsp; Why! you would get your head knocked off.&nbsp;
+Suppose you were to meet him?</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; Pooh, don&rsquo;t be afraid on my account; if
+I were to meet him I could easily manage him one way or other.&nbsp;
+I know all kinds of strange words and names, and, as I told you before,
+I sometimes hit people when they put me out.</p>
+<p>Here the tinker&rsquo;s wife, who for some minutes past had been
+listening attentively to our discourse, interposed, saying, in a low
+soft tone: &lsquo;I really don&rsquo;t see, John, why you shouldn&rsquo;t
+sell the young man the things, seeing that he wishes for them, and is
+so confident; you have told him plainly how matters stand, and if anything
+ill should befall him, people couldn&rsquo;t lay the blame on you; but
+I don&rsquo;t think any ill will befall him, and who knows but God has
+sent him to our assistance in time of need?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I&rsquo;ll hear of no such thing,&rsquo; said the tinker;
+&lsquo;I have drunk at the young man&rsquo;s expense, and though he
+says he&rsquo;s quarrelsome, I would not wish to sit in pleasanter company.&nbsp;
+A pretty fellow I should be, now, if I were to let him follow his own
+will.&nbsp; If he once sets up on my beat, he&rsquo;s a lost man, his
+ribs will be stove in, and his head knocked off his shoulders.&nbsp;
+There, you are crying, but you shan&rsquo;t have your will though; I
+won&rsquo;t be the young man&rsquo;s destruction . . . If, indeed, I
+thought he could manage the tinker&mdash;but he never can; he says he
+can hit, but it&rsquo;s no use hitting the tinker,&mdash;crying still!
+you are enough to drive one mad.&nbsp; I say, young man, I believe you
+understand a thing or two, just now you were talking of knowing hard
+words and names&mdash;I don&rsquo;t wish to send you to your mischief&mdash;you
+say you know hard words and names; let us see.&nbsp; Only on one condition
+I&rsquo;ll sell you the pony and things; as for the beat it&rsquo;s
+gone, isn&rsquo;t mine&mdash;sworn away by my own mouth.&nbsp; Tell
+me what&rsquo;s my name; if you can&rsquo;t, may I&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p><i>Myself</i>.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t swear, it&rsquo;s a bad habit, neither
+pleasant nor profitable.&nbsp; Your name is Slingsby&mdash;Jack Slingsby.&nbsp;
+There, don&rsquo;t stare, there&rsquo;s nothing in my telling you your
+name: I&rsquo;ve been in these parts before, at least not very far from
+here.&nbsp; Ten years ago, when I was little more than a child, I was
+about twenty miles from here in a post-chaise, at the door of an inn,
+and as I looked from the window of the chaise, I saw you standing by
+a gutter, with a big tin ladle in your hand, and somebody called you
+Jack Slingsby.&nbsp; I never forget anything I hear or see; I can&rsquo;t,
+I wish I could.&nbsp; So there&rsquo;s nothing strange in my knowing
+your name; indeed, there&rsquo;s nothing strange in anything, provided
+you examine it to the bottom.&nbsp; Now what am I to give you for the
+things?</p>
+<p>I paid Slingsby five pounds ten shillings for his stock in trade,
+cart, and pony&mdash;purchased sundry provisions of the landlady, also
+a wagoner&rsquo;s frock, which had belonged to a certain son of hers,
+deceased, gave my little animal a feed of corn, and prepared to depart.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;God bless you, young man,&rsquo; said Slingsby, shaking me
+by the hand; &lsquo;you are the best friend I&rsquo;ve had for many
+a day: I have but one thing to tell you, Don&rsquo;t cross that fellow&rsquo;s
+path if you can help it; and stay&mdash;should the pony refuse to go,
+just touch him so, and he&rsquo;ll fly like the wind.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXIX</h2>
+<p>Effects of corn&mdash;One night longer&mdash;The hoofs&mdash;A stumble&mdash;Are
+you hurt?&mdash;What a difference&mdash;Drowsy&mdash;Maze of bushes&mdash;Housekeeping&mdash;Sticks
+and furze&mdash;The driftway&mdash;Account of stock&mdash;Anvil and
+bellows&mdash;Twenty years.</p>
+<p>It was two or three hours past noon when I took my departure from
+the place of the last adventure, walking by the side of my little cart;
+the pony, invigorated by the corn, to which he was probably not much
+accustomed, proceeded right gallantly; so far from having to hasten
+him forward by the particular application which the tinker had pointed
+out to me, I had rather to repress his eagerness, being, though an excellent
+pedestrian, not unfrequently left behind.&nbsp; The country through
+which I passed was beautiful and interesting, but solitary; few habitations
+appeared.&nbsp; As it was quite a matter of indifference to me in what
+direction I went, the whole world being before me, I allowed the pony
+to decide upon the matter; it was not long before he left the high-road,
+being probably no friend to public places.&nbsp; I followed him I knew
+not whither, but, from subsequent observation, have reason to suppose
+that our course was in a north-west direction.&nbsp; At length night
+came upon us, and a cold wind sprang up, which was succeeded by a drizzling
+rain.</p>
+<p>I had originally intended to pass the night in the cart, or to pitch
+my little tent on some convenient spot by the road&rsquo;s side; but,
+owing to the alteration in the weather, I thought that it would be advisable
+to take up my quarters in any hedge alehouse at which I might arrive.&nbsp;
+To tell the truth, I was not very sorry to have an excuse to pass the
+night once more beneath a roof.&nbsp; I had determined to live quite
+independent, but I had never before passed a night by myself abroad,
+and felt a little apprehensive at the idea; I hoped, however, on the
+morrow, to be a little more prepared for the step, so I determined for
+one night&mdash;only for one night longer&mdash;to sleep like a Christian;
+but human determinations are not always put into effect, such a thing
+as opportunity is frequently wanting, such was the case here.&nbsp;
+I went on for a considerable time, in expectation of coming to some
+rustic hostelry, but nothing of the kind presented itself to my eyes;
+the country in which I now was seemed almost uninhabited, not a house
+of any kind was to be seen&mdash;at least I saw none&mdash;though it
+is true houses might be near without my seeing them, owing to the darkness
+of the night, for neither moon nor star was abroad.&nbsp; I heard, occasionally,
+the bark of dogs; but the sound appeared to come from an immense distance.&nbsp;
+The rain still fell, and the ground beneath my feet was wet and miry;
+in short, it was a night in which even a tramper by profession would
+feel more comfortable in being housed than abroad.&nbsp; I followed
+in the rear of the cart, the pony still proceeding at a sturdy pace,
+till methought I heard other hoofs than those of my own nag; I listened
+for a moment, and distinctly heard the sound of hoofs approaching at
+a great rate, and evidently from the quarter towards which I and my
+little caravan were moving.&nbsp; We were in a dark lane&mdash;so dark
+that it was impossible for me to see my own hand.&nbsp; Apprehensive
+that some accident might occur, I ran forward, and, seizing the pony
+by the bridle, drew him as near as I could to the hedge.&nbsp; On came
+the hoofs&mdash;trot, trot, trot; and evidently more than those of one
+horse; their speed as they advanced appeared to slacken&mdash;it was
+only, however, for a moment.&nbsp; I heard a voice cry, &lsquo;Push
+on,&mdash;this is a desperate robbing place,&mdash;never mind the dark&rsquo;;
+and the hoofs came on quicker than before.&nbsp; &lsquo;Stop!&rsquo;
+said I, at the top of my voice; &lsquo;stop! or&mdash;&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Before I could finish what I was about to say there was a stumble, a
+heavy fall, a cry, and a groan, and putting out my foot I felt what
+I conjectured to be the head of a horse stretched upon the road.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Lord have mercy upon us! what&rsquo;s the matter?&rsquo; exclaimed
+a voice.&nbsp; &lsquo;Spare my life,&rsquo; cried another voice, apparently
+from the ground; &lsquo;only spare my life, and take all I have.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Where are you, Master Wise?&rsquo; cried the other voice.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Help! here, Master Bat,&rsquo; cried the voice from the ground;
+&lsquo;help me up or I shall be murdered.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Why, what&rsquo;s
+the matter?&rsquo; said Bat.&nbsp; &lsquo;Some one has knocked me down,
+and is robbing me,&rsquo; said the voice from the ground.&nbsp; &lsquo;Help!
+murder!&rsquo; cried Bat; and, regardless of the entreaties of the man
+on the ground that he would stay and help him up, he urged his horse
+forward and galloped away as fast as he could.&nbsp; I remained for
+some time quiet, listening to various groans and exclamations uttered
+by the person on the ground; at length I said, &lsquo;Holloa! are you
+hurt?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Spare my life, and take all I have!&rsquo;
+said the voice from the ground.&nbsp; &lsquo;Have they not done robbing
+you yet?&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;when they have finished let me know,
+and I will come and help you.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Who is that?&rsquo;
+said the voice; &lsquo;pray come and help me, and do me no mischief.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;You were saying that some one was robbing you,&rsquo; said I;
+&lsquo;don&rsquo;t think I shall come till he is gone away.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Then you ben&rsquo;t he?&rsquo; said the voice.&nbsp; &lsquo;Aren&rsquo;t
+you robbed?&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;Can&rsquo;t say I be,&rsquo;
+said the voice; &lsquo;not yet at any rate; but who are you?&nbsp; I
+don&rsquo;t know you.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;A traveller whom you and your
+partner were going to run over in this dark lane; you almost frightened
+me out of my senses.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Frightened!&rsquo; said the
+voice, in a louder tone; &lsquo;frightened! oh!&rsquo; and thereupon
+I heard somebody getting upon his legs.&nbsp; This accomplished, the
+individual proceeded to attend to his horse, and with a little difficulty
+raised him upon his legs also.&nbsp; &lsquo;Aren&rsquo;t you hurt?&rsquo;
+said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;Hurt!&rsquo; said the voice; &lsquo;not I; don&rsquo;t
+think it, whatever the horse may be.&nbsp; I tell you what, my fellow,
+I thought you were a robber, and now I find you are not; I have a good
+mind&mdash;&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;To do what?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;To serve
+you out; aren&rsquo;t you ashamed&mdash;?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;At what?&rsquo;
+said I; &lsquo;not to have robbed you?&nbsp; Shall I set about it now?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Ha, ha!&rsquo; said the man, dropping the bullying tone which
+he had assumed; &lsquo;you are joking&mdash;robbing! who talks of robbing?&nbsp;
+I wonder how my horse&rsquo;s knees are; not much hurt, I think&mdash;only
+mired.&rsquo;&nbsp; The man, whoever he was, then got upon his horse;
+and, after moving him about a little, said, &lsquo;Good night, friend;
+where are you?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Here I am,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;just
+behind you.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;You are, are you?&nbsp; Take that.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+I know not what he did, but probably pricking his horse with the spur
+the animal kicked out violently; one of his heels struck me on the shoulder,
+but luckily missed my face; I fell back with the violence of the blow,
+whilst the fellow scampered off at a great rate.&nbsp; Stopping at some
+distance, he loaded me with abuse, and then, continuing his way at a
+rapid trot, I heard no more of him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What a difference!&rsquo; said I, getting up; &lsquo;last
+night I was f&ecirc;ted in the hall of a rich genius, and to-night I
+am knocked down and mired in a dark lane by the heel of Master Wise&rsquo;s
+horse&mdash;I wonder who gave him that name?&nbsp; And yet he was wise
+enough to wreak his revenge upon me, and I was not wise enough to keep
+out of his way.&nbsp; Well, I am not much hurt, so it is of little consequence.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I now bethought me that, as I had a carriage of my own, I might as
+well make use of it; I therefore got into the cart, and, taking the
+reins in my hand, gave an encouraging cry to the pony, whereupon the
+sturdy little animal started again at as brisk a pace as if he had not
+already come many a long mile.&nbsp; I lay half reclining in the cart,
+holding the reins lazily, and allowing the animal to go just where he
+pleased, often wondering where he would conduct me.&nbsp; At length
+I felt drowsy, and my head sank upon my breast; I soon aroused myself,
+but it was only to doze again; this occurred several times.&nbsp; Opening
+my eyes after a doze somewhat longer than the others, I found that the
+drizzling rain had ceased, a corner of the moon was apparent in the
+heavens, casting a faint light; I looked around for a moment or two,
+but my eyes and brain were heavy with slumber, and I could scarcely
+distinguish where we were.&nbsp; I had a kind of dim consciousness that
+we were traversing an uninclosed country&mdash;perhaps a heath; I thought,
+however, that I saw certain large black objects looming in the distance,
+which I had a confused idea might be woods or plantations; the pony
+still moved at his usual pace.&nbsp; I did not find the jolting of the
+cart at all disagreeable, on the contrary, it had quite a somniferous
+effect upon me.&nbsp; Again my eyes closed; I opened them once more,
+but with less perception in them than before, looked forward, and, muttering
+something about woodlands, I placed myself in an easier posture than
+I had hitherto done, and fairly fell asleep.</p>
+<p>How long I continued in that state I am unable to say, but I believe
+for a considerable time; I was suddenly awakened by the ceasing of the
+jolting to which I had become accustomed, and of which I was perfectly
+sensible in my sleep.&nbsp; I started up and looked around me, the moon
+was still shining, and the face of the heaven was studded with stars;
+I found myself amidst a maze of bushes of various kinds, but principally
+hazel and holly, through which was a path or driftway with grass growing
+on either side, upon which the pony was already diligently browsing.&nbsp;
+I conjectured that this place had been one of the haunts of his former
+master, and, on dismounting and looking about, was strengthened in that
+opinion by finding a spot under an ash tree which, from its burnt and
+blackened appearance, seemed to have been frequently used as a fireplace.&nbsp;
+I will take up my quarters here, thought I; it is an excellent spot
+for me to commence my new profession in; I was quite right to trust
+myself to the guidance of the pony.&nbsp; Unharnessing the animal without
+delay, I permitted him to browse at free will on the grass, convinced
+that he would not wander far from a place to which he was so much attached;
+I then pitched the little tent close beside the ash tree to which I
+have alluded, and conveyed two or three articles into it, and instantly
+felt that I had commenced housekeeping for the first time in my life.&nbsp;
+Housekeeping, however, without a fire is a very sorry affair, something
+like the housekeeping of children in their toy houses; of this I was
+the more sensible from feeling very cold and shivering, owing to my
+late exposure to the rain, and sleeping in the night air.&nbsp; Collecting,
+therefore, all the dry sticks and furze I could find, I placed them
+upon the fireplace, adding certain chips and a billet which I found
+in the cart, it having apparently been the habit of Slingsby to carry
+with him a small store of fuel.&nbsp; Having then struck a spark in
+a tinder-box and lighted a match, I set fire to the combustible heap,
+and was not slow in raising a cheerful blaze; I then drew my cart near
+the fire, and, seating myself on one of the shafts, hung over the warmth
+with feelings of intense pleasure and satisfaction.&nbsp; Having continued
+in this posture for a considerable time, I turned my eyes to the heaven
+in the direction of a particular star; I, however, could not find the
+star, nor indeed many of the starry train, the greater number having
+fled, from which circumstance, and from the appearance of the sky, I
+concluded that morning was nigh.&nbsp; About this time I again began
+to feel drowsy; I therefore arose, and having prepared for myself a
+kind of couch in the tent, I flung myself upon it and went to sleep.</p>
+<p>I will not say that I was awakened in the morning by the carolling
+of birds, as I perhaps might if I were writing a novel; I awoke because,
+to use vulgar language, I had slept my sleep out, not because the birds
+were carolling around me in numbers, as they had probably been for hours
+without my hearing them.&nbsp; I got up and left my tent; the morning
+was yet more bright than that of the preceding day.&nbsp; Impelled by
+curiosity, I walked about endeavouring to ascertain to what place chance,
+or rather the pony, had brought me; following the driftway for some
+time, amidst bushes and stunted trees, I came to a grove of dark pines,
+through which it appeared to lead; I tracked it a few hundred yards,
+but seeing nothing but trees, and the way being wet and sloughy, owing
+to the recent rain, I returned on my steps, and, pursuing the path in
+another direction, came to a sandy road leading over a common, doubtless
+the one I had traversed the preceding night.&nbsp; My curiosity satisfied,
+I returned to my little encampment, and on the way beheld a small footpath
+on the left winding through the bushes, which had before escaped my
+observation.&nbsp; Having reached my tent and cart, I breakfasted on
+some of the provisions which I had procured the day before, and then
+proceeded to take a regular account of the stock formerly possessed
+by Slingsby the tinker, but now become my own by right of lawful purchase.</p>
+<p>Besides the pony, the cart, and the tent, I found I was possessed
+of a mattress stuffed with straw on which to lie, and a blanket to cover
+me, the last quite clean and nearly new; then there was a frying-pan
+and a kettle, the first for cooking any food which required cooking,
+and the second for heating any water which I might wish to heat.&nbsp;
+I likewise found an earthen teapot and two or three cups; of the first
+I should rather say I found the remains, it being broken in three parts,
+no doubt since it came into my possession, which would have precluded
+the possibility of my asking anybody to tea for the present, should
+anybody visit me, even supposing I had tea and sugar, which was not
+the case.&nbsp; I then overhauled what might more strictly be called
+the stock in trade; this consisted of various tools, an iron ladle,
+a chafing-pan and small bellows, sundry pans and kettles, the latter
+being of tin, with the exception of one which was of copper, all in
+a state of considerable dilapidation&mdash;if I may use the term; of
+these first Slingsby had spoken in particular, advising me to mend them
+as soon as possible, and to endeavour to sell them, in order that I
+might have the satisfaction of receiving some return upon the outlay
+which I had made.&nbsp; There was likewise a small quantity of block
+tin, sheet tin, and solder.&nbsp; &lsquo;This Slingsby,&rsquo; said
+I, &lsquo;is certainly a very honest man, he has sold me more than my
+money&rsquo;s worth; I believe, however, there is something more in
+the cart.&rsquo;&nbsp; Thereupon I rummaged the farther end of the cart,
+and, amidst a quantity of straw, I found a small anvil and bellows of
+that kind which are used in forges, and two hammers such as smiths use,
+one great, and the other small.</p>
+<p>The sight of these last articles caused me no little surprise, as
+no word which had escaped from the mouth of Slingsby had given me reason
+to suppose that he had ever followed the occupation of a smith; yet,
+if he had not, how did he come by them?&nbsp; I sat down upon the shaft,
+and pondered the question deliberately in my mind; at length I concluded
+that he had come by them by one of those numerous casualties which occur
+upon the roads, of which I, being a young hand upon the roads, must
+have a very imperfect conception; honestly, of course&mdash;for I scouted
+the idea that Slingsby would have stolen this blacksmith&rsquo;s gear&mdash;for
+I had the highest opinion of his honesty, which opinion I still retain
+at the present day, which is upwards of twenty years from the time of
+which I am speaking, during the whole of which period I have neither
+seen the poor fellow nor received any intelligence of him.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXX</h2>
+<p>New profession&mdash;Beautiful night&mdash;Jupiter&mdash;Sharp and
+shrill&mdash;The Rommany chi&mdash;All alone&mdash;Three-and-sixpence&mdash;What
+is Rommany?&nbsp; Be civil&mdash;Parraco tute&mdash;Slight start&mdash;She
+will be grateful&mdash;The rustling.</p>
+<p>I passed the greater part of the day in endeavouring to teach myself
+the mysteries of my new profession.&nbsp; I cannot say that I was very
+successful, but the time passed agreeably, and was therefore not ill
+spent.&nbsp; Towards evening I flung my work aside, took some refreshment,
+and afterwards a walk.</p>
+<p>This time I turned up the small footpath of which I have already
+spoken.&nbsp; It led in a zigzag manner through thickets of hazel, elder,
+and sweet-brier; after following its windings for somewhat better than
+a furlong, I heard a gentle sound of water, and presently came to a
+small rill, which ran directly across the path.&nbsp; I was rejoiced
+at the sight, for I had already experienced the want of water, which
+I yet knew must be nigh at hand, as I was in a place to all appearance
+occasionally frequented by wandering people, who I was aware never take
+up their quarters in places where water is difficult to be obtained.&nbsp;
+Forthwith I stretched myself on the ground, and took a long and delicious
+draught of the crystal stream, and then, seating myself in a bush, I
+continued for some time gazing on the water as it purled tinkling away
+in its channel through an opening in the hazels, and should have probably
+continued much longer had not the thought that I had left my property
+unprotected compelled me to rise and return to my encampment.</p>
+<p>Night came on, and a beautiful night it was; up rose the moon, and
+innumerable stars decked the firmament of heaven.&nbsp; I sat on the
+shaft, my eyes turned upwards.&nbsp; I had found it: there it was twinkling
+millions of miles above me, mightiest star of the system to which we
+belong: of all stars the one which has most interest for me&mdash;the
+star Jupiter.</p>
+<p>Why have I always taken an interest in thee, O Jupiter?&nbsp; I know
+nothing about thee, save what every child knows, that thou art a big
+star, whose only light is derived from moons.&nbsp; And is not that
+knowledge enough to make me feel an interest in thee?&nbsp; Ay, truly;
+I never look at thee without wondering what is going on in thee; what
+is life in Jupiter?&nbsp; That there is life in Jupiter who can doubt?&nbsp;
+There is life in our own little star, therefore there must be life in
+Jupiter, which is not a little star.&nbsp; But how different must life
+be in Jupiter from what it is in our own little star!&nbsp; Life here
+is life beneath the dear sun&mdash;life in Jupiter is life beneath moons&mdash;four
+moons&mdash;no single moon is able to illumine that vast bulk.&nbsp;
+All know what life is in our own little star; it is anything but a routine
+of happiness here, where the dear sun rises to us every day: then how
+sad and moping must life be in mighty Jupiter, on which no sun ever
+shines, and which is never lighted save by pale moonbeams!&nbsp; The
+thought that there is more sadness and melancholy in Jupiter than in
+this world of ours, where, alas! there is but too much, has always made
+me take a melancholy interest in that huge distant star.</p>
+<p>Two or three days passed by in much the same manner as the first.&nbsp;
+During the morning I worked upon my kettles, and employed the remaining
+part of the day as I best could.&nbsp; The whole of this time I only
+saw two individuals, rustics, who passed by my encampment without vouchsafing
+me a glance; they probably considered themselves my superiors, as perhaps
+they were.</p>
+<p>One very brilliant morning, as I sat at work in very good spirits,
+for by this time I had actually mended in a very creditable way, as
+I imagined, two kettles and a frying-pan, I heard a voice which seemed
+to proceed from the path leading to the rivulet; at first it sounded
+from a considerable distance, but drew nearer by degrees.&nbsp; I soon
+remarked that the tones were exceedingly sharp and shrill, with yet
+something of childhood in them.&nbsp; Once or twice I distinguished
+certain words in the song which the voice was singing; the words were&mdash;but
+no, I thought again I was probably mistaken&mdash;and then the voice
+ceased for a time; presently I heard it again, close to the entrance
+of the footpath; in another moment I heard it in the lane or glade in
+which stood my tent, where it abruptly stopped, but not before I had
+heard the very words which I at first thought I had distinguished.</p>
+<p>I turned my head; at the entrance of the footpath, which might be
+about thirty yards from the place where I was sitting, I perceived the
+figure of a young girl; her face was turned towards me, and she appeared
+to be scanning me and my encampment; after a little time she looked
+in the other direction, only for a moment, however; probably observing
+nothing in that quarter, she again looked towards me, and almost immediately
+stepped forward; and, as she advanced, sang the song which I had heard
+in the wood, the first words of which were those which I have already
+alluded to.</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;The Rommany chi<br />
+And the Rommany chal<br />
+Shall jaw tasaulor<br />
+To drab the bawlor,<br />
+And dook the gry<br />
+Of the farming rye.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page393b.jpg">
+<img alt="&lsquo;The Rommany chi.&rsquo;" src="images/page393s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>A very pretty song, thought I, falling again hard to work upon my
+kettle; a very pretty song, which bodes the farmers much good.&nbsp;
+Let them look to their cattle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;All alone here, brother?&rsquo; said a voice close by me,
+in sharp but not disagreeable tones.</p>
+<p>I made no answer, but continued my work, click, click, with the gravity
+which became one of my profession.&nbsp; I allowed at least half a minute
+to elapse before I even lifted up my eyes.</p>
+<p>A girl of about thirteen was standing before me; her features were
+very pretty, but with a peculiar expression; her complexion was a clear
+olive, and her jet black hair hung back upon her shoulders.&nbsp; She
+was rather scantily dressed, and her arms and feet were bare; round
+her neck, however, was a handsome string of corals, with ornaments of
+gold; in her hand she held a bulrush.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;All alone here, brother?&rsquo; said the girl, as I looked
+up; &lsquo;all alone here, in the lane; where are your wife and children?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why do you call me brother?&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;I am no brother
+of yours.&nbsp; Do you take me for one of your people?&nbsp; I am no
+gypsy; not I, indeed!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t be afraid, brother, you are no Roman&mdash;Roman
+indeed, you are not handsome enough to be a Roman; not black enough,
+tinker though you be.&nbsp; If I called you brother, it was because
+I didn&rsquo;t know what else to call you.&nbsp; Marry, come up, brother,
+I should be sorry to have you for a brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you don&rsquo;t like me?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Neither like you nor dislike you, brother; what will you have
+for that kekaubi?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What&rsquo;s the use of talking to me in that unchristian
+way; what do you mean, young gentlewoman?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Lord, brother, what a fool you are; every tinker knows what
+a kekaubi is.&nbsp; I was asking you what you would have for that kettle.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Three-and-sixpence, young gentlewoman; isn&rsquo;t it well
+mended?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well mended!&nbsp; I could have done it better myself; three-and-sixpence!
+it&rsquo;s only fit to be played at football with.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will take no less for it, young gentlewoman; it has caused
+me a world of trouble.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I never saw a worse mended kettle.&nbsp; I say, brother, your
+hair is white.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&rsquo;Tis nature; your hair is black; nature, nothing but
+nature.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am young, brother; my hair is black&mdash;that&rsquo;s nature:
+you are young, brother; your hair is white&mdash;that&rsquo;s not nature.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I can&rsquo;t help it if it be not, but it is nature after
+all; did you never see gray hair on the young?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Never!&nbsp; I have heard it is true of a gray lad, and a
+bad one he was.&nbsp; Oh, so bad.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sit down on the grass, and tell me all about it, sister; do,
+to oblige me, pretty sister.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Hey, brother, you don&rsquo;t speak as you did&mdash;you don&rsquo;t
+speak like a gorgio, you speak like one of us, you call me sister.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As you call me brother; I am not an uncivil person after all,
+sister.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I say, brother, tell me one thing, and look me in the face&mdash;there&mdash;do
+you speak Rommany?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Rommany!&nbsp; Rommany! what is Rommany?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is Rommany? our language to be sure; tell me, brother,
+only one thing, you don&rsquo;t speak Rommany?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You say it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t say it, I wish to know.&nbsp; Do you speak Rommany?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you mean thieves&rsquo; slang&mdash;cant? no, I don&rsquo;t
+speak cant, don&rsquo;t like it, I only know a few words; they call
+a sixpence a tanner, don&rsquo;t they?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know,&rsquo; said the girl, sitting down on
+the ground, &lsquo;I was almost thinking&mdash;well, never mind, you
+don&rsquo;t know Rommany.&nbsp; I say, brother, I think I should like
+to have the kekaubi.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I thought you said it was badly mended?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, yes, brother, but&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I thought you said it was only fit to be played at football
+with?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, yes, brother, but&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What will you give for it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Brother, I am the poor person&rsquo;s child, I will give you
+sixpence for the kekaubi.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Poor person&rsquo;s child; how came you by that necklace?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Be civil, brother; am I to have the kekaubi?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not for sixpence; isn&rsquo;t the kettle nicely mended?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I never saw a nicer mended kettle, brother; am I to have the
+kekaubi, brother?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You like me then?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t dislike you&mdash;I dislike no one; there&rsquo;s
+only one, and him I don&rsquo;t dislike, him I hate.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who is he?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I scarcely know, I never saw him, but &rsquo;tis no affair
+of yours, you don&rsquo;t speak Rommany; you will let me have the kekaubi,
+pretty brother?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You may have it, but not for sixpence; I&rsquo;ll give it
+to you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Parraco tute, that is, I thank you, brother; the rikkeni kekaubi
+is now mine.&nbsp; O, rare!&nbsp; I thank you kindly, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Starting up, she flung the bulrush aside which she had hitherto held
+in her hand, and, seizing the kettle, she looked at it for a moment,
+and then began a kind of dance, flourishing the kettle over her head
+the while, and singing&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;The Rommany chi<br />
+And the Rommany chal<br />
+Shall jaw tasaulor<br />
+To drab the bawlor,<br />
+And dook the gry<br />
+Of the farming rye.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>Good-bye, brother, I must be going.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Good-bye, sister; why do you sing that wicked song?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Wicked song, hey, brother! you don&rsquo;t understand the
+song!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ha, ha! gypsy daughter,&rsquo; said I, starting up and clapping
+my hands, &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t understand Rommany, don&rsquo;t I?&nbsp;
+You shall see; here&rsquo;s the answer to your gillie&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;The Rommany chi<br />
+And the Rommany chal,<br />
+Love Luripen<br />
+And dukkeripen,<br />
+And hokkeripen,<br />
+And every pen<br />
+But Lachipen<br />
+And tatchipen.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>The girl, who had given a slight start when I began, remained for
+some time after I had concluded the song standing motionless as a statue,
+with the kettle in her hand.&nbsp; At length she came towards me, and
+stared me full in the face.&nbsp; &lsquo;Gray, tall, and talks Rommany,&rsquo;
+said she to herself.&nbsp; In her countenance there was an expression
+which I had not seen before&mdash;an expression which struck me as being
+composed of fear, curiosity, and the deepest hate.&nbsp; It was momentary,
+however, and was succeeded by one smiling, frank, and open.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ha,
+ha, brother,&rsquo; said she, &lsquo;well, I like you all the better
+for talking Rommany; it is a sweet language, isn&rsquo;t it? especially
+as you sing it.&nbsp; How did you pick it up?&nbsp; But you picked it
+up upon the roads, no doubt?&nbsp; Ha, it was funny in you to pretend
+not to know it, and you so flush with it all the time; it was not kind
+in you, however, to frighten the poor person&rsquo;s child so by screaming
+out, but it was kind in you to give the rikkeni kekaubi to the child
+of the poor person.&nbsp; She will be grateful to you; she will bring
+you her little dog to show you, her pretty juggal; the poor person&rsquo;s
+child will come and see you again; you are not going away to-day, I
+hope, or to-morrow, pretty brother, gray-haired brother&mdash;you are
+not going away to-morrow, I hope?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nor the next day,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;only to take a stroll
+to see if I can sell a kettle; good-bye, little sister, Rommany sister,
+dingy sister.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Good-bye, tall brother,&rsquo; said the girl, as she departed,
+singing</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;The Rommany chi,&rsquo; etc.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&lsquo;There&rsquo;s something about that girl that I don&rsquo;t
+understand,&rsquo; said I to myself; &lsquo;something mysterious.&nbsp;
+However, it is nothing to me, she knows not who I am, and if she did,
+what then?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Late that evening as I sat on the shaft of my cart in deep meditation,
+with my arms folded, I thought I heard a rustling in the bushes over
+against me.&nbsp; I turned my eyes in that direction, but saw nothing.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Some bird,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;an owl, perhaps&rsquo;; and
+once more I fell into meditation; my mind wandered from one thing to
+another&mdash;musing now on the structure of the Roman tongue&mdash;now
+on the rise and fall of the Persian power&mdash;and now on the powers
+vested in recorders at quarter-sessions.&nbsp; I was thinking what a
+fine thing it must be to be a recorder of the peace, when, lifting up
+my eyes, I saw right opposite, not a culprit at the bar, but, staring
+at me through a gap in the bush, a face wild and strange, half covered
+with gray hair; I only saw it a moment, the next it had disappeared.</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page396b.jpg">
+<img alt="I saw, staring at me through a gap in the bush, a face wild and strange, half covered with gray hair" src="images/page396s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXXI</h2>
+<p>Friend of Slingsby&mdash;All quiet&mdash;Danger&mdash;The two cakes&mdash;Children
+in the wood&mdash;Don&rsquo;t be angry&mdash;In deep thought&mdash;Temples
+throbbing&mdash;Deadly sick&mdash;Another blow&mdash;No answer&mdash;How
+old are you?&mdash;Play and sacrament&mdash;Heavy heart&mdash;Song of
+poison&mdash;Drow of gypsies&mdash;The dog&mdash;Ely&rsquo;s church&mdash;Get
+up, bebee&mdash;The vehicle&mdash;Can you speak?&mdash;The oil.</p>
+<p>The next day, at an early hour, I harnessed my little pony, and,
+putting my things in my cart, I went on my projected stroll.&nbsp; Crossing
+the moor, I arrived in about an hour at a small village, from which,
+after a short stay, I proceeded to another, and from thence to a third.&nbsp;
+I found that the name of Slingsby was well known in these parts.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If you are a friend of Slingsby you must be an honest lad,&rsquo;
+said an ancient crone; &lsquo;you shall never want for work whilst I
+can give it you.&nbsp; Here, take my kettle, the bottom came out this
+morning, and lend me that of yours till you bring it back.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m
+not afraid to trust you&mdash;not I.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t hurry yourself,
+young man, if you don&rsquo;t come back for a fortnight I shan&rsquo;t
+have the worse opinion of you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I returned to my quarters at evening, tired, but rejoiced at heart;
+I had work before me for several days, having collected various kekaubies
+which required mending, in place of those which I left behind&mdash;those
+which I had been employed upon during the last few days.&nbsp; I found
+all quiet in the lane or glade, and, unharnessing my little horse, I
+once more pitched my tent in the old spot beneath the ash, lighted my
+fire, ate my frugal meal, and then, after looking for some time at the
+heavenly bodies, and more particularly at the star Jupiter, I entered
+my tent, lay down upon my pallet, and went to sleep.</p>
+<p>Nothing occurred on the following day which requires any particular
+notice, nor indeed on the one succeeding that.&nbsp; It was about noon
+on the third day that I sat beneath the shade of the ash tree; I was
+not at work, for the weather was particularly hot, and I felt but little
+inclination to make any exertion.&nbsp; Leaning my back against the
+tree, I was not long in falling into a slumber; I particularly remember
+that slumber of mine beneath the ash tree, for it was about the sweetest
+slumber that I ever enjoyed; how long I continued in it I do not know;
+I could almost have wished that it had lasted to the present time.&nbsp;
+All of a sudden it appeared to me that a voice cried in my ear, &lsquo;Danger!
+danger! danger!&rsquo;&nbsp; Nothing seemingly could be more distinct
+than the words which I heard; then an uneasy sensation came over me,
+which I strove to get rid of, and at last succeeded, for I awoke.&nbsp;
+The gypsy girl was standing just opposite to me, with her eyes fixed
+upon my countenance; a singular kind of little dog stood beside her.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ha!&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;was it you that cried danger?&nbsp;
+What danger is there?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Danger, brother, there is no danger; what danger should there
+be?&nbsp; I called to my little dog, but that was in the wood; my little
+dog&rsquo;s name is not danger, but Stranger; what danger should there
+be, brother?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What, indeed, except in sleeping beneath a tree; what is that
+you have got in your hand?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Something for you,&rsquo; said the girl, sitting down and
+proceeding to untie a white napkin; &lsquo;a pretty manricli, so sweet,
+so nice; when I went home to my people I told my grandbebee how kind
+you had been to the poor person&rsquo;s child, and when my grandbebee
+saw the kekaubi, she said, &ldquo;Hir mi devlis, it won&rsquo;t do for
+the poor people to be ungrateful; by my God, I will bake a cake for
+the young harko mescro.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But there are two cakes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, brother, two cakes, both for you; my grandbebee meant
+them both for you&mdash;but list, brother, I will have one of them for
+bringing them.&nbsp; I know you will give me one, pretty brother, gray-haired
+brother&mdash;which shall I have, brother?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>In the napkin were two round cakes, seemingly made of rich and costly
+compounds, and precisely similar in form, each weighing about half a
+pound.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Which shall I have, brother?&rsquo; said the gypsy girl.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Whichever you please.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, brother, no, the cakes are yours, not mine.&nbsp; It is
+for you to say.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, then, give me the one nearest you, and take the other.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, brother, yes,&rsquo; said the girl; and taking the cakes,
+she flung them into the air two or three times, catching them as they
+fell, and singing the while.&nbsp; &lsquo;Pretty brother, gray-haired
+brother&mdash;here, brother,&rsquo; said she, &lsquo;here is your cake,
+this other is mine.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are you sure,&rsquo; said I, taking the cake, &lsquo;that
+this is the one I chose?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Quite sure, brother; but if you like you can have mine; there&rsquo;s
+no difference, however&mdash;shall I eat?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, sister, eat.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;See, brother, I do; now, brother, eat, pretty brother, gray-haired
+brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am not hungry.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not hungry! well, what then&mdash;what has being hungry to
+do with the matter?&nbsp; It is my grandbebee&rsquo;s cake which was
+sent because you were kind to the poor person&rsquo;s child; eat, brother,
+eat, and we shall be like the children in the wood that the gorgios
+speak of.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The children in the wood had nothing to eat.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, they had hips and haws; we have better.&nbsp; Eat, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;See, sister, I do,&rsquo; and I ate a piece of the cake.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, brother, how do you like it?&rsquo; said the girl, looking
+fixedly at me.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is very rich and sweet, and yet there is something strange
+about it; I don&rsquo;t think I shall eat any more.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Fie, brother, fie, to find fault with the poor person&rsquo;s
+cake; see, I have nearly eaten mine.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That&rsquo;s a pretty little dog.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is it not, brother? that&rsquo;s my juggal, my little sister,
+as I call her.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come here, juggal,&rsquo; said I to the animal.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do you want with my juggal?&rsquo; said the girl.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Only to give her a piece of cake,&rsquo; said I, offering
+the dog a piece which I had just broken off.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do you mean?&rsquo; said the girl, snatching the dog
+away; &lsquo;my grandbebee&rsquo;s cake is not for dogs.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, I just now saw you give the animal a piece of yours.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You lie, brother, you saw no such thing; but I see how it
+is, you wish to affront the poor person&rsquo;s child.&nbsp; I shall
+go to my house.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Keep still, and don&rsquo;t be angry; see, I have eaten the
+piece which I offered the dog.&nbsp; I meant no offence.&nbsp; It is
+a sweet cake after all.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Isn&rsquo;t it, brother?&nbsp; I am glad you like it.&nbsp;
+Offence, brother, no offence at all!&nbsp; I am so glad you like my
+grandbebee&rsquo;s cake, but she will be wanting me at home.&nbsp; Eat
+one piece more of grandbebee&rsquo;s cake, and I will go.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am not hungry, I will put the rest by.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One piece more before I go, handsome brother, gray-haired
+brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will not eat any more, I have already eaten more than I
+wished to oblige you; if you must go, good-day to you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The girl rose upon her feet, looked hard at me, then at the remainder
+of the cake which I held in my hand, and then at me again, and then
+stood for a moment or two, as if in deep thought; presently an air of
+satisfaction came over her countenance, she smiled and said, &lsquo;Well,
+brother, well, do as you please, I merely wished you to eat because
+you have been so kind to the poor person&rsquo;s child.&nbsp; She loves
+you so, that she could have wished to have seen you eat it all; good-bye,
+brother, I daresay when I am gone you will eat some more of it, and
+if you don&rsquo;t, I daresay you have eaten enough to&mdash;to&mdash;show
+your love for us.&nbsp; After all it was a poor person&rsquo;s cake,
+a Rommany manricli, and all you gorgios are somewhat gorgious.&nbsp;
+Farewell, brother, pretty brother, gray-haired brother.&nbsp; Come,
+juggal.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I remained under the ash tree seated on the grass for a minute or
+two, and endeavoured to resume the occupation in which I had been engaged
+before I fell asleep, but I felt no inclination for labour.&nbsp; I
+then thought I would sleep again, and once more reclined against the
+tree, and slumbered for some little time, but my sleep was more agitated
+than before.&nbsp; Something appeared to bear heavy on my breast, I
+struggled in my sleep, fell on the grass, and awoke; my temples were
+throbbing, there was a burning in my eyes, and my mouth felt parched;
+the oppression about the chest which I had felt in my sleep still continued.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I must shake off these feelings,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;and get
+upon my legs.&rsquo;&nbsp; I walked rapidly up and down upon the green
+sward; at length, feeling my thirst increase, I directed my steps down
+the narrow path to the spring which ran amidst the bushes; arriving
+there, I knelt down and drank of the water, but on lifting up my head
+I felt thirstier than before; again I drank, but with the like result;
+I was about to drink for the third time, when I felt a dreadful qualm
+which instantly robbed me of nearly all my strength.&nbsp; What can
+be the matter with me? thought I; but I suppose I have made myself ill
+by drinking cold water.&nbsp; I got up and made the best of my way back
+to my tent; before I reached it the qualm had seized me again, and I
+was deadly sick.&nbsp; I flung myself on my pallet, qualm succeeded
+qualm, but in the intervals my mouth was dry and burning, and I felt
+a frantic desire to drink, but no water was at hand, and to reach the
+spring once more was impossible; the qualms continued, deadly pains
+shot through my whole frame; I could bear my agonies no longer, and
+I fell into a trance or swoon.&nbsp; How long I continued therein I
+know not; on recovering, however, I felt somewhat better, and attempted
+to lift my head off my couch; the next moment, however, the qualms and
+pains returned, if possible, with greater violence than before.&nbsp;
+I am dying, thought I, like a dog, without any help; and then methought
+I heard a sound at a distance like people singing, and then once more
+I relapsed into my swoon.</p>
+<p>I revived just as a heavy blow sounded upon the canvas of the tent.&nbsp;
+I started, but my condition did not permit me to rise; again the same
+kind of blow sounded upon the canvas; I thought for a moment of crying
+out and requesting assistance, but an inexplicable something chained
+my tongue, and now I heard a whisper on the outside of the tent.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;He does not move, bebee,&rsquo; said a voice which I knew.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I should not wonder if it has done for him already; however,
+strike again with your ran&rsquo;; and then there was another blow,
+after which another voice cried aloud in a strange tone, &lsquo;Is the
+gentleman of the house asleep, or is he taking his dinner?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+I remained quite silent and motionless, and in another moment the voice
+continued, &lsquo;What, no answer? what can the gentleman of the house
+be about that he makes no answer? perhaps the gentleman of the house
+may be darning his stockings?&rsquo;&nbsp; Thereupon a face peered into
+the door of the tent, at the farther extremity of which I was stretched.&nbsp;
+It was that of a woman, but owing to the posture in which she stood,
+with her back to the light, and partly owing to a large straw bonnet,
+I could distinguish but very little of the features of her countenance.&nbsp;
+I had, however, recognised her voice; it was that of my old acquaintance,
+Mrs. Herne.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ho, ho, sir!&rsquo; said she, &lsquo;here you
+are.&nbsp; Come here, Leonora,&rsquo; said she to the gypsy girl, who
+pressed in at the other side of the door; &lsquo;here is the gentleman,
+not asleep, but only stretched out after dinner.&nbsp; Sit down on your
+ham, child, at the door, I shall do the same.&nbsp; There&mdash;you
+have seen me before, sir, have you not?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The gentleman makes no answer, bebee; perhaps he does not
+know you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have known him of old, Leonora,&rsquo; said Mrs. Herne;
+&lsquo;and, to tell you the truth, though I spoke to him just now, I
+expected no answer.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It&rsquo;s a way he has, bebee, I suppose?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, child, it&rsquo;s a way he has.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Take off your bonnet, bebee, perhaps he cannot see your face.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not think that will be of much use, child; however, I
+will take off my bonnet&mdash;there&mdash;and shake out my hair&mdash;there&mdash;you
+have seen this hair before, sir, and this face&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No answer, bebee.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Though the one was not quite so gray, nor the other so wrinkled.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How came they so, bebee?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;All along of this gorgio, child.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The gentleman in the house, you mean, bebee?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, child, the gentleman in the house.&nbsp; God grant that
+I may preserve my temper.&nbsp; Do you know, sir, my name?&nbsp; My
+name is Herne, which signifies a hairy individual, though neither gray-haired
+nor wrinkled.&nbsp; It is not the nature of the Hernes to be gray or
+wrinkled, even when they are old, and I am not old.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How old are you, bebee?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sixty-five years, child&mdash;an inconsiderable number.&nbsp;
+My mother was a hundred and one&mdash;a considerable age&mdash;when
+she died, yet she had not one gray hair, and not more than six wrinkles&mdash;an
+inconsiderable number.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;She had no griefs, bebee?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Plenty, child, but not like mine.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not quite so hard to bear, bebee?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, child; my head wanders when I think of them.&nbsp; After
+the death of my husband, who came to his end untimeously, I went to
+live with a daughter of mine, married out among certain Romans who walk
+about the eastern counties, and with whom for some time I found a home
+and pleasant society, for they lived right Romanly, which gave my heart
+considerable satisfaction, who am a Roman born, and hope to die so.&nbsp;
+When I say right Romanly, I mean that they kept to themselves, and were
+not much given to blabbing about their private matters in promiscuous
+company.&nbsp; Well, things went on in this way for some time, when
+one day my son-in-law brings home a young gorgio of singular and outrageous
+ugliness, and, without much preamble, says to me and mine, &ldquo;This
+is my pal, ain&rsquo;t he a beauty? fall down and worship him.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Hold,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;I for one will never consent to such
+foolishness.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That was right, bebee, I think I should have done the same.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I think you would, child; but what was the profit of it?&nbsp;
+The whole party makes an almighty of this gorgio, lets him into their
+ways, says prayers of his making, till things come to such a pass that
+my own daughter says to me, &ldquo;I shall buy myself a veil and fan,
+and treat myself to a play and sacrament.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t,&rdquo;
+says I; says she, &ldquo;I should like for once in my life to be courtesied
+to as a Christian gentlewoman.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very foolish of her, bebee.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Wasn&rsquo;t it, child?&nbsp; Where was I?&nbsp; At the fan
+and sacrament; with a heavy heart I put seven score miles between us,
+came back to the hairy ones, and found them over-given to gorgious companions;
+said I, &ldquo;Foolish manners is catching; all this comes of that there
+gorgio.&rdquo;&nbsp; Answers the child Leonora, &ldquo;Take comfort,
+bebee; I hate the gorgios as much as you do.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And I say so again, bebee, as much or more.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Time flows on, I engage in many matters, in most miscarry.&nbsp;
+Am sent to prison; says I to myself, I am become foolish.&nbsp; Am turned
+out of prison, and go back to the hairy ones, who receive me not over
+courteously; says I, for their unkindness, and my own foolishness, all
+the thanks to that gorgio.&nbsp; Answers to me the child, &ldquo;I wish
+I could set eyes upon him, bebee.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I did so, bebee; go on.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&ldquo;How shall I know him, bebee?&rdquo; says the child.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Young and gray, tall, and speaks Romanly.&rdquo;&nbsp; Runs to
+me the child, and says, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve found him, bebee.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Where, child?&rdquo; says I.&nbsp; &ldquo;Come with me, bebee,&rdquo;
+says the child.&nbsp; &ldquo;That&rsquo;s he,&rdquo; says I, as I looked
+at my gentleman through the hedge.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ha, ha! bebee, and here he lies, poisoned like a hog.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have taken drows, sir,&rsquo; said Mrs. Herne; &lsquo;do
+you hear, sir? drows; tip him a stave, child, of the song of poison.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And thereupon the girl clapped her hands, and sang&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;The Rommany churl<br />
+And the Rommany girl<br />
+To-morrow shall hie<br />
+To poison the sty,<br />
+And bewitch on the mead<br />
+The farmer&rsquo;s steed.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you hear that, sir?&rsquo; said Mrs. Herne; &lsquo;the
+child has tipped you a stave of the song of poison: that is, she has
+sung it Christianly, though perhaps you would like to hear it Romanly;
+you were always fond of what was Roman.&nbsp; Tip it him Romanly, child.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He has heard it Romanly already, bebee; &rsquo;twas by that
+I found him out, as I told you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Halloo, sir, are you sleeping? you have taken drows; the gentleman
+makes no answer.&nbsp; God give me patience!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what if he doesn&rsquo;t, bebee; isn&rsquo;t he poisoned
+like a hog?&nbsp; Gentleman, indeed! why call him gentleman? if he ever
+was one he&rsquo;s broke, and is now a tinker, a worker of blue metal.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That&rsquo;s his way, child, to-day a tinker, to-morrow something
+else; and as for being drabbed, I don&rsquo;t know what to say about
+it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not drabbed! what do you mean, bebee? but look there, bebee;
+ha, ha, look at the gentleman&rsquo;s motions.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He is sick, child, sure enough.&nbsp; Ho, ho! sir, you have
+taken drows; what, another throe! writhe, sir, writhe; the hog died
+by the drow of gypsies; I saw him stretched at evening.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s
+yourself, sir.&nbsp; There is no hope, sir, no help, you have taken
+drow; shall I tell you your fortune, sir, your dukkerin?&nbsp; God bless
+you, pretty gentleman, much trouble will you have to suffer, and much
+water to cross; but never mind, pretty gentleman, you shall be fortunate
+at the end, and those who hate shall take off their hats to you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Hey, bebee!&rsquo; cried the girl; &lsquo;what is this? what
+do you mean? you have blessed the gorgio!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Blessed him! no, sure; what did I say?&nbsp; Oh, I remember,
+I&rsquo;m mad; well, I can&rsquo;t help it, I said what the dukkerin
+dook told me; woe&rsquo;s me, he&rsquo;ll get up yet.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nonsense, bebee!&nbsp; Look at his motions, he&rsquo;s drabbed,
+spite of dukkerin.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t say so, child; he&rsquo;s sick, &rsquo;tis true,
+but don&rsquo;t laugh at dukkerin, only folks do that that know no better.&nbsp;
+I, for one, will never laugh at the dukkerin dook.&nbsp; Sick again;
+I wish he was gone.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He&rsquo;ll soon be gone, bebee; let&rsquo;s leave him.&nbsp;
+He&rsquo;s as good as gone; look there, he&rsquo;s dead.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, he&rsquo;s not, he&rsquo;ll get up&mdash;I feel it; can&rsquo;t
+we hasten him?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Hasten him! yes, to be sure; set the dog upon him.&nbsp; Here,
+juggal, look in there, my dog.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The dog made its appearance at the door of the tent, and began to
+bark and tear up the ground.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;At him, juggal, at him; he wished to poison, to drab you.&nbsp;
+Halloo!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The dog barked violently, and seemed about to spring at my face,
+but retreated.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The dog won&rsquo;t fly at him, child; he flashed at the dog
+with his eye, and scared him.&nbsp; He&rsquo;ll get up.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nonsense, bebee! you make me angry; how should he get up?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The dook tells me so, and, what&rsquo;s more, I had a dream.&nbsp;
+I thought I was at York, standing amidst a crowd to see a man hung,
+and the crowd shouted, &ldquo;There he comes!&rdquo; and I looked, and,
+lo! it was the tinker; before I could cry with joy I was whisked away,
+and I found myself in Ely&rsquo;s big church, which was chock full of
+people to hear the dean preach, and all eyes were turned to the big
+pulpit; and presently I heard them say, &ldquo;There he mounts!&rdquo;
+and I looked up to the big pulpit, and, lo! the tinker was in the pulpit,
+and he raised his arm and began to preach.&nbsp; Anon, I found myself
+at York again, just as the drop fell, and I looked up, and I saw not
+the tinker, but my own self hanging in the air.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are going mad, bebee; if you want to hasten him, take
+your stick and poke him in the eye.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That will be of no use, child, the dukkerin tells me so; but
+I will try what I can do.&nbsp; Halloo, tinker! you must introduce yourself
+into a quiet family, and raise confusion&mdash;must you?&nbsp; You must
+steal its language, and, what was never done before, write it down Christianly&mdash;must
+you?&nbsp; Take that&mdash;and that&rsquo;; and she stabbed violently
+with her stick towards the end of the tent.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That&rsquo;s right, bebee, you struck his face; now once more,
+and let it be in the eye.&nbsp; Stay, what&rsquo;s that? get up, bebee.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What&rsquo;s the matter, child?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Some one is coming, come away.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Let me make sure of him, child; he&rsquo;ll be up yet.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+And thereupon Mrs. Herne, rising, leaned forward into the tent, and,
+supporting herself against the pole, took aim in the direction of the
+farther end.&nbsp; &lsquo;I will thrust out his eye,&rsquo; said she;
+and, lunging with her stick, she would probably have accomplished her
+purpose had not at that moment the pole of the tent given way, whereupon
+she fell to the ground, the canvas falling upon her and her intended
+victim.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Here&rsquo;s a pretty affair, bebee,&rsquo; screamed the girl.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He&rsquo;ll get up, yet,&rsquo; said Mrs. Herne, from beneath
+the canvas.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Get up!&mdash;get up yourself; where are you? where is your&mdash;Here,
+there, bebee, here&rsquo;s the door; there, make haste, they are coming.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He&rsquo;ll get up yet,&rsquo; said Mrs. Herne, recovering
+her breath; &lsquo;the dock tells me so.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Never mind him or the dook; he is drabbed; come away, or we
+shall be grabbed&mdash;both of us.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One more blow, I know where his head lies.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are mad, bebee; leave the fellow&mdash;gorgio avella.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And thereupon the females hurried away.</p>
+<p>A vehicle of some kind was evidently drawing nigh; in a little time
+it came alongside of the place where lay the fallen tent, and stopped
+suddenly.&nbsp; There was a silence for a moment, and then a parley
+ensued between two voices, one of which was that of a woman.&nbsp; It
+was not in English, but in a deep guttural tongue.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Peth yw hono sydd yn gorwedd yna ar y ddaear?&rsquo; said
+a masculine voice.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yn wirionedd&mdash;I do not know what it can be,&rsquo; said
+the female voice, in the same tongue.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Here is a cart, and there are tools; but what is that on the
+ground?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Something moves beneath it; and what was that&mdash;a groan?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Shall I get down?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of course, Peter, some one may want your help?</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then I will get down, though I do not like this place; it
+is frequented by Egyptians, and I do not like their yellow faces, nor
+their clibberty clabber, as Master Ellis Wyn says.&nbsp; Now I am down.&nbsp;
+It is a tent, Winifred, and see, here is a boy beneath it.&nbsp; Merciful
+father! what a face.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>A middle-aged man, with a strongly marked and serious countenance,
+dressed in sober-coloured habiliments, had lifted up the stifling folds
+of the tent, and was bending over me.&nbsp; &lsquo;Can you speak, my
+lad?&rsquo; said he in English; &lsquo;what is the matter with you?
+if you could but tell me, I could perhaps help you&mdash;&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;What is that you say?&nbsp; I can&rsquo;t hear you.&nbsp; I will
+kneel down&rsquo;; and he flung himself on the ground, and placed his
+ear close to my mouth.&nbsp; &lsquo;Now speak if you can.&nbsp; Hey!
+what! no, sure, God forbid!&rsquo; then starting up, he cried to a female
+who sat in the cart, anxiously looking on&mdash;&lsquo;Gwenwyn! gwenwyn!
+yw y gwas wedi ei gwenwynaw.&nbsp; The oil!&nbsp; Winifred, the oil!&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXXII</h2>
+<p>Desired effect&mdash;The three oaks&mdash;Winifred&mdash;Things of
+time&mdash;With God&rsquo;s will&mdash;The preacher&mdash;Creature comforts&mdash;Croesaw&mdash;Welsh
+and English&mdash;Mayor of Chester.</p>
+<p>The oil, which the strangers compelled me to take, produced the desired
+effect, though, during at least two hours, it was very doubtful whether
+or not my life would be saved.&nbsp; At the end of that period the man
+said that with the blessing of God he would answer for my life.&nbsp;
+He then demanded whether I thought I could bear to be removed from the
+place in which we were; &lsquo;for I like it not,&rsquo; he continued,
+&lsquo;as something within me tells me that it is not good for any of
+us to be here.&rsquo;&nbsp; I told him, as well as I was able, that
+I, too, should be glad to leave the place; whereupon, after collecting
+my things, he harnessed my pony, and, with the assistance of the woman,
+he contrived to place me in the cart; he then gave me a draught out
+of a small phial, and we set forward at a slow pace, the man walking
+by the side of the cart in which I lay.&nbsp; It is probable that the
+draught consisted of a strong opiate, for after swallowing it I fell
+into a deep slumber; on my awaking, I found that the shadows of night
+had enveloped the earth&mdash;we were still moving on.&nbsp; Shortly,
+however, after descending a declivity, we turned into a lane, at the
+entrance of which was a gate.&nbsp; This lane conducted to a meadow,
+through the middle of which ran a small brook; it stood between two
+rising grounds; that on the left, which was on the farther side of the
+water, was covered with wood, whilst the one on the right, which was
+not so high, was crowned with the white walls of what appeared to be
+a farmhouse.</p>
+<p>Advancing along the meadow, we presently came to a place where grew
+three immense oaks, almost on the side of the brook, over which they
+flung their arms, so as to shade it as with a canopy; the ground beneath
+was bare of grass, and nearly as hard and smooth as the floor of a barn.&nbsp;
+Having led his own cart on one side of the midmost tree, and my own
+on the other, the stranger said to me, &lsquo;This is the spot where
+my wife and myself generally tarry in the summer season, when we come
+into these parts.&nbsp; We are about to pass the night here.&nbsp; I
+suppose you will have no objection to do the same?&nbsp; Indeed, I do
+not see what else you could do under present circumstances.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+After receiving my answer, in which I, of course, expressed my readiness
+to assent to his proposal, he proceeded to unharness his horse, and,
+feeling myself much better, I got down, and began to make the necessary
+preparations for passing the night beneath the oak.</p>
+<p>Whilst thus engaged, I felt myself touched on the shoulder, and,
+looking round, perceived the woman, whom the stranger called Winifred,
+standing close to me.&nbsp; The moon was shining brightly upon her,
+and I observed that she was very good-looking, with a composed yet cheerful
+expression of countenance; her dress was plain and primitive, very much
+resembling that of a Quaker.&nbsp; She held a straw bonnet in her hand.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I am glad to see thee moving about, young man,&rsquo; said she,
+in a soft, placid tone; &lsquo;I could scarcely have expected it.&nbsp;
+Thou must be wondrous strong; many, after what thou hast suffered, would
+not have stood on their feet for weeks and months.&nbsp; What do I say?&mdash;Peter,
+my husband, who is skilled in medicine, just now told me that not one
+in five hundred would have survived what thou hast this day undergone;
+but allow me to ask thee one thing, Hast thou returned thanks to God
+for thy deliverance?&rsquo;&nbsp; I made no answer, and the woman, after
+a pause, said, &lsquo;Excuse me, young man, but do you know anything
+of God?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Very little,&rsquo; I replied, &lsquo;but
+I should say He must be a wondrous strong person, if He made all those
+big bright things up above there, to say nothing of the ground on which
+we stand, which bears beings like these oaks, each of which is fifty
+times as strong as myself, and will live twenty times as long.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+The woman was silent for some moments, and then said, &lsquo;I scarcely
+know in what spirit thy words are uttered.&nbsp; If thou art serious,
+however, I would caution thee against supposing that the power of God
+is more manifested in these trees, or even in those bright stars above
+us, than in thyself&mdash;they are things of time, but thou art a being
+destined to an eternity; it depends upon thyself whether thy eternity
+shall be one of joy or sorrow.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Here she was interrupted by the man, who exclaimed from the other
+side of the tree, &lsquo;Winifred, it is getting late, you had better
+go up to the house on the hill to inform our friends of our arrival,
+or they will have retired for the night.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;True,&rsquo;
+said Winifred, and forthwith wended her way to the house in question,
+returning shortly with another woman, whom the man, speaking in the
+same language which I had heard him first use, greeted by the name of
+Mary; the woman replied in the same tongue, but almost immediately said,
+in English, &lsquo;We hoped to have heard you speak to-night, Peter,
+but we cannot expect that now, seeing that it is so late, owing to your
+having been detained by the way, as Winifred tells me; nothing remains
+for you to do now but to sup&mdash;to-morrow, with God&rsquo;s will,
+we shall hear you.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;And to-night, also, with God&rsquo;s
+will, provided you be so disposed.&nbsp; Let those of your family come
+hither.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;They will be hither presently,&rsquo; said
+Mary, &lsquo;for knowing that thou art arrived, they will, of course,
+come and bid thee welcome.&rsquo;&nbsp; And scarcely had she spoke,
+when I beheld a party of people descending the moonlit side of the hill.&nbsp;
+They soon arrived at the place where we were; they might amount in all
+to twelve individuals.&nbsp; The principal person was a tall, athletic
+man, of about forty, dressed like a plain country farmer; this was,
+I soon found, the husband of Mary; the rest of the group consisted of
+the children of these two, and their domestic servants.&nbsp; One after
+another they all shook Peter by the hand, men and women, boys and girls,
+and expressed their joy at seeing him.&nbsp; After which he said, &lsquo;Now,
+friends, if you please, I will speak a few words to you.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+A stool was then brought him from the cart, which he stepped on, and
+the people arranging themselves round him, some standing, some seated
+on the ground, he forthwith began to address them in a clear, distinct
+voice; and the subject of his discourse was the necessity, in all human
+beings, of a change of heart.</p>
+<p>The preacher was better than his promise, for, instead of speaking
+a few words, he preached for at least three-quarters of an hour; none
+of the audience, however, showed the slightest symptom of weariness;
+on the contrary, the hope of each individual appeared to hang upon the
+words which proceeded from his mouth.&nbsp; At the conclusion of the
+sermon or discourse the whole assembly again shook Peter by the hand,
+and returned to their house, the mistress of the family saying, as she
+departed, &lsquo;I shall soon be back, Peter; I go but to make arrangements
+for the supper of thyself and company&rsquo;; and, in effect, she presently
+returned, attended by a young woman, who bore a tray in her hands.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Set it down, Jessy,&rsquo; said the mistress to the girl, &lsquo;and
+then betake thyself to thy rest, I shall remain here for a little time
+to talk with my friends.&rsquo;&nbsp; The girl departed, and the preacher
+and the two females placed themselves on the ground about the tray.&nbsp;
+The man gave thanks, and himself and his wife appeared to be about to
+eat, when the latter suddenly placed her hand upon his arm, and said
+something to him in a low voice, whereupon he exclaimed, &lsquo;Ay,
+truly, we were both forgetful&rsquo;; and then getting up, he came towards
+me, who stood a little way off, leaning against the wheel of my cart;
+and, taking me by the hand, he said, &lsquo;Pardon us, young man, we
+were both so engaged in our own creature-comforts, that we forgot thee,
+but it is not too late to repair our fault; wilt thou not join us, and
+taste our bread and milk?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I cannot eat,&rsquo; I
+replied, &lsquo;but I think I could drink a little milk&rsquo;; whereupon
+he led me to the rest, and seating me by his side, he poured some milk
+into a horn cup, saying, &lsquo;&ldquo;Croesaw.&rdquo;&nbsp; That,&rsquo;
+added he, with a smile, &lsquo;is Welsh for welcome.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The fare upon the tray was of the simplest description, consisting
+of bread, cheese, milk, and curds.&nbsp; My two friends partook with
+a good appetite.&nbsp; &lsquo;Mary,&rsquo; said the preacher, addressing
+himself to the woman of the house, &lsquo;every time I come to visit
+thee, I find thee less inclined to speak Welsh.&nbsp; I suppose, in
+a little time, thou wilt entirely have forgotten it; hast thou taught
+it to any of thy children?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;The two eldest understand
+a few words,&rsquo; said the woman, &lsquo;but my husband does not wish
+them to learn it; he says sometimes, jocularly, that though it pleased
+him to marry a Welsh wife, it does not please him to have Welsh children.&nbsp;
+Who, I have heard him say, would be a Welshman, if he could be an Englishman?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I for one,&rsquo; said the preacher, somewhat hastily; &lsquo;not
+to be king of all England would I give up my birthright as a Welshman.&nbsp;
+Your husband is an excellent person, Mary, but I am afraid he is somewhat
+prejudiced.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;You do him justice, Peter, in saying
+that he is an excellent person,&rsquo; sail the woman; &lsquo;as to
+being prejudiced, I scarcely know what to say, but he thinks that two
+languages in the same kingdom are almost as bad as two kings.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;That&rsquo;s no bad observation,&rsquo; said the preacher, &lsquo;and
+it is generally the case; yet, thank God, the Welsh and English go on
+very well, side by side, and I hope will do so till the Almighty calls
+all men to their long account.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;They jog on very
+well now,&rsquo; said the woman; &lsquo;but I have heard my husband
+say that it was not always so, and that the Welsh, in old times, were
+a violent and ferocious people, for that once they hanged the mayor
+of Chester.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Ha, ha!&rsquo; said the preacher, and
+his eyes flashed in the moonlight; &lsquo;he told you that, did he?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said Mary; &lsquo;once, when the mayor of Chester,
+with some of his people, was present at one of the fairs over the border,
+a quarrel arose between the Welsh and the English, and the Welsh beat
+the English, and hanged the mayor.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Your husband
+is a clever man,&rsquo; said Peter, &lsquo;and knows a great deal; did
+he tell you the name of the leader of the Welsh?&nbsp; No! then I will:
+the leader of the Welsh on that occasion was ---.&nbsp; He was a powerful
+chieftain, and there was an old feud between him and the men of Chester.&nbsp;
+Afterwards, when two hundred of the men of Chester invaded his country
+to take revenge for their mayor, he enticed them into a tower, set fire
+to it, and burnt them all.&nbsp; That&mdash;was a very fine, noble&mdash;God
+forgive me, what was I about to say&mdash;a very bad, violent man; but,
+Mary, this is very carnal and unprofitable conversation, and in holding
+it we set a very bad example to the young man here&mdash;let us change
+the subject.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>They then began to talk on religious matters.&nbsp; At length Mary
+departed to her abode, and the preacher and his wife retired to their
+tilted cart.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Poor fellow, he seems to be almost brutally ignorant,&rsquo;
+said Peter, addressing his wife in their native language, after they
+had bidden me farewell for the night.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am afraid he is,&rsquo; said Winifred, &lsquo;yet my heart
+warms to the poor lad, he seems so forlorn.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXXIII</h2>
+<p>Morning hymn&mdash;Much alone&mdash;John Bunyan&mdash;Beholden to
+nobody&mdash;Sixty-five&mdash;Sober greeting&mdash;Early Sabbaths&mdash;Finny
+brood&mdash;The porch&mdash;No fortune-telling&mdash;The master&rsquo;s
+niece&mdash;Doing good&mdash;Two or three things&mdash;Groans and voices&mdash;Pechod
+Ysprydd Glan.</p>
+<p>I slept soundly during that night, partly owing to the influence
+of the opiate.&nbsp; Early in the morning I was awakened by the voices
+of Peter and his wife, who were singing a morning hymn in their own
+language.&nbsp; Both subsequently prayed long and fervently.&nbsp; I
+lay still till their devotions were completed, and then left my tent.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Good morning,&rsquo; said Peter, &lsquo;how dost thou feel?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Much better,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;than I could have expected.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I am glad of it,&rsquo; said Peter.&nbsp; &lsquo;Art thou hungry?
+yonder comes our breakfast,&rsquo; pointing to the same young woman
+I had seen the preceding night, who was again descending the hill bearing
+the tray upon her head.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What dust thou intend to do, young man, this day?&rsquo; said
+Peter, when we had about half finished breakfast.&nbsp; &lsquo;Do,&rsquo;
+said I; &lsquo;as I do other days, what I can.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;And
+dost thou pass this day as thou dost other days?&rsquo; said Peter.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Why not?&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;what is there in this day different
+from the rest? it seems to be of the same colour as yesterday.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Art thou aware,&rsquo; said the wife, interposing, &lsquo;what
+day it is? that it is Sabbath? that it is Sunday?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;No,&rsquo;
+said I, &lsquo;I did not know that it was Sunday.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;And
+how did that happen?&rsquo; said Winifred, with a sigh.&nbsp; &lsquo;To
+tell you the truth,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I live very much alone, and
+pay very little heed to the passing of time.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;And
+yet of what infinite importance is time,&rsquo; said Winifred.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Art thou not aware that every year brings thee nearer to thy
+end?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I do not think,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;that
+I am so near my end as I was yesterday.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Yes, thou
+art,&rsquo; said the woman; &lsquo;thou wast not doomed to die yesterday;
+an invisible hand was watching over thee yesterday; but thy day will
+come, therefore improve the time; be grateful that thou wast saved yesterday;
+and, oh! reflect on one thing; if thou hadst died yesterday, where wouldst
+thou have been now?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Cast into the earth, perhaps,&rsquo;
+said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;I have heard Mr. Petulengro say that to be cast
+into the earth is the natural end of man.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Who is
+Mr. Petulengro?&rsquo; said Peter, interrupting his wife, as she was
+about to speak.&nbsp; &lsquo;Master of the horse-shoe,&rsquo; said I;
+&lsquo;and, according to his own account, king of Egypt.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I understand,&rsquo; said Peter, &lsquo;head of some family of
+wandering Egyptians&mdash;they are a race utterly godless.&nbsp; Art
+thou of them?&mdash;but no, thou art not, thou hast not their yellow
+blood.&nbsp; I suppose thou belongest to the family of wandering artisans
+called ---.&nbsp; I do not like you the worse for belonging to them.&nbsp;
+A mighty speaker of old sprang up from amidst that family.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Who was he?&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;John Bunyan,&rsquo; replied
+Peter, reverently, &lsquo;and the mention of his name reminds me that
+I have to preach this day; wilt thou go and hear? the distance is not
+great, only half a mile.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;No,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I
+will not go and hear.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Wherefore?&rsquo; said Peter.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I belong to the church,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;and not to the
+congregations.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Oh! the pride of that church,&rsquo;
+said Peter, addressing his wife in their own tongue, &lsquo;exemplified
+even in the lowest and most ignorant of its members.&nbsp; Then thou,
+doubtless, meanest to go to church,&rsquo; said Peter, again addressing
+me; &lsquo;there is a church on the other side of that wooded hill.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I do not mean to go to church.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;May I ask thee wherefore?&rsquo; said Peter.&nbsp; &lsquo;Because,&rsquo;
+said I, &lsquo;I prefer remaining beneath the shade of these trees,
+listening to the sound of the leaves and the tinkling of the waters.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then thou intendest to remain here?&rsquo; said Peter, looking
+fixedly at me.&nbsp; &lsquo;If I do not intrude,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;but
+if I do, I will wander away; I wish to be beholden to nobody&mdash;perhaps
+you wish me to go?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;On the contrary,&rsquo; said
+Peter, &lsquo;I wish you to stay.&nbsp; I begin to see something in
+thee which has much interest for me; but we must now bid thee farewell
+for the rest of the day, the time is drawing nigh for us to repair to
+the place of preaching; before we leave thee alone, however, I should
+wish to ask thee a question&mdash;Didst thou seek thy own destruction
+yesterday, and didst thou wilfully take that poison?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;No,&rsquo;
+said I; &lsquo;had I known there had been poison in the cake I certainly
+should not have taken it.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;And who gave it thee?&rsquo;
+said Peter.&nbsp; &lsquo;An enemy of mine,&rsquo; I replied.&nbsp; &lsquo;Who
+is thy enemy?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;An Egyptian sorceress and poison-monger.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Thy enemy is a female.&nbsp; I fear thou hadst given her cause
+to hate thee&mdash;of what did she complain?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;That
+I had stolen the tongue out of her head.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I do not
+understand thee&mdash;is she young?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;About sixty-five.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Here Winifred interposed.&nbsp; &lsquo;Thou didst call her just now
+by hard names, young man,&rsquo; said she; &lsquo;I trust thou dost
+bear no malice against her.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;No,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I
+bear no malice against her.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Thou art not wishing
+to deliver her into the hand of what is called justice?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;By no means,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;I have lived long enough upon
+the roads not to cry out for the constable when my finger is broken.&nbsp;
+I consider this poisoning as an accident of the roads; one of those
+to which those who travel are occasionally subject.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;In
+short, thou forgivest thine adversary?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Both now
+and for ever,&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;Truly,&rsquo; said Winifred,
+&lsquo;the spirit which the young man displayeth pleases me much; I
+should be loth that he left us yet.&nbsp; I have no doubt that, with
+the blessing of God, and a little of thy exhortation, he will turn out
+a true Christian before he leaveth us.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;My exhortation!&rsquo;
+said Peter, and a dark shade passed over his countenance; &lsquo;thou
+forgettest what I am&mdash;I&mdash;I&mdash;but I am forgetting myself;
+the Lord&rsquo;s will be done; and now put away the things, for I perceive
+that our friends are coming to attend us to the place of meeting.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Again the family which I had seen the night before descended the
+hill from their abode.&nbsp; They were now dressed in their Sunday&rsquo;s
+best.&nbsp; The master of the house led the way.&nbsp; They presently
+joined us, when a quiet sober greeting ensued on each side.&nbsp; After
+a little time Peter shook me by the hand and bade me farewell till the
+evening; Winifred did the same, adding that she hoped I should be visited
+by sweet and holy thoughts.&nbsp; The whole party then moved off in
+the direction by which we had come the preceding night, Peter and the
+master leading the way, followed by Winifred and the mistress of the
+family.&nbsp; As I gazed on their departing forms, I felt almost inclined
+to follow them to their place of worship.&nbsp; I did not stir, however,
+but remained leaning against my oak with my hands behind me.</p>
+<p>And after a time I sat me down at the foot of the oak with my face
+turned towards the water, and, folding my hands, I fell into deep meditation.&nbsp;
+I thought on the early Sabbaths of my life, and the manner in which
+I was wont to pass them.&nbsp; How carefully I said my prayers when
+I got up on the Sabbath morn, and how carefully I combed my hair and
+brushed my clothes in order that I might do credit to the Sabbath day.&nbsp;
+I thought of the old church at pretty D---, the dignified rector, and
+yet more dignified clerk.&nbsp; I though of England&rsquo;s grand Liturgy,
+and Tate and Brady&rsquo;s sonorous minstrelsy.&nbsp; I thought of the
+Holy Book, portions of which I was in the habit of reading between service.&nbsp;
+I thought, too, of the evening walk which I sometimes took in fine weather
+like the present, with my mother and brother&mdash;a quiet sober walk,
+during which I would not break into a run, even to chase a butterfly,
+or yet more a honey-bee, being fully convinced of the dread importance
+of the day which God had hallowed.&nbsp; And how glad I was when I had
+got over the Sabbath day without having done anything to profane it.&nbsp;
+And how soundly I slept on the Sabbath night after the toil of being
+very good throughout the day.</p>
+<p>And when I had mused on those times a long while, I sighed and said
+to myself, I am much altered since then; am I altered for the better?&nbsp;
+And then I looked at my hands and my apparel, and sighed again.&nbsp;
+I was not wont of yore to appear thus on the Sabbath day.</p>
+<p>For a long time I continued in a state of deep meditation, till at
+last I lifted up my eyes to the sun, which, as usual during that glorious
+summer, was shining in unclouded majesty; and then I lowered them to
+the sparkling water, in which hundreds of the finny brood were disporting
+themselves, and then I thought what a fine thing it was to be a fish
+on such a fine summer day, and I wished myself a fish, or at least amongst
+the fishes; and then I looked at my hands again, and then, bending over
+the water, I looked at my face in the crystal mirror, and started when
+I saw it, for it looked squalid and miserable.</p>
+<p>Forthwith I started up, and said to myself, I should like to bathe
+and cleanse myself from the squalor produced by my late hard life and
+by Mrs. Herne&rsquo;s drow.&nbsp; I wonder if there is any harm in bathing
+on the Sabbath day.&nbsp; I will ask Winifred when she comes home; in
+the meantime I will bathe, provided I can find a fitting place.</p>
+<p>But the brook, though a very delightful place for fish to disport
+in, was shallow, and by no means adapted for the recreation of so large
+a being as myself; it was, moreover, exposed, though I saw nobody at
+hand, nor heard a single human voice or sound.&nbsp; Following the winding
+of the brook, I left the meadow, and, passing through two or three thickets,
+came to a place where between lofty banks the water ran deep and dark,
+and there I bathed, imbibing new tone and vigour into my languid and
+exhausted frame.</p>
+<p>Having put on my clothes, I returned by the way I had come to my
+vehicle beneath the oak tree.&nbsp; From thence, for want of something
+better to do, I strolled up the hill, on the top of which stood the
+farm-house; it was a large and commodious building built principally
+of stone, and seeming of some antiquity, with a porch, on either side
+of which was an oaken bench.&nbsp; On the right was seated a young woman
+with a book in her hand, the same who had brought the tray to my friends
+and myself.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Good-day,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;pretty damsel, sitting in
+the farm porch.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Good-day,&rsquo; said the girl, looking at me for a moment,
+and then fixing her eyes on her book.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That&rsquo;s a nice book you are reading,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>The girl looked at me with surprise.&nbsp; &lsquo;How do you know
+what book it is?&rsquo; said she.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How do I know&mdash;never mind; but a nice book it is&mdash;no
+love, no fortune-telling in it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The girl looked at me half offended.&nbsp; &lsquo;Fortune-telling!&rsquo;
+said she, &lsquo;I should think not.&nbsp; But you know nothing about
+it&rsquo;; and she bent her head once more over the book.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I tell you what, young person,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I know
+all about that book; what will you wager that I do not?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I never wager,&rsquo; said the girl.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Shall I tell you the name of it,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;O daughter
+of the dairy? &lsquo;</p>
+<p>The girl half started.&nbsp; &lsquo;I should never have thought,&rsquo;
+said she, half timidly, &lsquo;that you could have guessed it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I did not guess it,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I knew it; and meet
+and proper it is that you should read it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why so?&rsquo; said the girl.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Can the daughter of the dairy read a more fitting book than
+the <i>Dairyman&rsquo;s Daughter</i>?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Where do you come from?&rsquo; said the girl.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Out of the water,&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;Don&rsquo;t
+start, I have been bathing; are you fond of the water?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said the girl, heaving a sigh; &lsquo;I am not
+fond of the water, that is, of the sea&rsquo;; and here she sighed again.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The sea is a wide gulf,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;and frequently
+separates hearts.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The girl sobbed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why are you alone here?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I take my turn with the rest,&rsquo; said the girl, &lsquo;to
+keep at home on Sunday.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And you are&mdash;&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The master&rsquo;s niece!&rsquo; said the girl.&nbsp; &lsquo;How
+came you to know it?&nbsp; But why did you not go with the rest and
+with your friends?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who are those you call my friends?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Peter and his wife.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And who are they?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you not know?&rsquo; said the girl; &lsquo;you came with
+them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They found me ill by the way,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;and they
+relieved me: I know nothing about them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I thought you knew everything,&rsquo; said the girl.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There are two or three things which I do not know, and this
+is one of them.&nbsp; Who are they?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Did you never hear of the great Welsh preacher, Peter Williams?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Never,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said the girl, &lsquo;this is he, and Winifred
+is his wife, and a nice person she is.&nbsp; Some people say, indeed,
+that she is as good a preacher as her husband, though of that matter
+I can say nothing, having never heard her preach.&nbsp; So these two
+wander over all Wales and the greater part of England, comforting the
+hearts of the people with their doctrine, and doing all the good they
+can.&nbsp; They frequently come here, for the mistress is a Welsh woman,
+and an old friend of both, and then they take up their abode in the
+cart beneath the old oaks down there by the stream.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what is their reason for doing so?&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;would
+it not be more comfortable to sleep beneath a roof?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know not their reasons,&rsquo; said the girl, &lsquo;but
+so it is; they never sleep beneath a roof unless the weather is very
+severe.&nbsp; I once heard the mistress say that Peter had something
+heavy upon his mind; perhaps that is the cause.&nbsp; If he is unhappy,
+all I can say is, that I wish him otherwise, for he is a good man and
+a kind&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thank you,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I will now depart.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Hem!&rsquo; said the girl, &lsquo;I was wishing&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What? to ask me a question?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not exactly; but you seem to know everything; you mentioned,
+I think, fortune-telling.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you wish me to tell your fortune?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;By no means; but I have a friend at a distance at sea, and
+I should wish to know&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;When he will come back?&nbsp; I have told you already there
+are two or three things which I do not know&mdash;this is another of
+them.&nbsp; However, I should not be surprised if he were to come back
+some of these days; I would if I were in his place.&nbsp; In the meantime
+be patient, attend to the dairy, and read the <i>Dairyman&rsquo;s Daughter</i>
+when you have nothing better to do.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>It was late in the evening when the party of the morning returned.&nbsp;
+The farmer and his family repaired at once to their abode, and my two
+friends joined me beneath the tree.&nbsp; Peter sat down at the foot
+of the oak, and said nothing.&nbsp; Supper was brought by a servant,
+not the damsel of the porch.&nbsp; We sat round the tray, Peter said
+grace, but scarcely anything else; he appeared sad and dejected, his
+wife looked anxiously upon him.&nbsp; I was as silent as my friends;
+after a little time we retired to our separate places of rest.</p>
+<p>About midnight I was awakened by a noise; I started up and listened;
+it appeared to me that I heard voices and groans.&nbsp; In a moment
+I had issued from my tent&mdash;all was silent&mdash;but the next moment
+I again heard groans and voices; they proceeded from the tilted cart
+where Peter and his wife lay; I drew near, again there was a pause,
+and then I heard the voice of Peter, in an accent of extreme anguish,
+exclaim, &lsquo;Pechod Ysprydd Glan&mdash;O pechod Ysprydd Glan!&rsquo;
+and then he uttered a deep groan.&nbsp; Anon, I heard the voice of Winifred,
+and never shall I forget the sweetness and gentleness of the tones of
+her voice in the stillness of that night.&nbsp; I did not understand
+all she said&mdash;she spoke in her native language, and I was some
+way apart; she appeared to endeavour to console her husband, but he
+seemed to refuse all comfort, and, with many groans, repeated&mdash;&lsquo;Pechod
+Ysprydd Glan&mdash;O pechod Ysprydd Glan!&rsquo;&nbsp; I felt I had
+no right to pry into their afflictions, and retired.</p>
+<p>Now &lsquo;pechod Ysprydd Glan,&rsquo; interpreted, is the sin against
+the Holy Ghost.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXXIV</h2>
+<p>The following day&mdash;Pride&mdash;Thriving trade&mdash;Tylwyth
+Teg&mdash;Ellis Wyn&mdash;Sleeping hard&mdash;Incalculable good&mdash;Fearful
+agony&mdash;The tale.</p>
+<p>Peter and his wife did not proceed on any expedition during the following
+day.&nbsp; The former strolled gloomily about the fields, and the latter
+passed many hours in the farmhouse.&nbsp; Towards evening, without saying
+a word to either, I departed with my vehicle, and finding my way to
+a small town at some distance, I laid in a store of various articles,
+with which I returned.&nbsp; It was night, and my two friends were seated
+beneath the oak; they had just completed their frugal supper.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;We waited for thee some time,&rsquo; said Winifred, &lsquo;but,
+finding that thou didst not come, we began without thee; but sit down,
+I pray thee, there is still enough for thee.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I will
+sit down,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;but I require no supper, for I have
+eaten where I have been&rsquo;: nothing more particular occurred at
+the time.&nbsp; Next morning the kind pair invited me to share their
+breakfast.&nbsp; &lsquo;I will not share your breakfast,&rsquo; said
+I.&nbsp; &lsquo;Wherefore not?&rsquo; said Winifred, anxiously.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Because,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;it is not proper that I be beholden
+to you for meat and drink.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;But we are beholden to
+other people,&rsquo; said Winifred.&nbsp; &lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said I,
+&lsquo;but you preach to them, and give them ghostly advice, which considerably
+alters the matter; not that I would receive anything from them, if I
+preached to them six times a day.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Thou art not fond
+of receiving favours, then, young man,&rsquo; said Winifred.&nbsp; &lsquo;I
+am not,&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;And of conferring favours?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Nothing affords me greater pleasure,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;than
+to confer favours.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;What a disposition,&rsquo; said
+Winifred, holding up her hands; &lsquo;and this is pride, genuine pride&mdash;that
+feeling which the world agrees to call so noble.&nbsp; Oh, how mean
+a thing is pride! never before did I see all the meanness of what is
+called pride!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But how wilt thou live, friend,&rsquo; said Peter; &lsquo;dost
+thou not intend to eat?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;When I went out last night,&rsquo;
+said I, &lsquo;I laid in a provision.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Thou hast
+laid in a provision!&rsquo; said Peter, &lsquo;pray let us see it.&nbsp;
+Really, friend,&rsquo; said he, after I had produced it, &lsquo;thou
+must drive a thriving trade; here are provisions enough to last three
+people for several days.&nbsp; Here are butter and eggs, here is tea,
+here is sugar, and there is a flitch.&nbsp; I hope thou wilt let us
+partake of some of thy fare.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I should be very happy
+if you would,&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;Doubt not but we shall,&rsquo;
+said Peter; &lsquo;Winifred shall have some of thy flitch cooked for
+dinner.&nbsp; In the meantime, sit down, young man, and breakfast at
+our expense&mdash;we will dine at thine.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>On the evening of that day, Peter and myself sat alone beneath the
+oak.&nbsp; We fell into conversation; Peter was at first melancholy,
+but he soon became more cheerful, fluent, and entertaining.&nbsp; I
+spoke but little; but I observed that sometimes what I said surprised
+the good Methodist.&nbsp; We had been silent some time.&nbsp; At length,
+lifting up my eyes to the broad and leafy canopy of the trees, I said,
+having nothing better to remark, &lsquo;What a noble tree!&nbsp; I wonder
+if the fairies ever dance beneath it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Fairies!&rsquo; said Peter, &lsquo;fairies! how came you,
+young man, to know anything about the fair family?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am an Englishman,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;and of course know
+something about fairies; England was once a famous place for them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Was once, I grant you,&rsquo; said Peter, &lsquo;but is so
+no longer.&nbsp; I have travelled for years about England, and never
+heard them mentioned before; the belief in them has died away, and even
+their name seems to be forgotten.&nbsp; If you had said you were a Welshman,
+I should not have been surprised.&nbsp; The Welsh have much to say of
+the Tylwyth Teg, or fair family, and many believe in them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And do you believe in them?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I scarcely know what to say.&nbsp; Wise and good men have
+been of opinion that they are nothing but devils, who, under the form
+of pretty and amiable spirits, would fain allure poor human beings;
+I see nothing irrational in the supposition.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you believe in devils, then?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do I believe in devils, young man?&rsquo; said Peter, and
+his frame was shaken as if by convulsions.&nbsp; &lsquo;If I do not
+believe in devils, why am I here at the present moment?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You know best,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;but I don&rsquo;t believe
+that fairies are devils, and I don&rsquo;t wish to hear them insulted.&nbsp;
+What learned men have said they are devils?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Many have said it, young man, and, amongst others, Master
+Ellis Wyn, in that wonderful book of his, the <i>Bardd Cwsg</i>.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The<i> Bardd Cwsg</i>,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;what kind of
+book is that?&nbsp; I have never heard of that book before.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Heard of it before; I suppose not; how should you have heard
+of it before?&nbsp; By the bye, can you read?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very tolerably,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;so there are fairies
+in this book.&nbsp; What do you call it&mdash;the <i>Bardd Cwsg</i>?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, the <i>Bardd Cwsg</i>.&nbsp; You pronounce Welsh very
+fairly; have you ever been in Wales?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Never,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not been in Wales; then, of course, you don&rsquo;t understand
+Welsh; but we were talking of the <i>Bardd Cwsg</i>&mdash;yes, there
+are fairies in the <i>Bardd Cwsg</i>,&mdash;the author of it, Master
+Ellis Wyn, was carried away in his sleep by them over mountains and
+valleys, rivers and great waters, incurring mighty perils at their hands,
+till he was rescued from them by an angel of the Most High, who subsequently
+showed him many wonderful things.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I beg your pardon,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;but what were those
+wonderful things?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I see, young man,&rsquo; said Peter, smiling, &lsquo;that
+you are not without curiosity; but I can easily pardon any one for being
+curious about the wonders contained in the book of Master Ellis Wyn.&nbsp;
+The angel showed him the course of this world, its pomps and vanities,
+its cruelty and its pride, its crimes and deceits.&nbsp; On another
+occasion, the angel showed him Death in his nether palace, surrounded
+by his grisly ministers, and by those who are continually falling victims
+to his power.&nbsp; And, on a third occasion, the state of the condemned
+in their place of everlasting torment.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But this was all in his sleep,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;was it
+not?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said Peter, &lsquo;in his sleep; and on that account
+the book is called <i>Gweledigaethau y Bardd Cwsg</i>, or, <i>Visions
+of the Sleeping Bard</i>.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not care for wonders which occur in sleep,&rsquo; said
+I.&nbsp; &lsquo;I prefer real ones; and perhaps, notwithstanding what
+he says, the man had no visions at all&mdash;they are probably of his
+own invention.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They are substantially true, young man,&rsquo; said Peter;
+&lsquo;like the dreams of Bunyan, they are founded on three tremendous
+facts, Sin, Death, and Hell; and like his they have done incalculable
+good, at least in my own country, in the language of which they are
+written.&nbsp; Many a guilty conscience has the <i>Bardd Cwsg</i> aroused
+with its dreadful sights, its strong sighs, its puffs of smoke from
+the pit, and its showers of sparks from the mouth of the yet lower gulf
+of&mdash;Unknown&mdash;were it not for the <i>Bardd Cwsg</i> perhaps
+I might not be here.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I would sooner hear your own tale,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;than
+all the visions of the <i>Bardd Cwsg</i>.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Peter shook, bent his form nearly double, and covered his face with
+his hands.&nbsp; I sat still and motionless, with my eyes fixed upon
+him.&nbsp; Presently Winifred descended the hill, and joined us.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;What is the matter?&rsquo; said she, looking at her husband,
+who still remained in the posture I have described.&nbsp; He made no
+answer; whereupon, laying her hand gently on his shoulder, she said,
+in the peculiar soft and tender tone which I had heard her use on a
+former occasion, &lsquo;Take comfort, Peter; what has happened now to
+afflict thee?&rsquo;&nbsp; Peter removed his hand from his face.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;The old pain, the old pain,&rsquo; said he; &lsquo;I was talking
+with this young man, and he would fain know what brought me here, he
+would fain hear my tale, Winifred&mdash;my sin: O pechod Ysprydd Glan!&nbsp;
+O pechod Ysprydd Glan!&rsquo; and the poor man fell into a more fearful
+agony than before.&nbsp; Tears trickled down Winifred&rsquo;s face,
+I saw them trickling by the moonlight, as she gazed upon the writhing
+form of her afflicted husband.&nbsp; I arose from my seat.&nbsp; &lsquo;I
+am the cause of all this,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;by my folly and imprudence,
+and it is thus I have returned your kindness and hospitality; I will
+depart from you and wander my way.&rsquo;&nbsp; I was retiring, but
+Peter sprang up and detained me.&nbsp; &lsquo;Go not,&rsquo; said he,
+&lsquo;you were not in fault; if there be any fault in the case it was
+mine; if I suffer, I am but paying the penalty of my own iniquity&rsquo;;
+he then paused, and appeared to be considering: at length he said, &lsquo;Many
+things which thou hast seen and heard connected with me require explanation;
+thou wishest to know my tale, I will tell it thee, but not now, not
+to-night; I am too much shaken.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Two evenings later, when we were again seated beneath the oak, Peter
+took the hand of his wife in his own, and then, in tones broken and
+almost inarticulate, commenced telling me his tale&mdash;the tale of
+the Pechod Ysprydd Glan.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXXV</h2>
+<p>Taking a cup&mdash;Getting to heaven&mdash;After breakfast&mdash;
+Wooden gallery&mdash;Mechanical habit&mdash;Reserved and gloomy&mdash;Last
+words&mdash;A long time&mdash;From the clouds&mdash;Ray of hope&mdash;Momentary
+chill&mdash;Pleasing anticipation.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I was born in the heart of North Wales, the son of a respectable
+farmer, and am the youngest of seven brothers.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My father was a member of the Church of England, and was what
+is generally called a serious man.&nbsp; He went to church regularly,
+and read the Bible every Sunday evening; in his moments of leisure he
+was fond of holding religious discourse both with his family and his
+neighbours.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One autumn afternoon, on a week day, my father sat with one
+of his neighbours taking a cup of ale by the oak table in our stone
+kitchen.&nbsp; I sat near them, and listened to their discourse.&nbsp;
+I was at that time seven years of age.&nbsp; They were talking of religious
+matters.&nbsp; &ldquo;It is a hard matter to get to heaven,&rdquo; said
+my father.&nbsp; &ldquo;Exceedingly so,&rdquo; said the other.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;However, I don&rsquo;t despond; none need despair of getting
+to heaven, save those who have committed the sin against the Holy Ghost.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said my father, &ldquo;thank God I never
+committed that&mdash;how awful must be the state of a person who has
+committed the sin against the Holy Ghost.&nbsp; I can scarcely think
+of it without my hair standing on end&rdquo;; and then my father and
+his friend began talking of the nature of the sin against the Holy Ghost,
+and I heard them say what it was, as I sat with greedy ears listening
+to their discourse.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I lay awake the greater part of the night musing upon what
+I had heard.&nbsp; I kept wondering to myself what must be the state
+of a person who had committed the sin against the Holy Ghost, and how
+he must feel.&nbsp; Once or twice I felt a strong inclination to commit
+it, a strange kind of fear, however, prevented me; at last I determined
+not to commit it, and, having said my prayers, I fell asleep.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;When I awoke in the morning the first thing I thought of was
+the mysterious sin, and a voice within me seemed to say, &ldquo;Commit
+it&rdquo;; and I felt a strong temptation to do so, even stronger than
+in the night.&nbsp; I was just about to yield, when the same dread,
+of which I have already spoken, came over me, and, springing out of
+bed, I went down on my knees.&nbsp; I slept in a small room alone, to
+which I ascended by a wooden stair, open to the sky.&nbsp; I have often
+thought since that it is not a good thing for children to sleep alone.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;After breakfast I went to school, and endeavoured to employ
+myself upon my tasks, but all in vain; I could think of nothing but
+the sin against the Holy Ghost; my eyes, instead of being fixed upon
+my book, wandered in vacancy.&nbsp; My master observed my inattention,
+and chid me.&nbsp; The time came for saying my task, and I had not acquired
+it.&nbsp; My master reproached me, and, yet more, he beat me; I felt
+shame and anger, and I went home with a full determination to commit
+the sin against the Holy Ghost.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But when I got home my father ordered me to do something connected
+with the farm, so that I was compelled to exert myself; I was occupied
+till night, and was so busy that I almost forgot the sin and my late
+resolution.&nbsp; My work completed, I took my supper, and went to my
+room; I began my prayers, and, when they were ended, I thought of the
+sin, but the temptation was slight, I felt very tired, and was presently
+asleep.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thus, you see, I had plenty of time allotted me by a gracious
+and kind God to reflect on what I was about to do.&nbsp; He did not
+permit the enemy of souls to take me by surprise, and to hurry me at
+once into the commission of that which was to be my ruin here and hereafter.&nbsp;
+Whatever I did was of my own free will, after I had had time to reflect.&nbsp;
+Thus God is justified; He had no hand in my destruction, but, on the
+contrary, He did all that was compatible with justice to prevent it.&nbsp;
+I hasten to the fatal moment.&nbsp; Awaking in the night, I determined
+that nothing should prevent my committing the sin.&nbsp; Arising from
+my bed, I went out upon the wooden gallery; and having stood for a few
+moments looking at the stars, with which the heavens were thickly strewn,
+I laid myself down, and supporting my face with my hand, I murmured
+out words of horror, words not to be repeated, and in this manner I
+committed the sin against the Holy Ghost.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;When the words were uttered I sat up upon the topmost step
+of the gallery; for some time I felt stunned in somewhat the same manner
+as I once subsequently felt after being stung by an adder.&nbsp; I soon
+arose, however, and retired to my bed, where, notwithstanding what I
+had done, I was not slow in falling asleep.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I awoke several times during the night, each time with the
+dim idea that something strange and monstrous had occurred, but I presently
+fell asleep again; in the morning I awoke with the same vague feeling,
+but presently recollection returned, and I remembered that I had committed
+the sin against the Holy Ghost.&nbsp; I lay musing for some time on
+what I had done, and I felt rather stunned, as before; at last I arose
+and got out of bed, dressed myself, and then went down on my knees,
+and was about to pray from the force of mechanical habit; before I said
+a word, however, I recollected myself, and got up again.&nbsp; What
+was the use of praying?&nbsp; I thought; I had committed the sin against
+the Holy Ghost.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I went to school, but sat stupefied.&nbsp; I was again chidden,
+again beaten, by my master.&nbsp; I felt no anger this time, and scarcely
+heeded the strokes.&nbsp; I looked, however, at my master&rsquo;s face,
+and thought to myself, you are beating me for being idle, as you suppose;
+poor man, what would you do if you knew I had committed the sin against
+the Holy Ghost?</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Days and weeks passed by.&nbsp; I had once been cheerful,
+and fond of the society of children of my own age; but I was now reserved
+and gloomy.&nbsp; It seemed to me that a gulf separated me from all
+my fellow-creatures.&nbsp; I used to look at my brothers and schoolfellows,
+and think how different I was from them; they had not done what I had.&nbsp;
+I seemed, in my own eyes, a lone monstrous being, and yet, strange to
+say, I felt a kind of pride in being so.&nbsp; I was unhappy, but I
+frequently thought to myself, I have done what no one else would dare
+to do; there was something grand in the idea; I had yet to learn the
+horror of my condition.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Time passed on, and I began to think less of what I had done;
+I began once more to take pleasure in my childish sports; I was active,
+and excelled at football and the like all the lads of my age.&nbsp;
+I likewise began, what I had never done before, to take pleasure in
+the exercises of the school.&nbsp; I made great progress in Welsh and
+English grammar, and learnt to construe Latin.&nbsp; My master no longer
+chid or beat me, but one day told my father that he had no doubt that
+one day I should be an honour to Wales.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Shortly after this my father fell sick; the progress of the
+disorder was rapid; feeling his end approaching, he called his children
+before him.&nbsp; After tenderly embracing us, he said &ldquo;God bless
+you, my children, I am going from you, but take comfort, I trust that
+we shall all meet again in heaven.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As he uttered these last words, horror took entire possession
+of me.&nbsp; Meet my father in heaven,&mdash;how could I ever hope to
+meet him there?&nbsp; I looked wildly at my brethren and at my mother;
+they were all bathed in tears, but how I envied them.&nbsp; They might
+hope to meet my father in heaven, but how different were they from me,
+they had never committed the unpardonable sin.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In a few days my father died; he left his family in comfortable
+circumstances, at least such as would be considered so in Wales, where
+the wants of the people are few.&nbsp; My elder brother carried on the
+farm for the benefit of my mother and us all.&nbsp; In course of time
+my brothers were put out to various trades.&nbsp; I still remained at
+school, but without being a source of expense to my relations, as I
+was by this time able to assist my master in the business of the school.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I was diligent both in self-improvement and in the instruction
+of others; nevertheless, a horrible weight pressed upon my breast; I
+knew I was a lost being; that for me there was no hope; that, though
+all others might be saved, I must of necessity be lost; I had committed
+the unpardonable sin, for which I was doomed to eternal punishment,
+in the flaming gulf, as soon as life was over!&mdash;and how long could
+I hope to live? perhaps fifty years; at the end of which I must go to
+my place; and then I would count the months and the days, nay, even
+the hours, which yet intervened between me and my doom.&nbsp; Sometimes
+I would comfort myself with the idea that a long time would elapse before
+my time would be out; but then again I thought that, however long the
+term might be, it must be out at last; and then I would fall into an
+agony, during which I would almost wish that the term were out, and
+that I were in my place; the horrors of which I thought could scarcely
+be worse than what I then endured.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There was one thought about this time which caused me unutterable
+grief and shame, perhaps more shame than grief.&nbsp; It was that my
+father, who was gone to heaven, and was there daily holding communion
+with his God, was by this time aware of my crime.&nbsp; I imagined him
+looking down from the clouds upon his wretched son, with a countenance
+of inexpressible horror.&nbsp; When this idea was upon me, I would often
+rush to some secret place to hide myself; to some thicket, where I would
+cast myself on the ground, and thrust my head into a thick bush, in
+order to escape from the horror-struck glance of my father above in
+the clouds; and there I would continue groaning till the agony had,
+in some degree, passed away.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The wretchedness of my state increasing daily, it at last
+became apparent to the master of the school, who questioned me earnestly
+and affectionately.&nbsp; I, however, gave him no satisfactory answer,
+being apprehensive that, if I unbosomed myself, I should become as much
+an object of horror to him as I had long been to myself.&nbsp; At length
+he suspected that I was unsettled in my intellects; and, fearing probably
+the ill effect of my presence upon his scholars, he advised me to go
+home; which I was glad to do, as I felt myself every day becoming less
+qualified for the duties of the office which I had undertaken.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So I returned home to my mother and my brother, who received
+me with the greatest kindness and affection.&nbsp; I now determined
+to devote myself to husbandry, and assist my brother in the business
+of the farm.&nbsp; I was still, however, very much distressed.&nbsp;
+One fine morning, however, as I was at work in the field, and the birds
+were carolling around me, a ray of hope began to break upon my poor
+dark soul.&nbsp; I looked at the earth and looked at the sky, and felt
+as I had not done for many a year; presently a delicious feeling stole
+over me.&nbsp; I was beginning to enjoy existence.&nbsp; I shall never
+forget that hour.&nbsp; I flung myself on the soil, and kissed it; then,
+springing up with a sudden impulse, I rushed into the depths of a neighbouring
+wood, and, falling upon my knees, did what I had not done for a long,
+long time&mdash;prayed to God.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A change, an entire change, seemed to have come over me.&nbsp;
+I was no longer gloomy and despairing, but gay and happy.&nbsp; My slumbers
+were light and easy; not disturbed, as before, by frightful dreams.&nbsp;
+I arose with the lark, and like him uttered a cheerful song of praise
+to God, frequently and earnestly, and was particularly cautious not
+to do anything which I considered might cause His displeasure.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;At church I was constant, and when there listened with deepest
+attention to every word which proceeded from the mouth of the minister.&nbsp;
+In a little time it appeared to me that I had become a good, very good,
+young man.&nbsp; At times the recollection of the sin would return,
+and I would feel a momentary chill; but the thought quickly vanished,
+and I again felt happy and secure.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One Sunday morning, after I had said my prayers, I felt particularly
+joyous.&nbsp; I thought of the innocent and virtuous life I was leading;
+and when the recollection of the sin intruded for a moment, said, &ldquo;I
+am sure God will never utterly cast away so good a creature as myself.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+I went to church, and was as usual attentive.&nbsp; The subject of the
+sermon was on the duty of searching the Scriptures: all I knew of them
+was from the liturgy.&nbsp; I now, however, determined to read them,
+and perfect the good work which I had begun.&nbsp; My father&rsquo;s
+Bible was upon the shelf, and on that evening I took it with me to my
+chamber.&nbsp; I placed it on the table, and sat down.&nbsp; My heart
+was filled with pleasing anticipation.&nbsp; I opened the book at random,
+and began to read; the first passage on which my eyes lighted was the
+following:&mdash;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&ldquo;He who committeth the sin against the Holy Ghost shall
+not be forgiven, either in this world or the next.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Here Peter was seized with convulsive tremors.&nbsp; Winifred sobbed
+violently.&nbsp; I got up, and went away.&nbsp; Returning in about a
+quarter of an hour, I found him more calm; he motioned me to sit down;
+and, after a short pause, continued his narration.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXXVI</h2>
+<p>Hasty farewell&mdash;Lofty rock&mdash;Wrestlings of Jacob&mdash;No
+rest&mdash;Ways of Providence&mdash;Two females&mdash;Foot of the Cross&mdash;Enemy
+of souls&mdash;Perplexed&mdash;Lucky hour&mdash;Valetudinarian&mdash;Methodists&mdash;Fervent
+in prayer&mdash;You Saxons&mdash;Weak creatures&mdash;Very agreeable&mdash;Almost
+happy&mdash;Kindness and solicitude.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Where was I, young man?&nbsp; Oh, I remember, at the fatal
+passage which removed all hope.&nbsp; I will not dwell on what I felt.&nbsp;
+I closed my eyes, and wished that I might be dreaming; but it was no
+dream, but a terrific reality: I will not dwell on that period, I should
+only shock you.&nbsp; I could not bear my feelings; so, bidding my friends
+a hasty farewell, I abandoned myself to horror and despair, and ran
+wild through Wales, climbing mountains and wading streams.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Climbing mountains and wading streams, I ran wild about, I
+was burnt by the sun, drenched by the rain, and had frequently at night
+no other covering than the sky, or the humid roof of some cave; but
+nothing seemed to affect my constitution; probably the fire which burned
+within me counteracted what I suffered from without.&nbsp; During the
+space of three years I scarcely knew what befell me; my life was a dream&mdash;a
+wild, horrible dream; more than once I believe I was in the hands of
+robbers, and once in the hands of gypsies.&nbsp; I liked the last description
+of people least of all; I could not abide their yellow faces, or their
+ceaseless clabber.&nbsp; Escaping from these beings, whose countenances
+and godless discourse brought to my mind the demons of the deep Unknown,
+I still ran wild through Wales, I know not how long.&nbsp; On one occasion,
+coming in some degree to my recollection, I felt myself quite unable
+to bear the horrors of my situation; looking round I found myself near
+the sea; instantly the idea came into my head that I would cast myself
+into it, and thus anticipate my final doom.&nbsp; I hesitated a moment,
+but a voice within me seemed to tell me that I could do no better; the
+sea was near, and I could not swim, so I determined to fling myself
+into the sea.&nbsp; As I was running along at great speed, in the direction
+of a lofty rock, which beetled over the waters, I suddenly felt myself
+seized by the coat.&nbsp; I strove to tear myself away, but in vain;
+looking round, I perceived a venerable hale old man, who had hold of
+me.&nbsp; &ldquo;Let me go!&rdquo; said I, fiercely.&nbsp; &ldquo;I
+will not let thee go,&rdquo; said the old man, and now, instead of with
+one, he grappled me with both hands.&nbsp; &ldquo;In whose name dost
+thou detain me?&rdquo; said I, scarcely knowing what I said.&nbsp; &ldquo;In
+the name of my Master, who made thee and yonder sea; and has said to
+the sea, So far shalt thou come, and no farther, and to thee, Thou shalt
+do no murder.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Has not a man a right to do what he
+pleases with his own?&rdquo; said I.&nbsp; &ldquo;He has,&rdquo; said
+the old man, &ldquo;but thy life is not thy own; thou art accountable
+for it to thy God.&nbsp; Nay, I will not let thee go,&rdquo; he continued,
+as I again struggled; &ldquo;if thou struggle with me the whole day
+I will not let thee go, as Charles Wesley says, in his &lsquo;Wrestlings
+of Jacob&rsquo;; and see, it is of no use struggling, for I am, in the
+strength of my Master, stronger than thou&rdquo;; and indeed, all of
+a sudden I had become very weak and exhausted; whereupon the old man,
+beholding my situation, took me by the arm and led me gently to a neighbouring
+town, which stood behind a hill, and which I had not before observed;
+presently he opened the door of a respectable-looking house, which stood
+beside a large building having the appearance of a chapel, and conducted
+me into a small room, with a great many books in it.&nbsp; Having caused
+me to sit down, he stood looking at me for some time, occasionally heaving
+a sigh.&nbsp; I was, indeed, haggard and forlorn.&nbsp; &ldquo;Who art
+thou?&rdquo; he said at last.&nbsp; &ldquo;A miserable man,&rdquo; I
+replied.&nbsp; &ldquo;What makes thee miserable?&rdquo; said the old
+man.&nbsp; &ldquo;A hideous crime,&rdquo; I replied.&nbsp; &ldquo;I
+can find no rest; like Cain I wander here and there.&rdquo;&nbsp; The
+old man turned pale.&nbsp; &ldquo;Hast thou taken another&rsquo;s life?&rdquo;
+said he; &ldquo;if so, I advise thee to surrender thyself to the magistrate;
+thou canst do no better; thy doing so will be the best proof of thy
+repentance; and though there be no hope for thee in this world there
+may be much in the next.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;I
+have never taken another&rsquo;s life.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;What then,
+another&rsquo;s goods?&nbsp; If so, restore them sevenfold, if possible:
+or, if it be not in thy power, and thy conscience accuse thee, surrender
+thyself to the magistrate, and make the only satisfaction thou art able.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+&ldquo;I have taken no one&rsquo;s goods,&rdquo; said I.&nbsp; &ldquo;Of
+what art thou guilty, then?&rdquo; said he.&nbsp; &ldquo;Art thou a
+drunkard? a profligate?&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Alas, no,&rdquo; said I;
+&ldquo;I am neither of these; would that I were no worse.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thereupon the old man looked steadfastly at me for some time;
+then, after appearing to reflect, he said, &ldquo;Young man, I have
+a great desire to know your name.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;What matters it
+to you what is my name?&rdquo; said I; &ldquo;you know nothing of me.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Perhaps you are mistaken,&rdquo; said the old man, looking kindly
+at me; &ldquo;but at all events tell me your name.&rdquo;&nbsp; I hesitated
+a moment, and then told him who I was, whereupon he exclaimed with much
+emotion, &ldquo;I thought so; how wonderful are the ways of Providence.&nbsp;
+I have heard of thee, young man, and know thy mother well.&nbsp; Only
+a month ago, when upon a journey, I experienced much kindness from her.&nbsp;
+She was speaking to me of her lost child, with tears; she told me that
+you were one of the best of sons, but that some strange idea appeared
+to have occupied your mind.&nbsp; Despair not, my son.&nbsp; If thou
+hast been afflicted, I doubt not but that thy affliction will eventually
+turn out to thy benefit; I doubt not but that thou wilt be preserved,
+as an example of the great mercy of God.&nbsp; I will now kneel down
+and pray for thee, my son.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He knelt down, and prayed long and fervently.&nbsp; I remained
+standing for some time; at length I knelt down likewise.&nbsp; I scarcely
+knew what he was saying, but when he concluded I said &ldquo;Amen.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And when we had risen from our knees, the old man left me
+for a short time, and on his return led me into another room, where
+were two females; one was an elderly person, the wife of the old man,&mdash;the
+other was a young woman of very prepossessing appearance (hang not down
+thy head, Winifred), who I soon found was a distant relation of the
+old man,&mdash;both received me with great kindness, the old man having
+doubtless previously told them who I was.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I stayed several days in the good man&rsquo;s house.&nbsp;
+I had still the greater portion of a small sum which I happened to have
+about me when I departed on my dolorous wandering, and with this I purchased
+clothes, and altered my appearance considerably.&nbsp; On the evening
+of the second day my friend said, &ldquo;I am going to preach, perhaps
+you will come and hear me.&rdquo;&nbsp; I consented, and we all went,
+not to a church, but to the large building next the house; for the old
+man, though a clergyman, was not of the established persuasion, and
+there the old man mounted a pulpit, and began to preach.&nbsp; &ldquo;Come
+unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden,&rdquo; etc. etc., was
+his text.&nbsp; His sermon was long, but I still bear the greater portion
+of it in my mind.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The substance of it was that Jesus was at all times ready
+to take upon Himself the burden of our sins, provided we came to Him
+with a humble and contrite spirit, and begged His help.&nbsp; This doctrine
+was new to me; I had often been at church, but had never heard it preached
+before, at least so distinctly.&nbsp; When he said that all men might
+be saved, I shook, for I expected he would add, all except those who
+had committed the mysterious sin; but no, all men were to be saved who
+with a humble and contrite spirit would come to Jesus, cast themselves
+at the foot of His cross, and accept pardon through the merits of His
+blood-shedding alone.&nbsp; &ldquo;Therefore, my friends,&rdquo; said
+he, in conclusion, &ldquo;despair not&mdash;however guilty you may be,
+despair not&mdash;however desperate your condition may seem,&rdquo;
+said he, fixing his eyes upon me, &ldquo;despair not.&nbsp; There is
+nothing more foolish and more wicked than despair; over-weening confidence
+is not more foolish than despair; both are the favourite weapons of
+the enemy of souls.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This discourse gave rise in my mind to no slight perplexity.&nbsp;
+I had read in the Scriptures that he who committeth a certain sin shall
+never be forgiven, and that there is no hope for him either in this
+world or the next.&nbsp; And here was a man, a good man certainly, and
+one who, of necessity, was thoroughly acquainted with the Scriptures,
+who told me that any one might be forgiven, however wicked, who would
+only trust in Christ and in the merits of His blood-shedding.&nbsp;
+Did I believe in Christ?&nbsp; Ay, truly.&nbsp; Was I willing to be
+saved by Christ?&nbsp; Ay, truly.&nbsp; Did I trust in Christ?&nbsp;
+I trusted that Christ would save every one but myself.&nbsp; And why
+not myself? simply because the Scriptures had told me that he who has
+committed the sin against the Holy Ghost can never be saved, and I had
+committed the sin against the Holy Ghost,&mdash;perhaps the only one
+who ever had committed it.&nbsp; How could I hope?&nbsp; The Scriptures
+could not lie, and yet here was this good old man, profoundly versed
+in the Scriptures, who bade me hope; would he lie?&nbsp; No.&nbsp; But
+did the old man know my case?&nbsp; Ah, no, he did not know my case!
+but yet he had bid me hope, whatever I had done, provided I would go
+to Jesus.&nbsp; But how could I think of going to Jesus, when the Scriptures
+told me plainly that all would be useless?&nbsp; I was perplexed, and
+yet a ray of hope began to dawn in my soul.&nbsp; I thought of consulting
+the good man, but I was afraid he would drive away the small glimmer.&nbsp;
+I was afraid he would say, &ldquo;Oh yes, every one is to be saved,
+except a wretch like you; I was not aware before that there was anything
+so horrible,&mdash;begone!&rdquo;&nbsp; Once or twice the old man questioned
+me on the subject of my misery, but I evaded him; once, indeed, when
+he looked particularly benevolent, I think I should have unbosomed myself
+to him, but we were interrupted.&nbsp; He never pressed me much; perhaps
+he was delicate in probing my mind, as we were then of different persuasions.&nbsp;
+Hence he advised me to seek the advice of some powerful minister in
+my own church; there were many such in it, he said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I stayed several days in the family, during which time I more
+than once heard my venerable friend preach; each time he preached, he
+exhorted his hearers not to despair.&nbsp; The whole family were kind
+to me; his wife frequently discoursed with me, and also the young person
+to whom I have already alluded.&nbsp; It appeared to me that the latter
+took a peculiar interest in my fate.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;At last my friend said to me, &ldquo;It is now time thou shouldest
+return to thy mother and thy brother.&rdquo;&nbsp; So I arose, and departed
+to my mother and my brother; and at my departure my old friend gave
+me his blessing, and his wife and the young person shed tears, the last
+especially.&nbsp; And when my mother saw me, she shed tears, and fell
+on my neck and kissed me, and my brother took me by the hand and bade
+me welcome; and when our first emotions were subsided, my mother said,
+&ldquo;I trust thou art come in a lucky hour.&nbsp; A few weeks ago
+my cousin (whose favourite thou always wast) died and left thee his
+heir&mdash;left thee the goodly farm in which he lived.&nbsp; I trust,
+my son, that thou wilt now settle, and be a comfort to me in my old
+days.&rdquo;&nbsp; And I answered, &ldquo;I will, if so please the Lord&rdquo;;
+and I said to myself, &ldquo;God grant that this bequest be a token
+of the Lord&rsquo;s favour.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And in a few days I departed to take possession of my farm;
+it was about twenty miles from my mother&rsquo;s house, in a beautiful
+but rather wild district; I arrived at the fall of the leaf.&nbsp; All
+day long I busied myself with my farm, and thus kept my mind employed.&nbsp;
+At night, however, I felt rather solitary, and I frequently wished for
+a companion.&nbsp; Each night and morning I prayed fervently unto the
+Lord; for His hand had been very heavy upon me, and I feared Him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There was one thing connected with my new abode which gave
+me considerable uneasiness&mdash;the want of spiritual instruction.&nbsp;
+There was a church, indeed, close at hand, in which service was occasionally
+performed, but in so hurried and heartless a manner that I derived little
+benefit from it.&nbsp; The clergyman to whom the benefice belonged was
+a valetudinarian, who passed his time in London, or at some watering-place,
+entrusting the care of his flock to the curate of a distant parish,
+who gave himself very little trouble about the matter.&nbsp; Now I wanted
+every Sunday to hear from the pulpit words of consolation and encouragement,
+similar to those which I had heard uttered from the pulpit by my good
+and venerable friend, but I was debarred from this privilege.&nbsp;
+At length, one day being in conversation with one of my labourers, a
+staid and serious man, I spoke to him of the matter which lay heavy
+upon my mind; whereupon, looking me wistfully in the face, he said,
+&ldquo;Master, the want of religious instruction in my church was what
+drove me to the Methodists.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;The Methodists,&rdquo;
+said I, &ldquo;are there any in these parts?&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;There
+is a chapel,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;only half a mile distant, at which
+there are two services every Sunday, and other two during the week.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+Now it happened that my venerable friend was of the Methodist persuasion,
+and when I heard the poor man talk in this manner, I said to him, &ldquo;May
+I go with you next Sunday?&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; said
+he; so I went with the labourer on the ensuing Sabbath to the meeting
+of the Methodists.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I liked the preaching which I heard at the chapel very well,
+though it was not quite so comfortable as that of my old friend, the
+preacher being in some respects a different kind of man.&nbsp; It, however,
+did me good, and I went again, and continued to do so, though I did
+not become a regular member of the body at that time.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I had now the benefit of religious instruction, and also to
+a certain extent of religious fellowship, for the preacher and various
+members of his flock frequently came to see me.&nbsp; They were honest
+plain men, not exactly of the description which I wished for, but still
+good sort of people, and I was glad to see them.&nbsp; Once on a time,
+when some of them were with me, one of them inquired whether I was fervent
+in prayer.&nbsp; &ldquo;Very fervent,&rdquo; said I.&nbsp; &ldquo;And
+do you read the Scriptures often?&rdquo; said he.&nbsp; &ldquo;No,&rdquo;
+said I.&nbsp; &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; said he.&nbsp; &ldquo;Because I
+am afraid to see there my own condemnation.&rdquo;&nbsp; They looked
+at each other, and said nothing at the time.&nbsp; On leaving me, however,
+they all advised me to read the Scriptures with fervency and prayer.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As I had told these honest people, I shrank from searching
+the Scriptures; the remembrance of the fatal passage was still too vivid
+in my mind to permit me.&nbsp; I did not wish to see my condemnation
+repeated, but I was very fervent in prayer, and almost hoped that God
+would yet forgive me by virtue of the blood-shedding of the Lamb.&nbsp;
+Time passed on, my affairs prospered, and I enjoyed a certain portion
+of tranquillity.&nbsp; Occasionally, when I had nothing else to do,
+I renewed my studies.&nbsp; Many is the book I read, especially in my
+native language, for I was always fond of my native language, and proud
+of being a Welshman.&nbsp; Amongst the books I read were the odes of
+the great Ab Gwilym, whom thou, friend, hast never heard of; no, nor
+any of thy countrymen, for you are an ignorant race, you Saxons, at
+least with respect to all that relates to Wales and Welshmen.&nbsp;
+I likewise read the book of Master Ellis Wyn.&nbsp; The latter work
+possessed a singular fascination for me, on account of its wonderful
+delineations of the torments of the nether world.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But man does not love to be alone; indeed, the Scripture says
+that it is not good for man to be alone.&nbsp; I occupied my body with
+the pursuits of husbandry, and I improved my mind with the perusal of
+good and wise books; but, as I have already said, I frequently sighed
+for a companion with whom I could exchange ideas, and who could take
+an interest in my pursuits; the want of such a one I more particularly
+felt in the long winter evenings.&nbsp; It was then that the image of
+the young person whom I had seen in the house of the preacher frequently
+rose up distinctly before my mind&rsquo;s eye, decked with quiet graces&mdash;hang
+not down your head, Winifred&mdash;and I thought that of all the women
+in the world I should wish her to be my partner, and then I considered
+whether it would be possible to obtain her.&nbsp; I am ready to acknowledge,
+friend, that it was both selfish and wicked in me to wish to fetter
+any human being to a lost creature like myself, conscious of having
+committed a crime for which the Scriptures told me there is no pardon.&nbsp;
+I had, indeed, a long struggle as to whether I should make the attempt
+or not&mdash;selfishness however prevailed.&nbsp; I will not detain
+your attention with relating all that occurred at this period&mdash;suffice
+it to say that I made my suit and was successful; it is true that the
+old man, who was her guardian, hesitated, and asked several questions
+respecting my state of mind.&nbsp; I am afraid that I partly deceived
+him, perhaps he partly deceived himself; he was pleased that I had adopted
+his profession&mdash;we are all weak creatures.&nbsp; With respect to
+the young person, she did not ask many questions; and I soon found that
+I had won her heart.&nbsp; To be brief, I married her; and here she
+is, the truest wife that ever man had, and the kindest.&nbsp; Kind I
+may well call her, seeing that she shrinks not from me, who so cruelly
+deceived her, in not telling her at first what I was.&nbsp; I married
+her, friend; and brought her home to my little possession, where we
+passed our time very agreeably.&nbsp; Our affairs prospered, our garners
+were full, and there was coin in our purse.&nbsp; I worked in the field;
+Winifred busied herself with the dairy.&nbsp; At night I frequently
+read books to her, books of my own country, friend; I likewise read
+to her songs of my own, holy songs and carols which she admired, and
+which yourself would perhaps admire, could you understand them; but
+I repeat, you Saxons are an ignorant people with respect to us, and
+a perverse, inasmuch as you despise Welsh without understanding it.&nbsp;
+Every night I prayed fervently, and my wife admired my gift of prayer.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One night, after I had been reading to my wife a portion of
+Ellis Wyn, my wife said, &ldquo;This is a wonderful book, and containing
+much true and pleasant doctrine; but how is it that you, who are so
+fond of good books, and good things in general, never read the Bible?&nbsp;
+You read me the book of Master Ellis Wyn, you read me sweet songs of
+your own composition, you edify me with your gift of prayer, but yet
+you never read the Bible.&rdquo;&nbsp; And when I heard her mention
+the Bible I shook, for I thought of my own condemnation.&nbsp; However,
+I dearly loved my wife, and as she pressed me, I commenced on that very
+night reading the Bible.&nbsp; All went on smoothly for a long time;
+for months and months I did not find the fatal passage, so that I almost
+thought that I had imagined it.&nbsp; My affairs prospered much the
+while, so that I was almost happy,&mdash;taking pleasure in everything
+around me,&mdash;in my wife, in my farm, my books and compositions,
+and the Welsh language; till one night, as I was reading the Bible,
+feeling particularly comfortable, a thought having just come into my
+head that I would print some of my compositions, and purchase a particular
+field of a neighbour&mdash;O God&mdash;God!&nbsp; I came to the fatal
+passage.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Friend, friend, what shall I say?&nbsp; I rushed out.&nbsp;
+My wife followed me, asking me what was the matter.&nbsp; I could only
+answer with groans&mdash;for three days and three nights I did little
+else than groan.&nbsp; Oh the kindness and solicitude of my wife!&nbsp;
+&ldquo;What is the matter husband, dear husband?&rdquo; she was continually
+saying.&nbsp; I became at last more calm.&nbsp; My wife still persisted
+in asking me the cause of my late paroxysm.&nbsp; It is hard to keep
+a secret from a wife, especially such a wife as mine, so I told my wife
+the tale, as we sat one night&mdash;it was a mid-winter night&mdash;over
+the dying brands of our hearth, after the family had retired to rest,
+her hand locked in mine, even as it is now.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I thought she would have shrunk from me with horror; but she
+did not; her hand, it is true, trembled once or twice; but that was
+all.&nbsp; At last she gave mine a gentle pressure; and, looking up
+in my face, she said&mdash;what do you think my wife said, young man?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is impossible for me to guess,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let us go to rest, my love; your fears are all groundless.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXXVII</h2>
+<p>Getting late&mdash;Seven years old&mdash;Chastening&mdash;Go forth&mdash;London
+Bridge&mdash;Same eyes&mdash;Common occurrence&mdash;Very sleepy.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And so I still say,&rsquo; said Winifred, sobbing.&nbsp; &lsquo;Let
+us retire to rest, dear husband; your fears are groundless.&nbsp; I
+had hoped long since that your affliction would have passed away, and
+I still hope that it eventually will; so take heart, Peter, and let
+us retire to rest, for it is getting late.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Rest!&rsquo; said Peter; &lsquo;there is no rest for the wicked!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We are all wicked,&rsquo; said Winifred; &lsquo;but you are
+afraid of a shadow.&nbsp; How often have I told you that the sin of
+your heart is not the sin against the Holy Ghost: the sin of your heart
+is its natural pride, of which you are scarcely aware, to keep down
+which God in His mercy permitted you to be terrified with the idea of
+having committed a sin which you never committed.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you will still maintain,&rsquo; said Peter, &lsquo;that
+I never committed the sin against the Holy Spirit?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will,&rsquo; said Winifred; &lsquo;you never committed it.&nbsp;
+How should a child seven years old commit a sin like that?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Have I not read my own condemnation?&rsquo; said Peter.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Did not the first words which I read in the Holy Scripture condemn
+me?&nbsp; &ldquo;He who committeth the sin against the Holy Ghost shall
+never enter into the kingdom of God.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You never committed it,&rsquo; said Winifred.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But the words! the words! the words!&rsquo; said Peter.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The words are true words,&rsquo; said Winifred, sobbing; &lsquo;but
+they were not meant for you, but for those who have broken their profession,
+who, having embraced the cross, have receded from their Master.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what sayst thou to the effect which the words produced
+upon me?&rsquo; said Peter.&nbsp; &lsquo;Did they not cause me to run
+wild through Wales for years, like Merddin Wyllt of yore; thinkest thou
+that I opened the book at that particular passage by chance?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said Winifred, &lsquo;not by chance; it was the
+hand of God directed you, doubtless for some wise purpose.&nbsp; You
+had become satisfied with yourself.&nbsp; The Lord wished to rouse thee
+from thy state of carnal security, and therefore directed your eyes
+to that fearful passage.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Does the Lord then carry out His designs by means of guile?&rsquo;
+said Peter with a groan.&nbsp; &lsquo;Is not the Lord true?&nbsp; Would
+the Lord impress upon me that I had committed a sin of which I am guiltless?&nbsp;
+Hush, Winifred! hush! thou knowest that I have committed the sin.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thou hast not committed it,&rsquo; said Winifred, sobbing
+yet more violently.&nbsp; &lsquo;Were they my last words, I would persist
+that thou hast not committed it, though, perhaps, thou wouldst, but
+for this chastening; it was not to convince thee that thou hast committed
+the sin, but rather to prevent thee from committing it, that the Lord
+brought that passage before thy eyes.&nbsp; He is not to blame, if thou
+art wilfully blind to the truth and wisdom of His ways.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I see thou wouldst comfort me,&rsquo; said Peter, &lsquo;as
+thou hast often before attempted to do.&nbsp; I would fain ask the young
+man his opinion.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have not yet heard the whole of your history,&rsquo; said
+I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My story is nearly told,&rsquo; said Peter; &lsquo;a few words
+will complete it.&nbsp; My wife endeavoured to console and reassure
+me, using the arguments which you have just heard her use, and many
+others, but in vain.&nbsp; Peace nor comfort came to my breast.&nbsp;
+I was rapidly falling into the depths of despair; when one day Winifred
+said to me, &ldquo;I see thou wilt be lost, if we remain here.&nbsp;
+One resource only remains.&nbsp; Thou must go forth, my husband, into
+the wide world, and to comfort thee I will go with thee.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+&ldquo;And what can I do in the wide world?&rdquo; said I, despondingly.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Much,&rdquo; replied Winifred, &ldquo;if you will but exert yourself;
+much good canst thou do with the blessing of God.&rdquo;&nbsp; Many
+things of the same kind she said to me; and at last I arose from the
+earth to which God had smitten me, and disposed of my property in the
+best way I could, and went into the world.&nbsp; We did all the good
+we were able, visiting the sick, ministering to the sick, and praying
+with the sick.&nbsp; At last I became celebrated as the possessor of
+a great gift of prayer.&nbsp; And people urged me to preach, and Winifred
+urged me too, and at last I consented, and I preached.&nbsp; I&mdash;I&mdash;outcast
+Peter, became the preacher Peter Williams.&nbsp; I, the lost one, attempted
+to show others the right road.&nbsp; And in this way I have gone on
+for thirteen years, preaching and teaching, visiting the sick, and ministering
+to them, with Winifred by my side heartening me on.&nbsp; Occasionally
+I am visited with fits of indescribable agony, generally on the night
+before the Sabbath; for I then ask myself, how dare I, the outcast,
+attempt to preach the word of God?&nbsp; Young man, my tale is told;
+you seem in thought!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am thinking of London Bridge,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of London Bridge!&rsquo; said Peter and his wife.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;of London Bridge.&nbsp; I am indebted
+for much wisdom to London Bridge; it was there that I completed my studies.&nbsp;
+But to the point.&nbsp; I was once reading on London Bridge a book which
+an ancient gentlewoman, who kept the bridge, was in the habit of lending
+me; and there I found written, &ldquo;Each one carries in his breast
+the recollection of some sin which presses heavy upon him.&nbsp; Oh,
+if men could but look into each other&rsquo;s hearts, what blackness
+would they find there!&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That&rsquo;s true,&rsquo; said Peter.&nbsp; &lsquo;What is
+the name of the book?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;<i>The Life of Blessed Mary Flanders</i>.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Some popish saint, I suppose,&rsquo; said Peter.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As much of a saint, I daresay,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;as most
+popish ones; but you interrupted me.&nbsp; One part of your narrative
+brought the passage which I have quoted into my mind.&nbsp; You said
+that after you had committed this same sin of yours you were in the
+habit, at school, of looking upon your schoolfellows with a kind of
+gloomy superiority, considering yourself a lone monstrous being who
+had committed a sin far above the daring of any of them.&nbsp; Are you
+sure that many others of your schoolfellows were not looking upon you
+and the others with much the same eyes with which you were looking upon
+them?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How!&rsquo; said Peter, &lsquo;dost thou think that they had
+divined my secret?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not they,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;they were, I daresay, thinking
+too much of themselves and of their own concerns to have divined any
+secrets of yours.&nbsp; All I mean to say is, they had probably secrets
+of their own, and who knows that the secret sin of more than one of
+them was not the very sin which caused you so much misery?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Dost thou then imagine,&rsquo; said Peter, &lsquo;the sin
+against the Holy Ghost to be so common an occurrence?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As you have described it,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;of very common
+occurrence, especially amongst children, who are, indeed, the only beings
+likely to commit it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Truly,&rsquo; said Winifred, &lsquo;the young man talks wisely.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Peter was silent for some moments, and appeared to be reflecting;
+at last, suddenly raising his head, he looked me full in the face, and,
+grasping my hand with vehemence, he said, &lsquo;Tell me, young man,
+only one thing, hast thou, too, committed the sin against the Holy Ghost?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am neither Papist nor Methodist,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;but
+of the Church, and, being so, confess myself to no one, but keep my
+own counsel; I will tell thee, however, had I committed, at the same
+age, twenty such sins as that which you committed, I should feel no
+uneasiness at these years&mdash;but I am sleepy, and must go to rest.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;God bless thee, young man,&rsquo; said Winifred.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXXVIII</h2>
+<p>Low and calm&mdash;Much better&mdash;Blessed effect&mdash;No answer&mdash;Such
+a sermon.</p>
+<p>Before I sank to rest I heard Winifred and her husband conversing
+in the place where I had left them; both their voices were low and calm.&nbsp;
+I soon fell asleep, and slumbered for some time.&nbsp; On my awakening
+I again heard them conversing, but they were now in their cart; still
+the voices of both were calm.&nbsp; I heard no passionate bursts of
+wild despair on the part of the man.&nbsp; Methought I occasionally
+heard the word Pechod proceeding from the lips of each, but with no
+particular emphasis.&nbsp; I supposed they were talking of the innate
+sin of both their hearts.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I wish that man were happy,&rsquo; said I to myself, &lsquo;were
+it only for his wife&rsquo;s sake, and yet he deserves to be happy for
+his own.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The next day Peter was very cheerful, more cheerful than I had ever
+seen him.&nbsp; At breakfast his conversation was animated, and he smiled
+repeatedly.&nbsp; I looked at him with the greatest interest, and the
+eyes of his wife were almost constantly fixed upon him.&nbsp; A shade
+of gloom would occasionally come over his countenance, but it almost
+instantly disappeared; perhaps it proceeded more from habit than anything
+else.&nbsp; After breakfast he took his Welsh Bible and sat down beneath
+a tree.&nbsp; His eyes were soon fixed intently on the volume; now and
+then he would call his wife, show her some passage, and appeared to
+consult with her.&nbsp; The day passed quickly and comfortably.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Your husband seems much better,&rsquo; said I, at evening
+fall, to Winifred, as we chanced to be alone.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He does,&rsquo; said Winifred; &lsquo;and that on the day
+of the week when he was wont to appear most melancholy, for to-morrow
+is the Sabbath.&nbsp; He now no longer looks forward to the Sabbath
+with dread, but appears to reckon on it.&nbsp; What a happy change!
+and to think that this change should have been produced by a few words,
+seemingly careless ones, proceeding from the mouth of one who is almost
+a stranger to him.&nbsp; Truly, it is wonderful.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To whom do you allude,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;and to what words?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To yourself, and to the words which came from your lips last
+night, after you had heard my poor husband&rsquo;s history.&nbsp; Those
+strange words, drawn out with so much seeming indifference, have produced
+in my husband the blessed effect which you have observed.&nbsp; They
+have altered the current of his ideas.&nbsp; He no longer thinks himself
+the only being in the world doomed to destruction,&mdash;the only being
+capable of committing the never-to-be-forgiven sin.&nbsp; Your supposition
+that that which harrowed his soul is of frequent occurrence amongst
+children has tranquillised him; the mist which hung over his mind has
+cleared away, and he begins to see the groundlessness of his apprehensions.&nbsp;
+The Lord has permitted him to be chastened for a season, but his lamp
+will only burn the brighter for what he has undergone.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sunday came, fine and glorious as the last.&nbsp; Again my friends
+and myself breakfasted together&mdash;again the good family of the house
+on the hill above, headed by the respectable master, descended to the
+meadow.&nbsp; Peter and his wife were ready to receive them.&nbsp; Again
+Peter placed himself at the side of the honest farmer, and Winifred
+by the side of her friend.&nbsp; &lsquo;Wilt thou not come?&rsquo; said
+Peter, looking towards me with a face in which there was much emotion.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Wilt thou not come?&rsquo; said Winifred, with a face beaming
+with kindness.&nbsp; But I made no answer, and presently the party moved
+away, in the same manner in which it had moved on the preceding Sabbath,
+and I was again left alone.</p>
+<p>The hours of the Sabbath passed slowly away.&nbsp; I sat gazing at
+the sky, the trees, and the water.&nbsp; At last I strolled up to the
+house and sat down in the porch.&nbsp; It was empty; there was no modest
+maiden there, as on the preceding Sabbath.&nbsp; The damsel of the book
+had accompanied the rest.&nbsp; I had seen her in the procession, and
+the house appeared quite deserted.&nbsp; The owners had probably left
+it to my custody, so I sat down in the porch, quite alone.&nbsp; The
+hours of the Sabbath passed heavily away.</p>
+<p>At last evening came, and with it the party of the morning.&nbsp;
+I was now at my place beneath the oak.&nbsp; I went forward to meet
+them.&nbsp; Peter and his wife received me with a calm and quiet greeting,
+and passed forward.&nbsp; The rest of the party had broken into groups.&nbsp;
+There was a kind of excitement amongst them, and much eager whispering.&nbsp;
+I went to one of the groups; the young girl of whom I have spoken more
+than once was speaking: &lsquo;Such a sermon,&rsquo; said she, &lsquo;it
+has never been our lot to hear; Peter never before spoke as he has done
+this day&mdash;he was always a powerful preacher, but oh, the unction
+of the discourse of this morning, and yet more of that of the afternoon,
+which was the continuation of it!&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;What was the subject?&rsquo;
+said I, interrupting her.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ah! you should have been there,
+young man, to have heard it; it would have made a lasting impression
+upon you.&nbsp; I was bathed in tears all the time; those who heard
+it will never forget the preaching of the good Peter Williams on the
+Power, Providence, and Goodness of God.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXXIX</h2>
+<p>Deep interest&mdash;Goodly country&mdash;Two mansions&mdash;Welshman&rsquo;s
+Candle&mdash;Beautiful universe&mdash;Godly discourse&mdash;Fine church&mdash;Points
+of doctrine&mdash;Strange adventures&mdash;Paltry cause&mdash;Roman
+pontiff&mdash;Evil spirit.</p>
+<p>On the morrow I said to my friends, &lsquo;I am about to depart;
+farewell!&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Depart!&rsquo; said Peter and his wife,
+simultaneously; &lsquo;whither wouldst thou go?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I
+can&rsquo;t stay here all my days,&rsquo; I replied.&nbsp; &lsquo;Of
+course not,&rsquo; said Peter; &lsquo;but we had no idea of losing thee
+so soon: we had almost hoped that thou wouldst join us, become one of
+us.&nbsp; We are under infinite obligations to thee.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;You
+mean I am under infinite obligations to you,&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;Did
+you not save my life?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Perhaps so, under God,&rsquo;
+said Peter; &lsquo;and what hast thou not done for me?&nbsp; Art thou
+aware that, under God, thou hast preserved my soul from despair?&nbsp;
+But, independent of that, we like thy company, and feel a deep interest
+in thee, and would fain teach thee the way that is right.&nbsp; Hearken,
+to-morrow we go into Wales; go with us.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I have no
+wish to go into Wales,&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;Why not?&rsquo; said
+Peter, with animation.&nbsp; &lsquo;Wales is a goodly country; as the
+Scripture says&mdash;a land of brooks of water, of fountains and depths,
+that spring out of valleys and hills, a land whose stones are iron,
+and out of whose hills thou mayest dig lead.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I daresay it is a very fine country,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;but
+I have no wish to go there just now; my destiny seems to point in another
+direction, to say nothing of my trade.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Thou dost
+right to say nothing of thy trade,&rsquo; said Peter, smiling, &lsquo;for
+thou seemest to care nothing about it; which has led Winifred and myself
+to suspect that thou art not altogether what thou seemest; but, setting
+that aside, we should be most happy if thou wouldst go with us into
+Wales.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I cannot promise to go with you into Wales,&rsquo;
+said I; &lsquo;but, as you depart to-morrow, I will stay with you through
+the day, and on the morrow accompany you part of the way.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Do,&rsquo; said Peter: &lsquo;I have many people to see to-day,
+and so has Winifred; but we will both endeavour to have some serious
+discourse with thee, which, perhaps, will turn to thy profit in the
+end.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>In the course of the day the good Peter came to me, as I was seated
+beneath the oak, and, placing himself by me, commenced addressing me
+in the following manner:&mdash;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have no doubt, my young friend, that you are willing to
+admit that the most important thing which a human being possesses is
+his soul; it is of infinitely more importance than the body, which is
+a frail substance, and cannot last for many years; but not so the soul,
+which, by its nature, is imperishable.&nbsp; To one of two mansions
+the soul is destined to depart, after its separation from the body,
+to heaven or hell; to the halls of eternal bliss, where God and His
+holy angels dwell, or to the place of endless misery, inhabited by Satan
+and his grisly companions.&nbsp; My friend, if the joys of heaven are
+great, unutterably great, so are the torments of hell unutterably so.&nbsp;
+I wish not to speak of them, I wish not to terrify your imagination
+with the torments of hell: indeed, I like not to think of them; but
+it is necessary to speak of them sometimes, and to think of them sometimes,
+lest you should sink into a state of carnal security.&nbsp; Authors,
+friend, and learned men, are not altogether agreed as to the particulars
+of hell.&nbsp; They all agree, however, in considering it a place of
+exceeding horror.&nbsp; Master Ellis Wyn, who by the bye was a churchman,
+calls it, amongst other things, a place of strong sighs, and of flaming
+sparks.&nbsp; Master Rees Pritchard, who was not only a churchman, but
+Vicar of Llandovery, and flourished about two hundred years ago&mdash;I
+wish many like him flourished now&mdash;speaking of hell, in his collection
+of sweet hymns called the &ldquo;Welshman&rsquo;s Candle,&rdquo; observes,</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&ldquo;The pool is continually blazing; it is very deep, without
+any known bottom, and the walls are so high, that there is neither hope
+nor possibility of escaping over them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But, as I told you just now, I have no great pleasure in talking
+of hell.&nbsp; No, friend, no; I would sooner talk of the other place,
+and of the goodness and hospitality of God amongst His saints above.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And then the excellent man began to dilate upon the joys of heaven,
+and the goodness and hospitality of God in the mansions above; explaining
+to me, in the clearest way, how I might get there.</p>
+<p>And when he had finished what he had to say, he left me, whereupon
+Winifred drew nigh, and sitting down by me began to address me.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I do not think,&rsquo; said she, &lsquo;from what I have observed
+of thee, that thou wouldst wish to be ungrateful, and yet, is not thy
+whole life a series of ingratitude, and to whom?&mdash;to thy Maker.&nbsp;
+Has He not endowed thee with a goodly and healthy form; and senses which
+enable thee to enjoy the delights of His beautiful universe&mdash;the
+work of His hands?&nbsp; Canst thou not enjoy, even to rapture, the
+brightness of the sun, the perfume of the meads, and the song of the
+dear birds which inhabit among the trees?&nbsp; Yes, thou canst; for
+I have seen thee, and observed thee doing so.&nbsp; Yet, during the
+whole time that I have known thee, I have not heard proceed from thy
+lips one single word of praise or thanksgiving to . . .&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And in this manner the admirable woman proceeded for a considerable
+time, and to all her discourse I listened with attention; and when she
+had concluded, I took her hand and said, &lsquo;I thank you,&rsquo;
+and that was all.</p>
+<p>On the next day everything was ready for our departure.&nbsp; The
+good family of the house came to bid us farewell.&nbsp; There were shaking
+of hands, and kisses, as on the night of our arrival.</p>
+<p>And as I stood somewhat apart, the young girl of whom I have spoken
+so often came up to me, and holding out her hand, said, &lsquo;Farewell,
+young man, wherever thou goest.&rsquo;&nbsp; Then, after looking around
+her, she said, &lsquo;It was all true you told me.&nbsp; Yesterday I
+received a letter from him thou wottest of; he is coming soon.&nbsp;
+God bless you, young man; who would have thought thou knewest so much!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>So, after we had taken our farewell of the good family, we departed,
+proceeding in the direction of Wales.&nbsp; Peter was very cheerful,
+and enlivened the way with godly discourse and spiritual hymns, some
+of which were in the Welsh language.&nbsp; At length I said, &lsquo;It
+is a pity that you did not continue in the Church; you have a turn for
+Psalmody, and I have heard of a man becoming a bishop by means of a
+less qualification.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very probably,&rsquo; said Peter; &lsquo;more the pity.&nbsp;
+But I have told you the reason of my forsaking it.&nbsp; Frequently,
+when I went to the church door, I found it barred, and the priest absent;
+what was I to do?&nbsp; My heart was bursting for want of some religious
+help and comfort; what could I do? as good Master Rees Pritchard observes
+in his &ldquo;Candle for Welshmen&rdquo;:&mdash;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&ldquo;It is a doleful thing to see little children burning
+on the hot coals for want of help; but yet more doleful to see a flock
+of souls falling into the burning lake for want of a priest.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Church of England is a fine church,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;I
+would not advise any one to speak ill of the Church of England before
+me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have nothing to say against the church,&rsquo; said Peter;
+&lsquo;all I wish is that it would fling itself a little more open,
+and that its priests would a little more bestir themselves; in a word,
+that it would shoulder the cross and become a missionary church.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is too proud for that,&rsquo; said Winifred.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are much more of a Methodist,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;than
+your husband.&nbsp; But tell me,&rsquo; said I, addressing myself to
+Peter, &lsquo;do you not differ from the church in some points of doctrine?&nbsp;
+I, of course, as a true member of the church, am quite ignorant of the
+peculiar opinions of wandering sectaries.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh the pride of that church!&rsquo; said Winifred, half to
+herself; &lsquo;wandering sectaries!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We differ in no points of doctrine,&rsquo; said Peter; &lsquo;we
+believe all the church believes, though we are not so fond of vain and
+superfluous ceremonies, snow-white neckcloths and surplices, as the
+church is.&nbsp; We likewise think that there is no harm in a sermon
+by the road-side, or in holding free discourse with a beggar beneath
+a hedge, or a tinker,&rsquo; he added, smiling; &lsquo;it was those
+superfluous ceremonies, those surplices and white neckcloths, and, above
+all, the necessity of strictly regulating his words and conversation,
+which drove John Wesley out of the church, and sent him wandering up
+and down as you see me, poor Welsh Peter, do.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Nothing farther passed for some time; we were now drawing near the
+hills: at last I said, &lsquo;You must have met with a great many strange
+adventures since you took up this course of life?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Many,&rsquo; said Peter, &lsquo;it has been my lot to meet
+with; but none more strange than one which occurred to me only a few
+weeks ago.&nbsp; You were asking me, not long since, whether I believed
+in devils?&nbsp; Ay, truly, young man; and I believe that the abyss
+and the yet deeper unknown do not contain them all; some walk about
+upon the green earth.&nbsp; So it happened, some weeks ago, that I was
+exercising my ministry about forty miles from here.&nbsp; I was alone,
+Winifred being slightly indisposed, staying for a few days at the house
+of an acquaintance; I had finished afternoon&rsquo;s worship&mdash;the
+people had dispersed, and I was sitting solitary by my cart under some
+green trees in a quiet retired place; suddenly a voice said to me, &ldquo;Good-evening,
+Pastor&rdquo;; I looked up, and before me stood a man, at least the
+appearance of a man, dressed in a black suit of rather a singular fashion.&nbsp;
+He was about my own age, or somewhat older.&nbsp; As I looked upon him,
+it appeared to me that I had seen him twice before whilst preaching.&nbsp;
+I replied to his salutation, and perceiving that he looked somewhat
+fatigued, I took out a stool from the cart, and asked him to sit down.&nbsp;
+We began to discourse; I at first supposed that he might be one of ourselves,
+some wandering minister; but I was soon undeceived.&nbsp; Neither his
+language nor his ideas were those of any one of our body.&nbsp; He spoke
+on all kinds of matters with much fluency; till at last he mentioned
+my preaching, complimenting me on my powers.&nbsp; I replied, as well
+I might, that I could claim no merit of my own, and that if I spoke
+with any effect, it was only by the grace of God.&nbsp; As I uttered
+these last words, a horrible kind of sneer came over his countenance,
+which made me shudder, for there was something diabolical in it.&nbsp;
+I said little more, but listened attentively to his discourse.&nbsp;
+At last he said that I was engaged in a paltry cause, quite unworthy
+of one of my powers.&nbsp; &ldquo;How can that be,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;even
+if I possessed all the powers in the world, seeing that I am engaged
+in the cause of our Lord Jesus?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The same kind of sneer again came on his countenance, but
+he almost instantly observed, that if I chose to forsake this same miserable
+cause, from which nothing but contempt and privation was to be expected,
+he would enlist me into another, from which I might expect both profit
+and renown.&nbsp; An idea now came into my head, and I told him firmly
+that if he wished me to forsake my present profession and become a member
+of the Church of England, I must absolutely decline; that I had no ill-will
+against that church, but I thought I could do most good in my present
+position, which I would not forsake to be Archbishop of Canterbury.&nbsp;
+Thereupon he burst into a strange laughter, and went away, repeating
+to himself, &ldquo;Church of England!&nbsp; Archbishop of Canterbury!&rdquo;&nbsp;
+A few days after, when I was once more in a solitary place, he again
+appeared before me, and asked me whether I had thought over his words,
+and whether I was willing to enlist under the banners of his master,
+adding that he was eager to secure me, as he conceived that I might
+be highly useful to the cause.&nbsp; I then asked him who his master
+was; he hesitated for a moment, and then answered, &ldquo;The Roman
+Pontiff.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;If it be he,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;I can
+have nothing to do with him; I will serve no one who is an enemy of
+Christ.&rdquo;&nbsp; Thereupon he drew near to me, and told me not to
+talk so much like a simpleton; that as for Christ, it was probable that
+no such person ever existed, but that if He ever did, He was the greatest
+impostor the world ever saw.&nbsp; How long he continued in this way
+I know not, for I now considered that an evil spirit was before me,
+and shrank within myself, shivering in every limb; when I recovered
+myself and looked about me, he was gone.&nbsp; Two days after, he again
+stood before me, in the same place, and about the same hour, renewing
+his propositions, and speaking more horribly than before.&nbsp; I made
+him no answer; whereupon he continued; but suddenly hearing a noise
+behind him, he looked round and beheld Winifred, who had returned to
+me on the morning of that day.&nbsp; &ldquo;Who are you?&rdquo; said
+he, fiercely.&nbsp; &ldquo;This man&rsquo;s wife,&rdquo; said she, calmly
+fixing her eyes upon him.&nbsp; &ldquo;Begone from him, unhappy one,
+thou temptest him in vain.&rdquo;&nbsp; He made no answer, but stood
+as if transfixed: at length, recovering himself, he departed, muttering
+&ldquo;Wife! wife!&nbsp; If the fool has a wife, he will never do for
+us.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXXX</h2>
+<p>The border&mdash;Thank you both&mdash;Pipe and fiddle&mdash;Taliesin.</p>
+<p>We were now drawing very near the hills, and Peter said, &lsquo;If
+you are to go into Wales, you must presently decide, for we are close
+upon the border.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Which is the border?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yon small brook,&rsquo; said Peter, &lsquo;into which the
+man on horseback who is coming towards us is now entering.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I see it,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;and the man; he stops in the
+middle of it, as if to water his steed.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>We proceeded till we had nearly reached the brook.&nbsp; &lsquo;Well,&rsquo;
+said Peter, &lsquo;will you go into Wales?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What should I do in Wales?&rsquo; I demanded.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do!&rsquo; said Peter, smiling, &lsquo;learn Welsh.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I stopped my little pony.&nbsp; &lsquo;Then I need not go into Wales;
+I already know Welsh.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Know Welsh!&rsquo; said Peter, staring at me.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Know Welsh!&rsquo; said Winifred, stopping her cart.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How and when did you learn it?&rsquo; said Peter.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;From books, in my boyhood.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Read Welsh!&rsquo; said Peter; &lsquo;is it possible?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Read Welsh!&rsquo; said Winifred; &lsquo;is it possible?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, I hope you will come with us,&rsquo; said Peter.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come with us, young man,&rsquo; said Winifred; &lsquo;let
+me, on the other side of the brook, welcome you into Wales.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thank you both,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;but I will not come.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Wherefore?&rsquo; exclaimed both, simultaneously.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because it is neither fit nor proper that I cross into Wales
+at this time, and in this manner.&nbsp; When I go into Wales, I should
+wish to go in a new suit of superfine black, with hat and beaver, mounted
+on a powerful steed, black and glossy, like that which bore Greduv to
+the fight of Catraeth.&nbsp; I should wish, moreover, to see the Welshmen
+assembled on the border ready to welcome me with pipe and fiddle, and
+much whooping and shouting, and to attend me to Wrexham, or even as
+far as Machynllaith, where I should wish to be invited to a dinner at
+which all the bards should be present, and to be seated at the right
+hand of the president, who, when the cloth was removed, should arise,
+and, amidst cries of silence, exclaim&mdash;&ldquo;Brethren and Welshmen,
+allow me to propose the health of my most respectable friend the translator
+of the odes of the great Ab Gwilym, the pride and glory of Wales.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How!&rsquo; said Peter, &lsquo;hast thou translated the works
+of the mighty Dafydd?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;With notes critical, historical, and explanatory.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come with us, friend,&rsquo; said Peter.&nbsp; &lsquo;I cannot
+promise such a dinner as thou wishest, but neither pipe nor fiddle shall
+be wanting.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come with us, young man,&rsquo; said Winifred, &lsquo;even
+as thou art, and the daughters of Wales shall bid thee welcome.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will not go with you,&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;Dost thou
+see that man in the ford?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who is staring at us so, and whose horse has not yet done
+drinking?&nbsp; Of course I see him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I shall turn back with him.&nbsp; God bless you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Go back with him not,&rsquo; said Peter; &lsquo;he is one
+of those whom I like not, one of the clibberty-clabber, as Master Ellis
+Wyn observes&mdash;turn not with that man.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Go not back with him,&rsquo; said Winifred.&nbsp; &lsquo;If
+thou goest with that man, thou wilt soon forget all our profitable counsels;
+come with us.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I cannot; I have much to say to him.&nbsp; Kosko Divvus, Mr.
+Petulengro.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Kosko Divvus, Pal,&rsquo; said Mr. Petulengro, riding through
+the water; &lsquo;are you turning back?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I turned back with Mr. Petulengro.</p>
+<p>Peter came running after me: &lsquo;One moment, young man,&mdash;who
+and what are you?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I must answer in the words of Taliesin,&rsquo; said I: &lsquo;none
+can say with positiveness whether I be fish or flesh, least of all myself.&nbsp;
+God bless you both!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Take this,&rsquo; said Peter, and he thrust his Welsh Bible
+into my hand.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXXXI</h2>
+<p>At a funeral&mdash;Two days ago&mdash;Very coolly&mdash;Roman woman&mdash;Well
+and hearty&mdash;Somewhat dreary&mdash;Plum pudding&mdash;Roman fashion&mdash;Quite
+different&mdash;The dark lane&mdash;Beyond the time&mdash;Fine fellow&mdash;Such
+a struggle&mdash;Like a wild cat&mdash;Fair Play&mdash;Pleasant enough
+spot&mdash;No gloves.</p>
+<p>So I turned back with Mr. Petulengro.&nbsp; We travelled for some
+time in silence; at last we fell into discourse.&nbsp; &lsquo;You have
+been in Wales, Mr. Petulengro?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ay, truly, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What have you been doing there?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Assisting at a funeral.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;At whose funeral?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Mrs. Herne&rsquo;s, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is she dead, then?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As a nail, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How did she die?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;By hanging, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am lost in astonishment,&rsquo; said I; whereupon Mr. Petulengro,
+lifting his sinister leg over the neck of his steed, and adjusting himself
+sideways in the saddle, replied, with great deliberation, &lsquo;Two
+days ago I happened to be at a fair not very far from here; I was all
+alone by myself, for our party were upwards of forty miles off, when
+who should come up but a chap that I knew, a relation, or rather a connection,
+of mine&mdash;one of those Hernes.&nbsp; &ldquo;Aren&rsquo;t you going
+to the funeral?&rdquo; said he; and then, brother, there passed between
+him and me, in the way of questioning and answering, much the same as
+has just now passed between me and you; but when he mentioned hanging,
+I thought I could do no less than ask who hanged her, which you forgot
+to do.&nbsp; &ldquo;Who hanged her?&rdquo; said I; and then the man
+told me that she had done it herself; been her own hinjiri; and then
+I thought to myself what a sin and shame it would be if I did not go
+to the funeral, seeing that she was my own mother-in-law.&nbsp; I would
+have brought my wife, and, indeed, the whole of our party, but there
+was no time for that; they were too far off, and the dead was to be
+buried early the next morning; so I went with the man, and he led me
+into Wales, where his party had lately retired, and when there, through
+many wild and desolate places to their encampment, and there I found
+the Hernes, and the dead body&mdash;the last laid out on a mattress,
+in a tent, dressed Romaneskoenaes in a red cloak, and big bonnet of
+black beaver.&nbsp; I must say for the Hernes that they took the matter
+very coolly; some were eating, others drinking, and some were talking
+about their small affairs; there was one, however, who did not take
+the matter so coolly, but took on enough for the whole family, sitting
+beside the dead woman, tearing her hair, and refusing to take either
+meat or drink; it was the child Leonora.&nbsp; I arrived at night-fall,
+and the burying was not to take place till the morning, which I was
+rather sorry for, as I am not very fond of them Hernes, who are not
+very fond of anybody.&nbsp; They never asked me to eat or drink, notwithstanding
+I had married into the family; one of them, however, came up and offered
+to fight me for five shillings; had it not been for them I should have
+come back as empty as I went&mdash;he didn&rsquo;t stand up five minutes.&nbsp;
+Brother, I passed the night as well as I could, beneath a tree, for
+the tents were full, and not over clean; I slept little, and had my
+eyes about me, for I knew the kind of people I was among.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Early in the morning the funeral took place.&nbsp; The body
+was placed not in a coffin but on a bier, and carried not to a churchyard
+but to a deep dell close by; and there it was buried beneath a rock,
+dressed just as I have told you; and this was done by the bidding of
+Leonora, who had heard her bebee say that she wished to be buried, not
+in gorgious fashion, but like a Roman woman of the old blood, the kosko
+puro rati, brother.&nbsp; When it was over, and we had got back to the
+encampment, I prepared to be going.&nbsp; Before mounting my gry, however,
+I bethought me to ask what could have induced the dead woman to make
+away with herself&mdash;a thing so uncommon amongst Romanies; whereupon
+one squinted with his eyes, a second spirted saliver into the air, and
+a third said that he neither knew nor cared; she was a good riddance,
+having more than once been nearly the ruin of them all, from the quantity
+of brimstone she carried about her.&nbsp; One, however, I suppose rather
+ashamed of the way in which they had treated me, said at last that if
+I wanted to know all about the matter none could tell me better than
+the child, who was in all her secrets, and was not a little like her;
+so I looked about for the child, but could find her nowhere.&nbsp; At
+last the same man told me that he shouldn&rsquo;t wonder if I found
+her at the grave; so I went back to the grave, and sure enough there
+I found the child Leonora, seated on the ground above the body, crying
+and taking on; so I spoke kindly to her, and said, &ldquo;How came all
+this, Leonora? tell me all about it.&rdquo;&nbsp; It was a long time
+before I could get any answer; at last she opened her mouth and spoke,
+and these were the words she said, &ldquo;It was all along of your Pal&rdquo;;
+and then she told me all about the matter&mdash;how Mrs. Herne could
+not abide you, which I knew before; and that she had sworn your destruction,
+which I did not know before.&nbsp; And then she told me how she found
+you living in the wood by yourself, and how you were enticed to eat
+a poisoned cake; and she told me many other things that you wot of,
+and she told me what perhaps you don&rsquo;t wot, namely, that finding
+you had been removed, she, the child, had tracked you a long way, and
+found you at last well and hearty, and no ways affected by the poison,
+and heard you, as she stood concealed, disputing about religion with
+a Welsh Methody.&nbsp; Well, brother, she told me all this; and, moreover,
+that when Mrs. Herne heard of it, she said that a dream of hers had
+come to pass.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t know what it was, but something about
+herself, a tinker, and a dean; and then she added that it was all up
+with her, and that she must take a long journey.&nbsp; Well, brother,
+that same night Leonora, waking from her sleep in the tent where Mrs.
+Herne and she were wont to sleep, missed her bebee, and, becoming alarmed,
+went in search of her, and at last found her hanging from a branch;
+and when the child had got so far, she took on violently, and I could
+not get another word from her; so I left her, and here I am.&rsquo;</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page454b.jpg">
+<img alt="&lsquo;Sure enough there I found the child Leonora, seated on the ground above the body, crying and taking on.&rsquo;" src="images/page454s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>&lsquo;And I am glad to see you, Mr. Petulengro; but this is sad
+news which you tell me about Mrs. Herne.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>
+<a href="images/page456b.jpg">
+<img alt="&lsquo;Leonora, waking from her sleep, missed her bebee, and, becoming alarmed, went in search of her, and at last found her hanging from a branch.&rsquo;" src="images/page456s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>&lsquo;Somewhat dreary, brother; yet, perhaps, after all, it is a
+good thing that she is removed; she carried so much Devil&rsquo;s tinder
+about with her, as the man said.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am sorry for her,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;more especially
+as I am the cause of her death&mdash;though the innocent one.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;She could not bide you, brother, that&rsquo;s certain; but
+that is no reason&rsquo;&mdash;said Mr. Petulengro, balancing himself
+upon the saddle&mdash;&lsquo;that is no reason why she should prepare
+drow to take away your essence of life; and, when disappointed, to hang
+herself upon a tree: if she was dissatisfied with you, she might have
+flown at you, and scratched your face; or, if she did not judge herself
+your match, she might have put down five shillings for a turn-up between
+you and some one she thought could beat you&mdash;myself, for example&mdash;and
+so the matter might have ended comfortably; but she was always too fond
+of covert ways, drows, and brimstones.&nbsp; This is not the first poisoning
+affair she has been engaged in.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You allude to drabbing bawlor.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Bah!&rsquo; said Mr. Petulengro; &lsquo;there&rsquo;s no harm
+in that.&nbsp; No, no! she has cast drows in her time for other guess
+things than bawlor; both Gorgios and Romans have tasted of them, and
+died.&nbsp; Did you never hear of the poisoned plum pudding?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Never.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then I will tell you about it.&nbsp; It happened about six
+years ago, a few months after she had quitted us&mdash;she had gone
+first amongst her own people, as she called them; but there was another
+small party of Romans, with whom she soon became very intimate.&nbsp;
+It so happened that this small party got into trouble; whether it was
+about a horse or an ass, or passing bad money, no matter to you and
+me, who had no hand in the business; three or four of them were taken
+and lodged in&mdash;Castle, and amongst them was a woman; but the sherengro,
+or principal man of the party, and who it seems had most hand in the
+affair, was still at large.&nbsp; All of a sudden a rumour was spread
+abroad that the woman was about to play false, and to &rsquo;peach the
+rest.&nbsp; Said the principal man, when he heard it, &ldquo;If she
+does, I am nashkado.&rdquo;&nbsp; Mrs. Herne was then on a visit to
+the party, and when she heard the principal man take on so, she said,
+&ldquo;But I suppose you know what to do?&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;I do not,&rdquo;
+said he.&nbsp; &ldquo;Then hir mi devlis,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;you
+are a fool.&nbsp; But leave the matter to me, I know how to dispose
+of her in Roman fashion.&rdquo;&nbsp; Why she wanted to interfere in
+the matter, brother, I don&rsquo;t know, unless it was from pure brimstoneness
+of disposition&mdash;she had no hand in the matter which had brought
+the party into trouble&mdash;she was only on a visit, and it had happened
+before she came; but she was always ready to give dangerous advice.&nbsp;
+Well, brother, the principal man listened to what she had to say, and
+let her do what she would; and she made a pudding, a very nice one,
+no doubt&mdash;for, besides plums, she put in drows and all the Roman
+condiments that she knew of; and she gave it to the principal man, and
+the principal put it into a basket and directed it to the woman in&mdash;Castle,
+and the woman in the castle took it and&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ate of it,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;just like my case!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Quite different, brother; she took it, it is true, but instead
+of giving way to her appetite, as you might have done, she put it before
+the rest whom she was going to impeach; perhaps she wished to see how
+they liked it before she tasted it herself; and all the rest were poisoned,
+and one died, and there was a precious outcry, and the woman cried loudest
+of all; and she said, &ldquo;It was my death was sought for; I know
+the man, and I&rsquo;ll be revenged.&rdquo;&nbsp; And then the Poknees
+spoke to her and said, &ldquo;Where can we find him?&rdquo; and she
+said, &ldquo;I am awake to his motions; three weeks from hence, the
+night before the full moon, at such and such an hour, he will pass down
+such a lane with such a man.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;and what did the Poknees do?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do, brother! sent for a plastramengro from Bow Street, quite
+secretly, and told him what the woman had said; and the night before
+the full moon, the plastramengro went to the place which the juwa had
+pointed out, all alone, brother; and in order that he might not be too
+late, he went two hours before his time.&nbsp; I know the place well,
+brother, where the plastramengro placed himself behind a thick holly
+tree, at the end of a lane, where a gate leads into various fields,
+through which there is a path for carts and horses.&nbsp; The lane is
+called the dark lane by the Gorgios, being much shaded by trees.&nbsp;
+So the plastramengro placed himself in the dark lane behind the holly
+tree; it was a cold February night, dreary though; the wind blew in
+gusts, and the moon had not yet risen, and the plastramengro waited
+behind the tree till he was tired, and thought he might as well sit
+down; so he sat down, and was not long in falling to sleep, and there
+he slept for some hours; and when he awoke the moon had risen, and was
+shining bright, so that there was a kind of moonlight even in the dark
+lane; and the plastramengro pulled out his watch, and contrived to make
+out that it was just two hours beyond the time when the men should have
+passed by.&nbsp; Brother, I do not know what the plastramengro thought
+of himself, but I know, brother, what I should have thought of myself
+in his situation.&nbsp; I should have thought, brother, that I was a
+drowsy scoppelo, and that I had let the fellow pass by whilst I was
+sleeping behind a bush.&nbsp; As it turned out, however, his going to
+sleep did no harm, but quite the contrary: just as he was going away,
+he heard a gate slam in the direction of the fields, and then he heard
+the low stumping of horses, as if on soft ground, for the path in those
+fields is generally soft, and at that time it had been lately ploughed
+up.&nbsp; Well, brother, presently he saw two men on horseback coming
+towards the lane through the field behind the gate; the man who rode
+foremost was a tall big fellow, the very man he was in quest of; the
+other was a smaller chap, not so small either, but a light, wiry fellow,
+and a proper master of his hands when he sees occasion for using them.&nbsp;
+Well, brother, the foremost man came to the gate, reached at the hank,
+undid it, and rode through, holding it open for the other.&nbsp; Before,
+however, the other could follow into the lane, out bolted the plastramengro
+from behind the tree, kicked the gate to with his foot, and, seizing
+the big man on horse-back, &ldquo;You are my prisoner,&rdquo; said he.&nbsp;
+I am of opinion, brother, that the plastramengro, notwithstanding he
+went to sleep, must have been a regular fine fellow.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am entirely of your opinion,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;but what
+happened then?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, brother, the Rommany chal, after he had somewhat recovered
+from his surprise, for it is rather uncomfortable to be laid hold of
+at night-time, and told you are a prisoner; more especially when you
+happen to have two or three things on your mind which, if proved against
+you, would carry you to the nashky,&mdash;the Rommany chal, I say, clubbed
+his whip, and aimed a blow at the plastramengro, which, if it had hit
+him on the skull, as was intended, would very likely have cracked it.&nbsp;
+The plastramengro, however, received it partly on his staff, so that
+it did him no particular damage.&nbsp; Whereupon, seeing what kind of
+customer he had to deal with, he dropped his staff and seized the chal
+with both his hands, who forthwith spurred his horse, hoping, by doing
+so, either to break away from him or fling him down; but it would not
+do&mdash;the plastramengro held on like a bull-dog, so that the Rommany
+chal, to escape being hauled to the ground, suddenly flung himself off
+the saddle, and then happened in that lane, close by the gate, such
+a struggle between those two&mdash;the chal and the runner&mdash;as
+I suppose will never happen again.&nbsp; But you must have heard of
+it; every one has heard of it; every one has heard of the fight between
+the Bow Street engro and the Rommany chal.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I never heard of it till now.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;All England rung of it, brother.&nbsp; There never was a better
+match than between those two.&nbsp; The runner was somewhat the stronger
+of the two&mdash;all those engroes are strong fellows&mdash;and a great
+deal cooler, for all of that sort are wondrous cool people&mdash;he
+had, however, to do with one who knew full well how to take his own
+part.&nbsp; The chal fought the engro, brother, in the old Roman fashion.&nbsp;
+He bit, he kicked, and screamed like a wild cat of Benygant; casting
+foam from his mouth and fire from his eyes.&nbsp; Sometimes he was beneath
+the engro&rsquo;s legs, and sometimes he was upon his shoulders.&nbsp;
+What the engro found the most difficult was to get a firm hold of the
+chal, for no sooner did he seize the chal by any part of his wearing
+apparel, than the chal either tore himself away, or contrived to slip
+out of it; so that in a little time the chal was three parts naked;
+and as for holding him by the body, it was out of the question, for
+he was as slippery as an eel.&nbsp; At last the engro seized the chal
+by the Belcher&rsquo;s handkerchief, which he wore in a knot round his
+neck, and do whatever the chal could, he could not free himself; and
+when the engro saw that, it gave him fresh heart, no doubt: &ldquo;It&rsquo;s
+of no use,&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;you had better give in; hold out your
+hands for the darbies, or I will throttle you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what did the other fellow do, who came with the chal?&rsquo;
+said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I sat still on my horse, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You!&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;Were you the man?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I was he, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And why did you not help your comrade?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have fought in the ring, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what had fighting in the ring to do with fighting in the
+lane?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You mean not fighting.&nbsp; A great deal, brother; it taught
+me to prize fair play.&nbsp; When I fought Staffordshire Dick, t&rsquo;other
+side of London, I was alone, brother.&nbsp; Not a Rommany chal to back
+me, and he had all his brother pals about him; but they gave me fair
+play, brother; and I beat Staffordshire Dick, which I couldn&rsquo;t
+have done had they put one finger on his side the scale; for he was
+as good a man as myself, or nearly so.&nbsp; Now, brother, had I but
+bent a finger in favour of the Rommany chal, the plastramengro would
+never have come alive out of the lane; but I did not, for I thought
+to myself fair play is a precious stone; so you see, brother&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That you are quite right, Mr. Petulengro, I see that clearly;
+and now, pray proceed with your narration; it is both moral and entertaining.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>But Mr. Petulengro did not proceed with his narration, neither did
+he proceed upon his way; he had stopped his horse, and his eyes were
+intently fixed on a broad strip of grass beneath some lofty trees, on
+the left side of the road.&nbsp; It was a pleasant enough spot, and
+seemed to invite wayfaring people, such as we were, to rest from the
+fatigues of the road, and the heat and vehemence of the sun.&nbsp; After
+examining it for a considerable time, Mr. Petulengro said, &lsquo;I
+say, brother, that would be a nice place for a tussle!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I daresay it would,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;if two people were
+inclined to fight.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The ground is smooth,&rsquo; said Mr. Petulengro; &lsquo;without
+holes or ruts, and the trees cast much shade.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t think,
+brother, that we could find a better place,&rsquo; said Mr. Petulengro,
+springing from his horse.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But you and I don&rsquo;t want to fight!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Speak for yourself, brother,&rsquo; said Mr. Petulengro.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;However, I will tell you how the matter stands.&nbsp; There is
+a point at present between us.&nbsp; There can be no doubt that you
+are the cause of Mrs. Herne&rsquo;s death, innocently, you will say,
+but still the cause.&nbsp; Now, I shouldn&rsquo;t like it to be known
+that I went up and down the country with a pal who was the cause of
+my mother-in-law&rsquo;s death, that&rsquo;s to say, unless he gave
+me satisfaction.&nbsp; Now, if I and my pal have a tussle, he gives
+me satisfaction; and, if he knocks my eyes out, which I know you can&rsquo;t
+do, it makes no difference at all, he gives me satisfaction; and he
+who says to the contrary knows nothing of gypsy law, and is a dinelo
+into the bargain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But we have no gloves!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Gloves!&rsquo; said Mr. Petulengro, contemptuously, &lsquo;gloves!&nbsp;
+I tell you what, brother, I always thought you were a better hand at
+the gloves than the naked fist; and, to tell you the truth, besides
+taking satisfaction for Mrs. Herne&rsquo;s death, I wish to see what
+you can do with your mawleys; so now is your time, brother, and this
+is your place, grass and shade, no ruts or holes; come on, brother,
+or I shall think you what I should not like to call you.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXXXII</h2>
+<p>Offence and defence&mdash;I&rsquo;m satisfied&mdash;Fond of solitude&mdash;Possession
+of property&mdash;Chal Devlehi&mdash;Winding path.</p>
+<p>And when I heard Mr. Petulengro talk in this manner, which I had
+never heard him do before, and which I can only account for by his being
+fasting and ill-tempered, I had of course no other alternative than
+to accept his challenge; so I put myself into a posture which I deemed
+the best both for offence and defence, and the tussle commenced; and
+when it had endured for about half an hour, Mr. Petulengro said, &lsquo;Brother,
+there is much blood on your face; you had better wipe it off&rsquo;;
+and when I had wiped it off, and again resumed my former attitude, Mr.
+Petulengro said, &lsquo;I think enough has been done, brother, in the
+affair of the old woman; I have, moreover, tried what you are able to
+do, and find you, as I thought, less apt with the naked mawleys than
+the stuffed gloves; nay, brother, put your hands down, I&rsquo;m satisfied;
+blood has been shed, which is all that can be reasonably expected for
+an old woman who carried so much brimstone about her as Mrs. Herne.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>So the struggle ended, and we resumed our route, Mr. Petulengro sitting
+sideways upon his horse as before, and I driving my little pony-cart;
+and when we had proceeded about three miles, we came to a small public-house,
+which bore the sign of the Silent Woman, where we stopped to refresh
+our cattle and ourselves; and as we sat over our bread and ale, it came
+to pass that Mr. Petulengro asked me various questions, and amongst
+others, how I intended to dispose of myself; I told him that I did not
+know; whereupon, with considerable frankness, he invited me to his camp,
+and told me that if I chose to settle down amongst them, and become
+a Rommany chal, I should have his wife&rsquo;s sister Ursula, who was
+still unmarried, and occasionally talked of me.</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page463b.jpg">
+<img alt="We came to a small public-house, which bore the sign of the Silent Woman, where we stopped to refresh our cattle and ourselves" src="images/page463s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>I declined his offer, assigning as a reason the recent death of Mrs.
+Herne, of which I was the cause, although innocent.&nbsp; &lsquo;A pretty
+life I should lead with those two,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;when they came
+to know it.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Pooh,&rsquo; said Mr. Petulengro, &lsquo;they
+will never know it.&nbsp; I shan&rsquo;t blab, and as for Leonora, that
+girl has a head on her shoulders.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Unlike the woman
+in the sign,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;whose head is cut off.&nbsp; You
+speak nonsense, Mr. Petulengro; as long as a woman has a head on her
+shoulders she&rsquo;ll talk,&mdash;but, leaving women out of the case,
+it is impossible to keep anything a secret; an old master of mine told
+me so long ago.&nbsp; I have moreover another reason for declining your
+offer.&nbsp; I am at present not disposed for society.&nbsp; I am become
+fond of solitude.&nbsp; I wish I could find some quiet place to which
+I could retire to hold communion with my own thoughts, and practise,
+if I thought fit, either of my trades.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;What trades?&rsquo;
+said Mr. Petulengro.&nbsp; &lsquo;Why, the one which I have lately been
+engaged in, or my original one, which I confess I should like better,
+that of a kaulo-mescro.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Ah, I have frequently heard
+you talk of making horse-shoes,&rsquo; said Mr. Petulengro; &lsquo;I,
+however, never saw you make one, and no one else that I am aware; I
+don&rsquo;t believe&mdash;come, brother, don&rsquo;t be angry, it&rsquo;s
+quite possible that you may have done things which neither I nor any
+one else has seen you do, and that such things may some day or other
+come to light, as you say nothing can be kept secret.&nbsp; Be that,
+however, as it may, pay the reckoning and let us be going; I think I
+can advise you to just such a kind of place as you seem to want.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And how do you know that I have got wherewithal to pay the
+reckoning?&rsquo; I demanded.&nbsp; &lsquo;Brother,&rsquo; said Mr.
+Petulengro, &lsquo;I was just now looking in your face, which exhibited
+the very look of a person conscious of the possession of property; there
+was nothing hungry or sneaking in it.&nbsp; Pay the reckoning, brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And when we were once more upon the road, Mr. Petulengro began to
+talk of the place which he conceived would serve me as a retreat under
+present circumstances.&nbsp; &lsquo;I tell you frankly, brother, that
+it is a queer kind of place, and I am not very fond of pitching my tent
+in it, it is so surprisingly dreary.&nbsp; It is a deep dingle in the
+midst of a large field, on an estate about which there has been a lawsuit
+for some years past.&nbsp; I daresay you will be quiet enough, for the
+nearest town is five miles distant, and there are only a few huts and
+hedge public-houses in the neighbourhood.&nbsp; Brother, I am fond of
+solitude myself, but not that kind of solitude; I like a quiet heath,
+where I can pitch my house, but I always like to have a gay stirring
+place not far off, where the women can pen dukkerin, and I myself can
+sell or buy a horse, if needful&mdash;such a place as the Chong Gav.&nbsp;
+I never feel so merry as when there, brother, or on the heath above
+it, where I taught you Rommany.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Shortly after this discourse we reached a milestone, and a few yards
+from the milestone, on the left hand, was a crossroad.&nbsp; Thereupon
+Mr. Petulengro said, &lsquo;Brother, my path lies to the left if you
+choose to go with me to my camp, good; if not, Chal Devlehi.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+But I again refused Mr. Petulengro&rsquo;s invitation, and, shaking
+him by the hand, proceeded forward alone; and about ten miles farther
+on I reached the town of which he had spoken, and, following certain
+directions which he had given, discovered, though not without some difficulty,
+the dingle which he had mentioned.&nbsp; It was a deep hollow in the
+midst of a wide field; the shelving sides were overgrown with trees
+and bushes, a belt of sallows surrounded it on the top, a steep winding
+path led down into the depths, practicable, however, for a light cart,
+like mine; at the bottom was an open space, and there I pitched my tent,
+and there I contrived to put up my forge.&nbsp; &lsquo;I will here ply
+the trade of kaulomescro,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXXXIII</h2>
+<p>Highly poetical&mdash;Volundr&mdash;Grecian mythology&mdash;Making
+a petul&mdash;Tongues of flame&mdash;Hammering&mdash;Spite of dukkerin&mdash;Heaviness.</p>
+<p>It has always struck me that there is something highly poetical about
+a forge.&nbsp; I am not singular in this opinion: various individuals
+have assured me that they can never pass by one, even in the midst of
+a crowded town, without experiencing sensations which they can scarcely
+define, but which are highly pleasurable.&nbsp; I have a decided penchant
+for forges, especially rural ones, placed in some quaint quiet spot&mdash;a
+dingle, for example, which is a poetical place, or at a meeting of four
+roads, which is still more so; for how many a superstition&mdash;and
+superstition is the soul of poetry&mdash;is connected with these cross
+roads!&nbsp; I love to light upon such a one, especially after nightfall,
+as everything about a forge tells to most advantage at night; the hammer
+sounds more solemnly in the stillness; the glowing particles scattered
+by the strokes sparkle with more effect in the darkness, whilst the
+sooty visage of the sastramescro, half in shadow and half illumed by
+the red and partial blaze of the forge, looks more mysterious and strange.&nbsp;
+On such occasions I draw in my horse&rsquo;s rein, and, seated in the
+saddle, endeavour to associate with the picture before me&mdash;in itself
+a picture of romance&mdash;whatever of the wild and wonderful I have
+read of in books, or have seen with my own eyes in connection with forges.</p>
+<p>I believe the life of any blacksmith, especially a rural one, would
+afford materials for a highly poetical history.&nbsp; I do not speak
+unadvisedly, having the honour to be free of the forge, and therefore
+fully competent to give an opinion as to what might be made out of the
+forge by some dexterous hand.&nbsp; Certainly, the strangest and most
+entertaining life ever written is that of a blacksmith of the olden
+north, a certain Volundr, or Velint, who lived in woods and thickets,
+made keen swords&mdash;so keen, indeed, that if placed in a running
+stream they would fairly divide an object, however slight, which was
+borne against them by the water, and who eventually married a king&rsquo;s
+daughter, by whom he had a son, who was as bold a knight as his father
+was a cunning blacksmith.&nbsp; I never see a forge at night, when seated
+on the back of my horse, at the bottom of a dark lane, but I somehow
+or other associate it with the exploits of this extraordinary fellow,
+with many other extraordinary things, amongst which, as I have hinted
+before, are particular passages of my own life, one or two of which
+I shall perhaps relate to the reader.</p>
+<p>I never associate Vulcan and his Cyclops with the idea of a forge.&nbsp;
+These gentry would be the very last people in the world to flit across
+my mind whilst gazing at the forge from the bottom of the dark lane.&nbsp;
+The truth is, they are highly unpoetical fellows, as well they may be,
+connected as they are with the Grecian mythology.&nbsp; At the very
+mention of their names the forge burns dull and dim, as if snowballs
+had been suddenly flung into it; the only remedy is to ply the bellows,
+an operation which I now hasten to perform.</p>
+<p>I am in the dingle making a horse-shoe.&nbsp; Having no other horses
+on whose hoofs I could exercise my art, I made my first essay on those
+of my own horse, if that could be called horse which horse was none,
+being only a pony.&nbsp; Perhaps, if I had sought all England, I should
+scarcely have found an animal more in need of the kind offices of the
+smith.&nbsp; On three of his feet there were no shoes at all, and on
+the fourth only a remnant of one, on which account his hoofs were sadly
+broken and lacerated by his late journeys over the hard and flinty roads.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;You belonged to a tinker before,&rsquo; said I, addressing the
+animal, &lsquo;but now you belong to a smith.&nbsp; It is said that
+the household of the shoemaker invariably go worse shod than that of
+any other craft.&nbsp; That may be the case of those who make shoes
+of leather, but it shan&rsquo;t be said of the household of him who
+makes shoes of iron; at any rate it shan&rsquo;t be said of mine.&nbsp;
+I tell you what, my gry, whilst you continue with me, you shall both
+be better shod and better fed than you were with your last master.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I am in the dingle making a petul; and I must here observe that whilst
+I am making a horse-shoe the reader need not be surprised if I speak
+occasionally in the language of the lord of the horse-shoe&mdash;Mr.
+Petulengro.&nbsp; I have for some time past been plying the peshota,
+or bellows, endeavouring to raise up the yag, or fire, in my primitive
+forge.&nbsp; The angar, or coals, are now burning fiercely, casting
+forth sparks and long vagescoe chipes, or tongues of flame; a small
+bar of sastra, or iron, is lying in the fire, to the length of ten or
+twelve inches, and so far it is hot, very hot, exceeding hot, brother.&nbsp;
+And now you see me prala, snatch the bar of iron, and place the heated
+end of it upon the covantza, or anvil, and forthwith I commence cooring
+the sastra as hard as if I had been just engaged by a master at the
+rate of dui caulor, or two shillings, a day, brother; and when I have
+beaten the iron till it is nearly cool, and my arm tired, I place it
+again in the angar, and begin again to rouse the fire with the pudamengro,
+which signifies the blowing thing, and is another and more common word
+for bellows; and whilst thus employed I sing a gypsy song, the sound
+of which is wonderfully in unison with the hoarse moaning of the pudamengro,
+and ere the song is finished, the iron is again hot and malleable.&nbsp;
+Behold, I place it once more on the covantza, and recommence hammering;
+and now I am somewhat at fault; I am in want of assistance; I want you,
+brother, or some one else, to take the bar out of my hand and support
+it upon the covantza, whilst I, applying a chinomescro, or kind of chisel,
+to the heated iron, cut off with a lusty stroke or two of the shukaro
+baro, or big hammer, as much as is required for the petul.&nbsp; But
+having no one to help me, I go on hammering till I have fairly knocked
+off as much as I want, and then I place the piece in the fire, and again
+apply the bellows, and take up the song where I left it off; and when
+I have finished the song, I take out the iron, but this time with my
+plaistra, or pincers, and then I recommence hammering, turning the iron
+round and round with my pincers: and now I bend the iron and, lo and
+behold! it has assumed something of the outline of a petul.</p>
+<p>I am not going to enter into farther details with respect to the
+process&mdash;it was rather a wearisome one.&nbsp; I had to contend
+with various disadvantages; my forge was a rude one, my tools might
+have been better; I was in want of one or two highly necessary implements,
+but, above all, manual dexterity.&nbsp; Though free of the forge, I
+had not practised the albeytarian art for very many years, never since&mdash;but
+stay, it is not my intention to tell the reader, at least in this place,
+how and when I became a blacksmith.&nbsp; There was one thing, however,
+which stood me in good stead in my labour, the same thing which through
+life has ever been of incalculable utility to me, and has not unfrequently
+supplied the place of friends, money, and many other things of almost
+equal importance&mdash;iron perseverance, without which all the advantages
+of time and circumstance are of very little avail in any undertaking.&nbsp;
+I was determined to make a horse-shoe, and a good one, in spite of every
+obstacle&mdash;ay, in spite of dukkerin.&nbsp; At the end of four days,
+during which I had fashioned and refashioned the thing at least fifty
+times, I had made a petul such as no master of the craft need have been
+ashamed of; with the second shoe I had less difficulty, and, by the
+time I had made the fourth, I would have scorned to take off my hat
+to the best smith in Cheshire.</p>
+<p>But I had not yet shod my little gry: this I proceeded now to do.&nbsp;
+After having first well pared the hoofs with my churi, I applied each
+petul hot, glowing hot, to the pindro.&nbsp; Oh, how the hoofs hissed!
+and, oh, the pleasant pungent odour which diffused itself through the
+dingle!&mdash;an odour good for an ailing spirit.</p>
+<p>I shod the little horse bravely&mdash;merely pricked him once, slightly,
+with a cafi, for doing which, I remember, he kicked me down; I was not
+disconcerted, however, but, getting up, promised to be more cautious
+in future; and having finished the operation, I filed the hoof well
+with the rin baro, then dismissed him to graze amongst the trees, and,
+putting my smaller tools into the muchtar, I sat down on my stone, and,
+supporting my arm upon my knee, leaned my head upon my hand.&nbsp; Heaviness
+had come over me.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXXXIV</h2>
+<p>Several causes&mdash;Frogs and eftes&mdash;Gloom and twilight&mdash;What
+should I do?&mdash;&lsquo;Our Father&rsquo;&mdash;Fellow-men&mdash;What
+a mercy!&mdash;Almost calm&mdash;Fresh store&mdash;History of Saul&mdash;Pitch
+dark.</p>
+<p>Heaviness had suddenly come over me, heaviness of heart, and of body
+also.&nbsp; I had accomplished the task which I had imposed upon myself,
+and now that nothing more remained to do, my energies suddenly deserted
+me, and I felt without strength, and without hope.&nbsp; Several causes,
+perhaps, co-operated to bring about the state in which I then felt myself.&nbsp;
+It is not improbable that my energies had been overstrained during the
+work the progress of which I have attempted to describe; and every one
+is aware that the results of overstrained energies are feebleness and
+lassitude&mdash;want of nourishment might likewise have something to
+do with it.&nbsp; During my sojourn in the dingle, my food had been
+of the simplest and most unsatisfying description, by no means calculated
+to support the exertion which the labour I had been engaged upon required;
+it had consisted of coarse oaten cakes and hard cheese, and for beverage
+I had been indebted to a neighbouring pit, in which, in the heat of
+the day, I frequently saw, not golden or silver fish, but frogs and
+eftes swimming about.&nbsp; I am, however, inclined to believe that
+Mrs. Herne&rsquo;s cake had quite as much to do with the matter as insufficient
+nourishment.&nbsp; I had never entirely recovered from the effects of
+its poison, but had occasionally, especially at night, been visited
+by a grinding pain in the stomach, and my whole body had been suffused
+with cold sweat; and indeed these memorials of the drow have never entirely
+disappeared&mdash;even at the present time they display themselves in
+my system, especially after much fatigue of body and excitement of mind.&nbsp;
+So there I sat in the dingle upon my stone, nerveless and hopeless,
+by whatever cause or causes that state had been produced&mdash;there
+I sat with my head leaning upon my hand, and so I continued a long,
+long time.&nbsp; At last I lifted my head from my hand, and began to
+cast anxious, unquiet looks about the dingle&mdash;the entire hollow
+was now enveloped in deep shade&mdash;I cast my eyes up; there was a
+golden gleam on the tops of the trees which grew towards the upper parts
+of the dingle; but lower down all was gloom and twilight&mdash;yet,
+when I first sat down on my stone, the sun was right above the dingle,
+illuminating all its depths by the rays which it cast perpendicularly
+down&mdash;so I must have sat a long, long time upon my stone.&nbsp;
+And now, once more, I rested my head upon my hand, but almost instantly
+lifted it again in a kind of fear, and began looking at the objects
+before me&mdash;the forge, the tools, the branches of the trees, endeavouring
+to follow their rows, till they were lost in the darkness of the dingle;
+and now I found my right hand grasping convulsively the three fore-fingers
+of the left, first collectively, and then successively, wringing them
+till the joints cracked; then I became quiet, but not for long.</p>
+<p>Suddenly I started up, and could scarcely repress the shriek which
+was rising to my lips.&nbsp; Was it possible?&nbsp; Yes, all too certain;
+the evil one was upon me; the inscrutable horror which I had felt in
+my boyhood had once more taken possession of me.&nbsp; I had thought
+that it had forsaken me&mdash;that it would never visit me again; that
+I had outgrown it; that I might almost bid defiance to it; and I had
+even begun to think of it without horror, as we are in the habit of
+doing of horrors of which we conceive we run no danger; and lo! when
+least thought of, it had seized me again.&nbsp; Every moment I felt
+it gathering force, and making me more wholly its own.&nbsp; What should
+I do?&mdash;resist, of course; and I did resist.&nbsp; I grasped, I
+tore, and strove to fling it from me; but of what avail were my efforts?&nbsp;
+I could only have got rid of it by getting rid of myself: it was a part
+of myself, or rather it was all myself.&nbsp; I rushed amongst the trees,
+and struck at them with my bare fists, and dashed my head against them,
+but I felt no pain.&nbsp; How could I feel pain with that horror upon
+me?&nbsp; And then I flung myself on the ground, gnawed the earth, and
+swallowed it; and then I looked round; it was almost total darkness
+in the dingle, and the darkness added to my horror.&nbsp; I could no
+longer stay there; up I rose from the ground, and attempted to escape.&nbsp;
+At the bottom of the winding path which led up the acclivity I fell
+over something which was lying on the ground; the something moved, and
+gave a kind of whine.&nbsp; It was my little horse, which had made that
+place its lair; my little horse; my only companion and friend in that
+now awful solitude.&nbsp; I reached the mouth of the dingle; the sun
+was just sinking in the far west behind me, the fields were flooded
+with his last gleams.&nbsp; How beautiful everything looked in the last
+gleams of the sun!&nbsp; I felt relieved for a moment; I was no longer
+in the horrid dingle.&nbsp; In another minute the sun was gone, and
+a big cloud occupied the place where he had been: in a little time it
+was almost as dark as it had previously been in the open part of the
+dingle.&nbsp; My horror increased; what was I to do?&mdash;it was of
+no use fighting against the horror&mdash;that I saw; the more I fought
+against it, the stronger it became.&nbsp; What should I do: say my prayers?&nbsp;
+Ah! why not?&nbsp; So I knelt down under the hedge, and said, &lsquo;Our
+Father&rsquo;; but that was of no use; and now I could no longer repress
+cries&mdash;the horror was too great to be borne.&nbsp; What should
+I do? run to the nearest town or village, and request the assistance
+of my fellow-men?&nbsp; No! that I was ashamed to do; notwithstanding
+the horror was upon me, I was ashamed to do that.&nbsp; I knew they
+would consider me a maniac, if I went screaming amongst them; and I
+did not wish to be considered a maniac.&nbsp; Moreover, I knew that
+I was not a maniac, for I possessed all my reasoning powers, only the
+horror was upon me&mdash;the screaming horror!&nbsp; But how were indifferent
+people to distinguish between madness and the screaming horror?&nbsp;
+So I thought and reasoned; and at last I determined not to go amongst
+my fellow-men, whatever the result might be.&nbsp; I went to the mouth
+of the dingle, and there, placing myself on my knees, I again said the
+Lord&rsquo;s Prayer; but it was of no use&mdash;praying seemed to have
+no effect over the horror; the unutterable fear appeared rather to increase
+than diminish, and I again uttered wild cries, so loud that I was apprehensive
+they would be heard by some chance passenger on the neighbouring road;
+I therefore went deeper into the dingle.&nbsp; I sat down with my back
+against a thorn bush; the thorns entered my flesh, and when I felt them,
+I pressed harder against the bush; I thought the pain of the flesh might
+in some degree counteract the mental agony; presently I felt them no
+longer&mdash;the power of the mental horror was so great that it was
+impossible, with that upon me, to feel any pain from the thorns.&nbsp;
+I continued in this posture a long time, undergoing what I cannot describe,
+and would not attempt if I were able.&nbsp; Several times I was on the
+point of starting up and rushing anywhere; but I restrained myself,
+for I knew I could not escape from myself, so why should I not remain
+in the dingle?&nbsp; So I thought and said to myself, for my reasoning
+powers were still uninjured.&nbsp; At last it appeared to me that the
+horror was not so strong, not quite so strong, upon me.&nbsp; Was it
+possible that it was relaxing its grasp, releasing its prey?&nbsp; Oh
+what a mercy! but it could not be; and yet&mdash;I looked up to heaven,
+and clasped my hands, and said, &lsquo;Our Father.&rsquo;&nbsp; I said
+no more&mdash;I was too agitated; and now I was almost sure that the
+horror had done its worst.</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page472b.jpg">
+<img alt="I knelt down under the hedge and said, &lsquo;Our Father&rsquo;; but that was of no use" src="images/page472s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>After a little time I arose, and staggered down yet farther into
+the dingle.&nbsp; I again found my little horse on the same spot as
+before.&nbsp; I put my hand to his mouth&mdash;he licked my hand.&nbsp;
+I flung myself down by him, and put my arms round his neck; the creature
+whinnied, and appeared to sympathise with me.&nbsp; What a comfort to
+have any one, even a dumb brute, to sympathise with me at such a moment!&nbsp;
+I clung to my little horse, as if for safety and protection.&nbsp; I
+laid my head on his neck, and felt almost calm.&nbsp; Presently the
+fear returned, but not so wild as before; it subsided, came again, again
+subsided; then drowsiness came over me, and at last I fell asleep, my
+head supported on the neck of the little horse.&nbsp; I awoke; it was
+dark, dark night&mdash;not a star was to be seen&mdash;but I felt no
+fear, the horror had left me.&nbsp; I arose from the side of the little
+horse, and went into my tent, lay down, and again went to sleep.</p>
+<p>I awoke in the morning weak and sore, and shuddering at the remembrance
+of what I had gone through on the preceding day; the sun was shining
+brightly, but it had not yet risen high enough to show its head above
+the trees which fenced the eastern side of the dingle, on which account
+the dingle was wet and dank from the dews of the night.&nbsp; I kindled
+my fire, and, after sitting by it for some time to warm my frame, I
+took some of the coarse food which I have already mentioned; notwithstanding
+my late struggle, and the coarseness of the fare, I ate with appetite.&nbsp;
+My provisions had by this time been very much diminished, and I saw
+that it would be speedily necessary, in the event of my continuing to
+reside in the dingle, to lay in a fresh store.&nbsp; After my meal,
+I went to the pit and filled a can with water, which I brought to the
+dingle, and then again sat down on my stone.&nbsp; I considered what
+I should next do: it was necessary to do something, or my life in this
+solitude would be insupportable.&nbsp; What should I do? rouse up my
+forge and fashion a horse-shoe?&nbsp; But I wanted nerve and heart for
+such an employment; moreover, I had no motive for fatiguing myself in
+this manner; my own horse was shod, no other was at hand, and it is
+hard to work for the sake of working.&nbsp; What should I do? read?&nbsp;
+Yes, but I had no other book than the Bible which the Welsh Methodist
+had given me.&nbsp; Well, why not read the Bible? I was once fond of
+reading the Bible; ay, but those days were long gone by.&nbsp; However,
+I did not see what else I could well do on the present occasion&mdash;so
+I determined to read the Bible&mdash;it was in Welsh; at any rate it
+might amuse me.&nbsp; So I took the Bible out of the sack, in which
+it was lying in the cart, and began to read at the place where I chanced
+to open it.&nbsp; I opened it at that part where the history of Saul
+commences.&nbsp; At first I read with indifference, but after some time
+my attention was riveted, and no wonder, I had come to the visitations
+of Saul&mdash;those dark moments of his, when he did and said such unaccountable
+things; it almost appeared to me that I was reading of myself; I, too,
+had my visitations, dark as ever his were.&nbsp; Oh, how I sympathised
+with Saul, the tall dark man!&nbsp; I had read his life before, but
+it had made no impression on me; it had never occurred to me that I
+was like him; but I now sympathised with Saul, for my own dark hour
+was but recently passed, and, perhaps, would soon return again; the
+dark hour came frequently on Saul.</p>
+<p>Time wore away; I finished the book of Saul, and, closing the volume,
+returned it to its place.&nbsp; I then returned to my seat on the stone,
+and thought of what I had read, and what I had lately undergone.&nbsp;
+All at once I thought I felt well-known sensations, a cramping of the
+breast, and a tingling of the soles of the feet; they were what I had
+felt on the preceding day&mdash;they were the forerunners of the fear.&nbsp;
+I sat motionless on my stone, the sensations passed away, and the fear
+came not.&nbsp; Darkness was now coming again over the earth; the dingle
+was again in deep shade; I roused the fire with the breath of the bellows,
+and sat looking at the cheerful glow; it was cheering and comforting.&nbsp;
+My little horse came now and lay down on the ground beside the forge;
+I was not quite deserted.&nbsp; I again ate some of the coarse food,
+and drank plentifully of the water which I had fetched in the morning.&nbsp;
+I then put fresh fuel on the fire, and sat for a long time looking on
+the blaze; I then went into my tent.</p>
+<p>I awoke, on my own calculation, about midnight&mdash;it was pitch
+dark, and there was much fear upon me.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXXXV</h2>
+<p>Free and independent&mdash;I don&rsquo;t see why&mdash;Oats&mdash;A
+noise&mdash;Unwelcome visitors&mdash;What&rsquo;s the matter?&mdash;Good-day
+to ye&mdash;The tall girl&mdash;Dovrefeld&mdash;Blow on the face&mdash;Civil
+enough&mdash;What&rsquo;s this?&mdash;Vulgar woman&mdash;Hands off&mdash;Gasping
+for breath&mdash;Long Melford&mdash;A pretty manoeuvre&mdash;A long
+draught&mdash;Signs of animation&mdash;It won&rsquo;t do&mdash;No malice&mdash;Bad
+people.</p>
+<p>Two mornings after the period to which I have brought the reader
+in the preceding chapter, I sat by my fire at the bottom of the dingle;
+I had just breakfasted, and had finished the last morsel of food which
+I had brought with me to that solitude.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What shall I now do?&rsquo; said I to myself; &lsquo;shall
+I continue here, or decamp?&mdash;this is a sad lonely spot&mdash;perhaps
+I had better quit it; but whither shall I go? the wide world is before
+me, but what can I do therein?&nbsp; I have been in the world already
+without much success.&nbsp; No, I had better remain here; the place
+is lonely, it is true, but here I am free and independent, and can do
+what I please; but I can&rsquo;t remain here without food.&nbsp; Well,
+I will find my way to the nearest town, lay in a fresh supply of provision,
+and come back, turning my back upon the world, which has turned its
+back upon me.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t see why I should not write a little
+sometimes; I have pens and an ink-horn, and for a writing-desk I can
+place the Bible on my knee.&nbsp; I shouldn&rsquo;t wonder if I could
+write a capital satire on the world on the back of that Bible; but,
+first of all, I must think of supplying myself with food.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I rose up from the stone on which I was seated, determining to go
+to the nearest town, with my little horse and cart, and procure what
+I wanted.&nbsp; The nearest town, according to my best calculation,
+lay about five miles distant; I had no doubt, however, that, by using
+ordinary diligence, I should be back before evening.&nbsp; In order
+to go lighter, I determined to leave my tent standing as it was, and
+all the things which I had purchased of the tinker, just as they were.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I need not be apprehensive on their account,&rsquo; said I to
+myself; &lsquo;nobody will come here to meddle with them&mdash;the great
+recommendation of this place is its perfect solitude&mdash;I daresay
+that I could live here six months without seeing a single human visage.&nbsp;
+I will now harness my little gry and be off to the town.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>At a whistle which I gave, the little gry, which was feeding on the
+bank near the uppermost part of the dingle, came running to me, for
+by this time he had become so accustomed to me that he would obey my
+call, for all the world as if he had been one of the canine species.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Now,&rsquo; said I to him, &lsquo;we are going to the town to
+buy bread for myself and oats for you&mdash;I am in a hurry to be back;
+therefore I pray you to do your best, and to draw me and the cart to
+the town with all possible speed, and to bring us back; if you do your
+best, I promise you oats on your return.&nbsp; You know the meaning
+of oats, Ambrol?&rsquo;&nbsp; Ambrol whinnied as if to let me know that
+he understood me perfectly well, as indeed he well might, as I had never
+once fed him during the time that he had been in my possession without
+saying the word in question to him.&nbsp; Now, Ambrol, in the gypsy
+tongue, signifieth a pear.</p>
+<p>So I caparisoned Ambrol, and then, going to the cart, I removed two
+or three things from it into the tent; I then lifted up the shafts,
+and was just going to call to the pony to come and be fastened to them,
+when I thought I heard a noise.</p>
+<p>I stood stock still, supporting the shaft of the little cart in my
+hand, and bending the right side of my face slightly towards the ground,
+but I could hear nothing; the noise which I thought I had heard was
+not one of those sounds which I was accustomed to hear in that solitude&mdash;the
+note of a bird, or the rustling of a bough; it was&mdash;there I heard
+it again, a sound very much resembling the grating of a wheel amongst
+gravel.&nbsp; Could it proceed from the road?&nbsp; Oh no, the road
+was too far distant for me to hear the noise of anything moving along
+it. Again I listened, and now I distinctly heard the sound of wheels,
+which seemed to be approaching the dingle; nearer and nearer they drew,
+and presently the sound of wheels was blended with the murmur of voices.&nbsp;
+Anon I heard a boisterous shout, which seemed to proceed from the entrance
+of the dingle.&nbsp; &lsquo;Here are folks at hand,&rsquo; said I, letting
+the shaft of the cart fall to the ground; &lsquo;is it possible that
+they can be coming here?&rsquo;&nbsp; My doubts on that point, if I
+entertained any, were soon dispelled; the wheels, which had ceased moving
+for a moment or two, were once again in motion, and were now evidently
+moving down the winding path which led to my retreat.&nbsp; Leaving
+my cart, I came forward and placed myself near the entrance of the open
+space, with my eyes fixed on the path down which my unexpected, and
+I may say unwelcome, visitors were coming.&nbsp; Presently I heard a
+stamping or sliding, as if of a horse in some difficulty; then a loud
+curse, and the next moment appeared a man and a horse and cart; the
+former holding the head of the horse up to prevent him from falling,
+of which he was in danger, owing to the precipitous nature of the path.&nbsp;
+Whilst thus occupied, the head of the man was averted from me.&nbsp;
+When, however, he had reached the bottom of the descent, he turned his
+head, and perceiving me, as I stood bareheaded, without either coat
+or waistcoat, about two yards from him, he gave a sudden start, so violent
+that the backward motion of his hand had nearly flung the horse upon
+his haunches.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why don&rsquo;t you move forward?&rsquo; said a voice from
+behind, apparently that of a female; &lsquo;you are stopping up the
+way, and we shall be all down upon one another&rsquo;; and I saw the
+head of another horse overtopping the back of the cart.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why don&rsquo;t you move forward, Jack?&rsquo; said another
+voice, also a female, yet higher up the path.</p>
+<p>The man stirred not, but remained staring at me in the posture which
+he had assumed on first perceiving me, his body very much drawn back,
+his left foot far in advance of his right, and with his right hand still
+grasping the halter of the horse, which gave way more and more, till
+it was clean down on its haunches.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What&rsquo;s the matter?&rsquo; said the voice which I had
+last heard.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Get back with you, Belle, Moll,&rsquo; said the man, still
+staring at me; &lsquo;here&rsquo;s something not over canny or comfortable.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is it?&rsquo; said the same voice; &lsquo;let me pass,
+Moll, and I&rsquo;ll soon clear the way&rsquo;; and I heard a kind of
+rushing down the path.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You need not be afraid,&rsquo; said I, addressing myself to
+the man, &lsquo;I mean you no harm; I am a wanderer like yourself&mdash;come
+here to seek for shelter&mdash;you need not be afraid; I am a Roman
+chabo by matriculation&mdash;one of the right sort, and no mistake&mdash;Good-day
+to ye, brother; I bid ye welcome.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The man eyed me suspiciously for a moment&mdash;then, turning to
+his horse with a loud curse, he pulled him up from his haunches, and
+led him and the cart farther down to one side of the dingle, muttering,
+as he passed me, &lsquo;Afraid!&nbsp; Hm!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>I do not remember ever to have seen a more ruffianly-looking fellow;
+he was about six feet high, with an immensely athletic frame; his face
+was black and bluff, and sported an immense pair of whiskers, but with
+here and there a gray hair, for his age could not be much under fifty.&nbsp;
+He wore a faded blue frock-coat, corduroys, and highlows; on his black
+head was a kind of red nightcap, round his bull neck a Barcelona handkerchief&mdash;I
+did not like the look of the man at all.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Afraid!&rsquo; growled the fellow, proceeding to unharness
+his horse; &lsquo;that was the word, I think.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>But other figures were now already upon the scene.&nbsp; Dashing
+past the other horse and cart, which by this time had reached the bottom
+of the pass, appeared an exceedingly tall woman, or rather girl, for
+she could scarcely have been above eighteen; she was dressed in a tight
+bodice and a blue stuff gown; hat, bonnet, or cap she had none, and
+her hair, which was flaxen, hung down on her shoulders unconfined; her
+complexion was fair, and her features handsome, with a determined but
+open expression&mdash;she was followed by another female, about forty,
+stout and vulgar-looking, at whom I scarcely glanced, my whole attention
+being absorbed by the tall girl.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What&rsquo;s the matter, Jack?&rsquo; said the latter, looking
+at the man.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Only afraid, that&rsquo;s all,&rsquo; said the man, still
+proceeding with his work.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Afraid at what&mdash;at that lad? why, he looks like a ghost&mdash;I
+would engage to thrash him with one hand.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You might beat me with no hands at all,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;fair
+damsel, only by looking at me&mdash;I never saw such a face and figure,
+both regal&mdash;why, you look like Ingeborg, Queen of Norway; she had
+twelve brothers, you know, and could lick them all, though they were
+heroes:&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>On Dovrefeld in Norway<br />
+Were once together seen<br />
+The twelve heroic brothers<br />
+Of Ingeborg the queen.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&lsquo;None of your chaffing, young fellow,&rsquo; said the tall
+girl, &lsquo;or I will give you what shall make you wipe your face;
+be civil, or you will rue it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, perhaps I was a peg too high,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;I
+ask your pardon&mdash;here&rsquo;s something a bit lower:&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>As I was jawing to the gav yeck divvus<br />
+I met on the drom miro Rommany chi&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>None of your Rommany chies, young fellow,&rsquo; said the tall girl,
+looking more menacingly than before, and clenching her fist; &lsquo;you
+had better be civil, I am none of your chies; and though I keep company
+with gypsies, or, to speak more proper, half-and-halfs, I would have
+you to know that I come of Christian blood and parents, and was born
+in the great house of Long Melford.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have no doubt,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;that it was a great
+house; judging from your size I shouldn&rsquo;t wonder if you were born
+in a church.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Stay, Belle,&rsquo; said the man, putting himself before the
+young virago, who was about to rush upon me, &lsquo;my turn is first&rsquo;&mdash;then,
+advancing to me in a menacing attitude, he said, with a look of deep
+malignity, &lsquo;&ldquo;Afraid,&rdquo; was the word, wasn&rsquo;t it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It was,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;but I think I wronged you; I
+should have said, aghast; you exhibited every symptom of one labouring
+under uncontrollable fear.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The fellow stared at me with a look of stupid ferocity, and appeared
+to be hesitating whether to strike or not: ere he could make up his
+mind, the tall girl started forward, crying, &lsquo;He&rsquo;s chaffing;
+let me at him&rsquo;; and before I could put myself on my guard, she
+struck me a blow on the face which had nearly brought me to the ground.</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page480b.jpg">
+<img alt="The fellow stared at me with a look of stupid ferocity, and appeared to be hesitating whether to strike or not" src="images/page480s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>&lsquo;Enough,&rsquo; said I, putting my hand to my cheek; &lsquo;you
+have now performed your promise, and made me wipe my face: now be pacified,
+and tell me fairly the grounds of this quarrel.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Grounds!&rsquo; said the fellow; &lsquo;didn&rsquo;t you say
+I was afraid; and if you hadn&rsquo;t, who gave you leave to camp on
+my ground?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is it your ground?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A pretty question,&rsquo; said the fellow; &lsquo;as if all
+the world didn&rsquo;t know that.&nbsp; Do you know who I am?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I guess I do,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;unless I am much mistaken,
+you are he whom folks call the &ldquo;Flaming Tinman.&rdquo;&nbsp; To
+tell you the truth, I&rsquo;m glad we have met, for I wished to see
+you.&nbsp; These are your two wives, I suppose; I greet them.&nbsp;
+There&rsquo;s no harm done&mdash;there&rsquo;s room enough here for
+all of us&mdash;we shall soon be good friends, I daresay; and when we
+are a little better acquainted, I&rsquo;ll tell you my history.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, if that doesn&rsquo;t beat all!&rsquo; said the fellow.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t think he&rsquo;s chaffing now,&rsquo; said the
+girl, whose anger seemed to have subsided on a sudden; &lsquo;the young
+man speaks civil enough.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Civil!&rsquo; said the fellow, with an oath; &lsquo;but that&rsquo;s
+just like you; with you it is a blow, and all over.&nbsp; Civil!&nbsp;
+I suppose you would have him stay here, and get into all my secrets,
+and hear all I may have to say to my two morts.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Two morts!&rsquo; said the girl, kindling up, &lsquo;where
+are they?&nbsp; Speak for one, and no more.&nbsp; I am no mort of yours,
+whatever some one else may be.&nbsp; I tell you one thing, Black John,
+or Anselo,&mdash;for t&rsquo;other ain&rsquo;t your name,&mdash;the
+same thing I told the young man here, be civil, or you will rue it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The fellow looked at the girl furiously, but his glance soon quailed
+before hers; he withdrew his eyes, and cast them on my little horse,
+which was feeding amongst the trees.&nbsp; &lsquo;What&rsquo;s this?&rsquo;
+said he, rushing forward and seizing the animal.&nbsp; &lsquo;Why, as
+I am alive, this is the horse of that mumping villain Slingsby.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It&rsquo;s his no longer; I bought it and paid for it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It&rsquo;s mine now,&rsquo; said the fellow; &lsquo;I swore
+I would seize it the next time I found it on my beat; ay, and beat the
+master too.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am not Slingsby.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;All&rsquo;s one for that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You don&rsquo;t say you will beat me?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Afraid was the word.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I&rsquo;m sick and feeble.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Hold up your fists.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Won&rsquo;t the horse satisfy you?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Horse nor bellows either.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No mercy, then?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Here&rsquo;s at you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Mind your eyes, Jack.&nbsp; There, you&rsquo;ve got it.&nbsp;
+I thought so,&rsquo; shouted the girl, as the fellow staggered back
+from a sharp blow in the eye; &lsquo;I thought he was chaffing at you
+all along.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Never mind, Anselo.&nbsp; You know what to do&mdash;go in,&rsquo;
+said the vulgar woman, who had hitherto not spoken a word, but who now
+came forward with all the look of a fury; &lsquo;go inapopli; you&rsquo;ll
+smash ten like he.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The Flaming Tinman took her advice, and came in bent on smashing,
+but stopped short on receiving a left-handed blow on the nose.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You&rsquo;ll never beat the Flaming Tinman in that way,&rsquo;
+said the girl, looking at me doubtfully.</p>
+<p>And so I began to think myself, when, in the twinkling of an eye,
+the Flaming Tinman, disengaging himself of his frock-coat, and dashing
+off his red night-cap, came rushing in more desperately than ever.&nbsp;
+To a flush hit which he received in the mouth he paid as little attention
+as a wild bull would have done; in a moment his arms were around me,
+and in another he had hurled me down, falling heavily upon me.&nbsp;
+The fellow&rsquo;s strength appeared to be tremendous.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Pay him off now,&rsquo; said the vulgar woman.&nbsp; The Flaming
+Tinman made no reply, but, planting his knee on my breast, seized my
+throat with two huge horny hands.&nbsp; I gave myself up for dead, and
+probably should have been so in another minute but for the tall girl,
+who caught hold of the handkerchief which the fellow wore round his
+neck, with a grasp nearly as powerful us that with which he pressed
+my throat.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you call that fair play?&rsquo; said she.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Hands off, Belle,&rsquo; said the other woman; &lsquo;do you
+call it fair play to interfere? hands off, or I&rsquo;ll be down upon
+you myself.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>But Belle paid no heed to the injunction, and tugged so hard at the
+handkerchief that the Flaming Tinman was nearly throttled; suddenly
+relinquishing his hold of me, he started on his feet, and aimed a blow
+at my fair preserver, who avoided it, but said coolly:&mdash;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Finish t&rsquo;other business first, and then I&rsquo;m your
+woman whenever you like; but finish it fairly&mdash;no foul play when
+I&rsquo;m by&mdash;I&rsquo;ll be the boy&rsquo;s second, and Moll can
+pick up you when he happens to knock you down.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The battle during the next ten minutes raged with considerable fury,
+but it so happened that during this time I was never able to knock the
+Flaming Tinman down, but on the contrary received six knock-down blows
+myself.&nbsp; &lsquo;I can never stand this,&rsquo; said I, as I sat
+on the knee of Belle, &lsquo;I am afraid I must give in; the Flaming
+Tinman hits very hard,&rsquo; and I spat out a mouthful of blood.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sure enough you&rsquo;ll never beat the Flaming Tinman in
+the way you fight&mdash;it&rsquo;s of no use flipping at the Flaming
+Tinman with your left hand; why don&rsquo;t you use your right?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because I&rsquo;m not handy with it,&rsquo; said I; and then
+getting up, I once more confronted the Flaming Tinman, and struck him
+six blows for his one, but they were all left-handed blows, and the
+blow which the Flaming Tinman gave me knocked me off my legs.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Now, will you use Long Melford?&rsquo; said Belle, picking
+me up.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know what you mean by Long Melford,&rsquo; said
+I, gasping for breath.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, this long right of yours,&rsquo; said Belle, feeling
+my right arm; &lsquo;if you do, I shouldn&rsquo;t wonder if you yet
+stand a chance.&rsquo;&nbsp; And now the Flaming Tinman was once more
+ready, much more ready than myself.&nbsp; I, however, rose from my second&rsquo;s
+knee as well as my weakness would permit me.&nbsp; On he came, striking
+left and right, appearing almost as fresh as to wind and spirit as when
+he first commenced the combat, though his eyes were considerably swelled,
+and his nether lip was cut in two; on he came, striking left and right,
+and I did not like his blows at all, or even the wind of them, which
+was anything but agreeable, and I gave way before him.&nbsp; At last
+he aimed a blow which, had it taken full effect, would doubtless have
+ended the battle, but owing to his slipping, the fist only grazed my
+left shoulder, and came with terrific force against a tree, close to
+which I had been driven; before the Tinman could recover himself, I
+collected all my strength, and struck him beneath the ear, and then
+fell to the ground completely exhausted; and it so happened that the
+blow which I struck the Tinker beneath the ear was a right-handed blow.</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page483b.jpg">
+<img alt="His eyes were considerably swelled, and his nether lip was cut in two" src="images/page483s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>&lsquo;Hurrah for Long Melford!&rsquo; I heard Belle exclaim; &lsquo;there
+is nothing like Long Melford for shortness, all the world over.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+At these words I turned round my head as I lay, and perceived the Flaming
+Tinman stretched upon the ground apparently senseless.&nbsp; &lsquo;He
+is dead,&rsquo; said the vulgar woman, as she vainly endeavoured to
+raise him up; &lsquo;he is dead; the best man in all the north country,
+killed in this fashion, by a boy!&rsquo;&nbsp; Alarmed at these words,
+I made shift to get on my feet; and, with the assistance of the woman,
+placed my fallen adversary in a sitting posture.&nbsp; I put my hand
+to his heart, and felt a slight pulsation&mdash;&lsquo;He&rsquo;s not
+dead,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;only stunned; if he were let blood, he would
+recover presently.&rsquo;&nbsp; I produced a penknife which I had in
+my pocket, and, baring the arm of the Tinman, was about to make the
+necessary incision, when the woman gave me a violent blow, and, pushing
+me aside, exclaimed, &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll tear the eyes out of your head
+if you offer to touch him.&nbsp; Do you want to complete your work,
+and murder him outright, now he&rsquo;s asleep? you have had enough
+of his blood already.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;You are mad,&rsquo; said I,
+&lsquo;I only seek to do him service.&nbsp; Well, if you won&rsquo;t
+let him be blooded, fetch some water and fling it in his face, you know
+where the pit is.&rsquo;</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page485b.jpg">
+<img alt="It so happened that the blow which I struck the Tinker beneath the ear was a right-handed blow" src="images/page485s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>&lsquo;A pretty manoeuvre!&rsquo; said the woman; &lsquo;leave my
+husband in the hands of you and that limmer, who has never been true
+to us&mdash;I should find him strangled or his throat cut when I came
+back.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Do you go,&rsquo; said I to the tall girl;
+&lsquo;take the can and fetch some water from the pit.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;You had better go yourself,&rsquo; said the girl, wiping a tear
+as she looked on the yet senseless form of the Tinker; &lsquo;you had
+better go yourself, if you think water will do him good.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+I had by this time somewhat recovered my exhausted powers, and, taking
+the can, I bent my steps as fast as I could to the pit; arriving there,
+I lay down on the brink, took a long draught, and then plunged my head
+into the water; after which I filled the can, and bent my way back to
+the dingle.&nbsp; Before I could reach the path which led down into
+its depths, I had to pass some way along its side; I had arrived at
+a part immediately over the scene of the last encounter, where the bank,
+overgrown with trees, sloped precipitously down.&nbsp; Here I heard
+a loud sound of voices in the dingle; I stopped, and laying hold of
+a tree, leaned over the bank and listened.&nbsp; The two women appeared
+to be in hot dispute in the dingle.&nbsp; &lsquo;It was all owing to
+you, you limmer,&rsquo; said the vulgar woman to the other; &lsquo;had
+you not interfered, the old man would soon have settled the boy.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I&rsquo;m for fair play and Long Melford,&rsquo; said the
+other.&nbsp; &lsquo;If your old man, as you call him, could have settled
+the boy fairly, he might for all I should have cared, but no foul work
+for me, and as for sticking the boy with our gulleys when he comes back,
+as you proposed, I am not so fond of your old man or you that I should
+oblige you in it, to my soul&rsquo;s destruction.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Hold
+your tongue, or I&rsquo;ll&mdash;&rsquo;&nbsp; I listened no farther,
+but hastened as fast as I could to the dingle.&nbsp; My adversary had
+just begun to show signs of animation; the vulgar woman was still supporting
+him, and occasionally cast glances of anger at the tall girl, who was
+walking slowly up and down.&nbsp; I lost no time in dashing the greater
+part of the water into the Tinman&rsquo;s face, whereupon he sneezed,
+moved his hands, and presently looked round him.&nbsp; At first his
+looks were dull and heavy, and without any intelligence at all; he soon,
+however, began to recollect himself, and to be conscious of his situation;
+he cast a scowling glance at me, then one of the deepest malignity at
+the tall girl, who was still walking about without taking much notice
+of what was going forward.&nbsp; At last he looked at his right hand,
+which had evidently suffered from the blow against the tree, and a half-stifled
+curse escaped his lips.&nbsp; The vulgar woman now said something to
+him in a low tone, whereupon he looked at her for a moment, and then
+got upon his legs.&nbsp; Again the vulgar woman said something to him;
+her looks were furious, and she appeared to be urging him on to attempt
+something.&nbsp; I observed that she had a clasped knife in her hand.&nbsp;
+The fellow remained standing for some time as if hesitating what to
+do; at last he looked at his hand, and, shaking his head, said something
+to the woman which I did not understand.&nbsp; The tall girl, however,
+appeared to overhear him, and, probably repeating his words, said, &lsquo;No,
+it won&rsquo;t do; you are right there; and now hear what I have to
+say,&mdash;let bygones be bygones, and let us all shake hands, and camp
+here, as the young man was saying just now.&rsquo;&nbsp; The man looked
+at her, and then, without any reply, went to his horse, which was lying
+down among the trees, and kicking it up, led it to the cart, to which
+he forthwith began to harness it.&nbsp; The other cart and horse had
+remained standing motionless during the whole affair which I have been
+recounting, at the bottom of the pass.&nbsp; The woman now took the
+horse by the head, and leading it with the cart into the open part of
+the dingle, turned both round, and then led them back, till the horse
+and cart had mounted a little way up the ascent; she then stood still
+and appeared to be expecting the man.&nbsp; During this proceeding Belle
+had stood looking on without saying anything; at last, perceiving that
+the man had harnessed his horse to the other cart, and that both he
+and the woman were about to take their departure, she said, &lsquo;You
+are not going, are you?&rsquo;&nbsp; Receiving no answer, she continued:
+&lsquo;I tell you what, both of you, Black John, and you Moll, his mort,
+this is not treating me over civilly,&mdash;however, I am ready to put
+up with it, and to go with you if you like, for I bear no malice.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;m sorry for what has happened, but you have only yourselves
+to thank for it.&nbsp; Now, shall I go with you, only tell me?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+The man made no manner of reply, but flogged his horse.&nbsp; The woman,
+however, whose passions were probably under less control, replied, with
+a screeching tone, &lsquo;Stay where you are, you jade, and may the
+curse of Judas cling to you,&mdash;stay with the bit of a mullo whom
+you helped, and my only hope is that he may gulley you before he comes
+to be . . . . Have you with us, indeed! after what&rsquo;s past! no,
+nor nothing belonging to you.&nbsp; Fetch down your mailia go-cart and
+live here with your chabo.&rsquo;&nbsp; She then whipped on the horse,
+and ascended the pass, followed by the man.&nbsp; The carts were light,
+and they were not long in ascending the winding path.&nbsp; I followed
+to see that they took their departure.&nbsp; Arriving at the top, I
+found near the entrance a small donkey-cart, which I concluded belonged
+to the girl.&nbsp; The tinker and his mort were already at some distance;
+I stood looking after them for a little time, then taking the donkey
+by the reins I led it with the cart to the bottom of the dingle.&nbsp;
+Arrived there, I found Belle seated on the stone by the fireplace.&nbsp;
+Her hair was all dishevelled, and she was in tears.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They were bad people,&rsquo; said she, &lsquo;and I did not
+like them, but they were my only acquaintance in the wide world.&rsquo;</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page488b.jpg">
+<img alt="The tinker and his mort were already at some distance; I stood looking after them for a little time" src="images/page488s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXXXVI</h2>
+<p>At tea&mdash;Vapours&mdash;Isopel Berners&mdash;Softly and kindly&mdash;Sweet
+pretty creature&mdash;Bread and water&mdash;Two sailors&mdash;Truth
+and constancy&mdash;Very strangely.</p>
+<p>In the evening of that same day the tall girl and I sat at tea by
+the fire, at the bottom of the dingle; the girl on a small stool, and
+myself, as usual, upon my stone.</p>
+<p>The water which served for the tea had been taken from a spring of
+pellucid water in the neighbourhood, which I had not had the good fortune
+to discover, though it was well known to my companion, and to the wandering
+people who frequented the dingle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This tea is very good,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;but I cannot
+enjoy it as much as if I were well: I feel very sadly.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How else should you feel,&rsquo; said the girl, &lsquo;after
+fighting with the Flaming Tinman?&nbsp; All I wonder at is that you
+can feel at all!&nbsp; As for the tea, it ought to be good, seeing that
+it cost me ten shillings a pound.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That&rsquo;s a great deal for a person in your station to
+pay.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In my station!&nbsp; I&rsquo;d have you to know, young man&mdash;however,
+I haven&rsquo;t the heart to quarrel with you, you look so ill; and
+after all, it is a good sum for one to pay who travels the roads; but
+if I must have tea, I like to have the best; and tea I must have, for
+I am used to it, though I can&rsquo;t help thinking that it sometimes
+fills my head with strange fancies&mdash;what some folks call vapours,
+making me weep and cry.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Dear me,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I should never have thought
+that one of your size and fierceness would weep and cry!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My size and fierceness!&nbsp; I tell you what, young man,
+you are not over civil this evening; but you are ill, as I said before,
+and I shan&rsquo;t take much notice of your language, at least for the
+present; as for my size, I am not so much bigger than yourself; and
+as for being fierce, you should be the last one to fling that at me.&nbsp;
+It is well for you that I can be fierce sometimes.&nbsp; If I hadn&rsquo;t
+taken your part against Blazing Bosville, you wouldn&rsquo;t be now
+taking tea with me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is true that you struck me in the face first; but we&rsquo;ll
+let that pass.&nbsp; So that man&rsquo;s name is Bosville; what&rsquo;s
+your own?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Isopel Berners.&rsquo;</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page491b.jpg">
+<img alt="Isopel Berners" src="images/page491s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>&lsquo;How did you get that name?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I say, young man, you seem fond of asking questions: will
+you have another cup of tea?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I was just going to ask for another.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, then, here it is, and much good may it do you; as for
+my name, I got it from my mother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Your mother&rsquo;s name, then, was Isopel!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Isopel Berners.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But had you never a father?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I had a father,&rsquo; said the girl, sighing, &lsquo;but
+I don&rsquo;t bear his name.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is it the fashion, then, in your country for children to bear
+their mother&rsquo;s name?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If you ask such questions, young man, I shall be angry with
+you.&nbsp; I have told you my name, and, whether my father&rsquo;s or
+mother&rsquo;s, I am not ashamed of it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is a noble name.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There you are right, young man.&nbsp; The chaplain in the
+great house where I was born told me it was a noble name; it was odd
+enough, he said, that the only three noble names in the county were
+to be found in the great house; mine was one; the other two were Devereux
+and Bohun.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do you mean by the great house?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The workhouse.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is it possible that you were born there?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, young man; and as you now speak softly and kindly, I
+will tell you my whole tale.&nbsp; My father was an officer of the sea,
+and was killed at sea as he was coming home to marry my mother, Isopel
+Berners.&nbsp; He had been acquainted with her, and had left her; but
+after a few months he wrote her a letter, to say that he had no rest,
+and that he repented, and that as soon as his ship came to port he would
+do her all the reparation in his power.&nbsp; Well, young man, the very
+day before they reached port they met the enemy, and there was a fight,
+and my father was killed, after he had struck down six of the enemy&rsquo;s
+crew on their own deck; for my father was a big man, as I have heard,
+and knew tolerably well how to use his hands, And when my mother heard
+the news, she became half distracted, and ran away into the fields and
+forests, totally neglecting her business, for she was a small milliner;
+and so she ran demented about the meads and forests for a long time,
+now sitting under a tree, and now by the side of a river&mdash;at last
+she flung herself into some water, and would have been drowned, had
+not some one been at hand and rescued her, whereupon she was conveyed
+to the great house, lest she should attempt to do herself farther mischief,
+for she had neither friends nor parents&mdash;and there she died three
+months after, having first brought me into the world.&nbsp; She was
+a sweet pretty creature, I&rsquo;m told, but hardly fit for this world,
+being neither large, nor fierce, nor able to take her own part.&nbsp;
+So I was born and bred in the great house, where I learnt to read and
+sew, to fear God, and to take my own part.&nbsp; When I was fourteen
+I was put out to service to a small farmer and his wife, with whom,
+however, I did not stay long, for I was half-starved, and otherwise
+ill treated, especially by my mistress, who one day attempting to knock
+me down with a besom, I knocked her down with my fist, and went back
+to the great house.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And how did they receive you in the great house?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not very kindly, young man&mdash;on the contrary, I was put
+into a dark room, where I was kept a fortnight on bread and water; I
+did not much care, however, being glad to have got back to the great
+house at any rate&mdash;the place where I was born, and where my poor
+mother died; and in the great house I continued two years longer, reading
+and sewing, fearing God, and taking my own part when necessary.&nbsp;
+At the end of the two years I was again put out to service, but this
+time to a rich farmer and his wife, with whom, however, I did not live
+long, less time, I believe, than with the poor ones, being obliged to
+leave for&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Knocking your mistress down?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, young man, knocking my master down, who conducted himself
+improperly towards me.&nbsp; This time I did not go back to the great
+house, having a misgiving that they would not receive me; so I turned
+my back to the great house where I was born, and where my poor mother
+died, and wandered for several days I know not whither, supporting myself
+on a few halfpence which I chanced to have in my pocket.&nbsp; It happened
+one day, as I sat under a hedge crying, having spent my last farthing,
+that a comfortable-looking elderly woman came up in a cart, and seeing
+the state in which I was, she stopped and asked what was the matter
+with me; I told her some part of my story, whereupon she said, &lsquo;Cheer
+up, my dear; if you like, you shall go with me, and wait upon me.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Of course I wanted little persuasion, so I got into the cart and went
+with her.&nbsp; She took me to London and various other places, and
+I soon found that she was a travelling woman, who went about the country
+with silks and linen.&nbsp; I was of great use to her, more especially
+in those places where we met evil company.&nbsp; Once, as we were coming
+from Dover, we were met by two sailors, who stopped our cart, and would
+have robbed and stripped us.&nbsp; &lsquo;Let me get down,&rsquo; said
+I; so I got down, and fought with them both, till they turned round
+and ran away.&nbsp; Two years I lived with the old gentlewoman, who
+was very kind to me, almost as kind as a mother; at last she fell sick
+at a place in Lincolnshire, and after a few days died, leaving me her
+cart and stock in trade, praying me only to see her decently buried&mdash;which
+I did, giving her a funeral fit for a gentlewoman.&nbsp; After which
+I travelled the country&mdash;melancholy enough for want of company,
+but so far fortunate, that I could take my own part when anybody was
+uncivil to me.&nbsp; At last, passing through the valley of Todmorden,
+I formed the acquaintance of Blazing Bosville and his wife, with whom
+I occasionally took journeys for company&rsquo;s sake, for it is melancholy
+to travel about alone, even when one can take one&rsquo;s own part.&nbsp;
+I soon found they were evil people; but, upon the whole, they treated
+me civilly, and I sometimes lent them a little money, so that we got
+on tolerably well together.&nbsp; He and I, it is true, had once a dispute,
+and nearly came to blows; for once, when we were alone, he wanted me
+to marry him, promising, if I would, to turn off Grey Moll, or, if I
+liked it better, to make her wait upon me as a maid-servant; I never
+liked him much, but from that hour less than ever.&nbsp; Of the two,
+I believe Grey Moll to be the best, for she is at any rate true and
+faithful to him, and I like truth and constancy&mdash;don&rsquo;t you,
+young man?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;they are very nice things.&nbsp;
+I feel very strangely.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How do you feel, young man?</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very much afraid.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Afraid, at what?&nbsp; At the Flaming Tinman?&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t
+be afraid of him.&nbsp; He won&rsquo;t come back, and if he did, he
+shouldn&rsquo;t touch you in this state, I&rsquo;d fight him for you;
+but he won&rsquo;t come back, so you needn&rsquo;t be afraid of him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I&rsquo;m not afraid of the Flaming Tinman.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What, then, are you afraid of?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The evil one.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The evil one!&rsquo; said the girl, &lsquo;where is he?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Coming upon me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Never heed,&rsquo; said the girl, &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll stand
+by you.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXXXVII</h2>
+<p>Hubbub of voices&mdash;No offence&mdash;Nodding&mdash;The guests.</p>
+<p>The kitchen of the public-house was a large one, and many people
+were drinking in it; there was a confused hubbub of voices.</p>
+<p>I sat down on a bench behind a deal table, of which there were three
+or four in the kitchen; presently a bulky man, in a green coat of the
+Newmarket cut, and without a hat, entered, and observing me, came up,
+and in rather a gruff tone cried, &lsquo;Want anything, young fellow?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Bring me a jug of ale,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;if you are the
+master, as I suppose you are, by that same coat of yours, and your having
+no hat on your head.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t be saucy, young fellow,&rsquo; said the landlord,
+for such he was; &lsquo;don&rsquo;t be saucy, or&mdash;&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Whatever he intended to say he left unsaid, for fixing his eyes upon
+one of my hands, which I had placed by chance upon the table, he became
+suddenly still.</p>
+<p>This was my left hand, which was raw and swollen, from the blows
+dealt on a certain hard skull in a recent combat.&nbsp; &lsquo;What
+do you mean by staring at my hand so?&rsquo; said I, withdrawing it
+from the table.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No offence, young man, no offence,&rsquo; said the landlord,
+in a quite altered tone; &lsquo;but the sight of your hand&mdash;&rsquo;
+then observing that our conversation began to attract the notice of
+the guests in the kitchen, he interrupted himself, saying in an undertone,
+&lsquo;But mum&rsquo;s the word for the present, I will go and fetch
+the ale.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>In about a minute he returned, with a jug of ale foaming high.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Here&rsquo;s your health,&rsquo; said he, blowing off the foam,
+and drinking; but perceiving that I looked rather dissatisfied, he murmured,
+&lsquo;All&rsquo;s right, I glory in you; but mum&rsquo;s the word.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Then, placing the jug on the table, he gave me a confidential nod, and
+swaggered out of the room.</p>
+<p>What can the silly impertinent fellow mean? thought I; but the ale
+was now before me, and I hastened to drink, for my weakness was great,
+and my mind was full of dark thoughts, the remains of the indescribable
+horror of the preceding night.&nbsp; It may kill me, thought I, as I
+drank deep&mdash;but who cares? anything is better than what I have
+suffered.&nbsp; I drank deep, and then leaned back against the wall:
+it appeared as if a vapour was stealing up into my brain, gentle and
+benign, soothing and stifling the horror and the fear; higher and higher
+it mounted, and I felt nearly overcome; but the sensation was delicious,
+compared with that I had lately experienced, and now I felt myself nodding;
+and, bending down, I laid my head on the table on my folded hands.</p>
+<p>And in that attitude I remained some time, perfectly unconscious.&nbsp;
+At length, by degrees, perception returned, and I lifted up my head.&nbsp;
+I felt somewhat dizzy and bewildered, but the dark shadow had withdrawn
+itself from me.&nbsp; And now once more I drank of the jug; this second
+draught did not produce an overpowering effect upon me&mdash;it revived
+and strengthened me&mdash;I felt a new man.</p>
+<p>I looked around me; the kitchen had been deserted by the greater
+part of the guests; besides myself, only four remained; these were seated
+at the farther end.&nbsp; One was haranguing fiercely and eagerly; he
+was abusing England, and praising America.&nbsp; At last he exclaimed,
+&lsquo;So when I gets to New York, I will toss up my hat, and damn the
+King.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>That man must be a Radical, thought I.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXXXVIII</h2>
+<p>A Radical&mdash;Simple-looking man&mdash;Church of England&mdash;The
+President&mdash;Aristocracy&mdash;Gin and water&mdash;Mending the roads&mdash;Persecuting
+Church&mdash;Simon de Montfort&mdash;Broken bells&mdash;Get up&mdash;Not
+for the Pope&mdash;Quay of New York&mdash;Mumpers&rsquo; Dingle&mdash;No
+wish to fight&mdash;First draught&mdash;A poor pipe&mdash;Half-a-crown
+broke.</p>
+<p>The individual whom I supposed to be a Radical, after a short pause,
+again uplifted his voice; he was rather a strong-built fellow of about
+thirty, with an ill-favoured countenance, a white hat on his head, a
+snuff-coloured coat on his back, and when he was not speaking, a pipe
+in his mouth.&nbsp; &lsquo;Who would live in such a country as England?&rsquo;
+he shouted.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There is no country like America,&rsquo; said his nearest
+neighbour, a man also in a white hat, and of a very ill-favoured countenance&mdash;&lsquo;there
+is no country like America,&rsquo; said he, withdrawing a pipe from
+his mouth; &lsquo;I think I shall&mdash;&rsquo; and here he took a draught
+from a jug, the contents of which he appeared to have in common with
+the other,&mdash;&lsquo;go to America one of these days myself.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Poor old England is not such a bad country, after all,&rsquo;
+said a third, a simple-looking man in a labouring dress, who sat smoking
+a pipe without anything before him.&nbsp; &lsquo;If there was but a
+little more work to be got, I should have nothing to say against her;
+I hope, however&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You hope! who cares what you hope?&rsquo; interrupted the
+first, in a savage tone; &lsquo;you are one of those sneaking hounds
+who are satisfied with dogs&rsquo; wages&mdash;a bit of bread and a
+kick.&nbsp; Work, indeed! who, with the spirit of a man, would work
+for a country where there is neither liberty of speech nor of action?
+a land full of beggarly aristocracy, hungry borough-mongers, insolent
+parsons, and &ldquo;their . . . wives and daughters,&rdquo; as William
+Cobbett says, in his &ldquo;Register.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, the Church of England has been a source of incalculable
+mischief to these realms,&rsquo; said another.</p>
+<p>The person who uttered these words sat rather aloof from the rest;
+he was dressed in a long black surtout.&nbsp; I could not see much of
+his face, partly owing to his keeping it very much directed to the ground,
+and partly owing to a large slouched hat which he wore; I observed,
+however, that his hair was of a reddish tinge.&nbsp; On the table near
+him was a glass and spoon.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are quite right,&rsquo; said the first, alluding to what
+this last had said, &lsquo;the Church of England has done incalculable
+mischief here.&nbsp; I value no religion three halfpence, for I believe
+in none; but the one that I hate most is the Church of England; so when
+I get to New York, after I have shown the fine fellows on the quay a
+spice of me, by . . . the King, I&rsquo;ll toss up my hat again, and
+. . . the Church of England too.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And suppose the people of New York should clap you in the
+stocks?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>These words drew upon me the attention of the whole four.&nbsp; The
+Radical and his companion stared at me ferociously; the man in black
+gave me a peculiar glance from under his slouched hat; the simple-looking
+man in the labouring dress laughed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What are you laughing at, you fool?&rsquo; said the Radical,
+turning and looking at the other, who appeared to be afraid of him;
+&lsquo;hold your noise; and a pretty fellow, you,&rsquo; said he, looking
+at me, &lsquo;to come here, and speak against the great American nation.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I speak against the great American nation!&rsquo; said I;
+&lsquo;I rather paid them a compliment.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;By supposing they would put me in the stocks.&nbsp; Well,
+I call it abusing them, to suppose they would do any such thing&mdash;stocks,
+indeed!&mdash;there are no stocks in all the land.&nbsp; Put me in the
+stocks! why, the President will come down to the quay, and ask me to
+dinner, as soon as he hears what I have said about the King and Church.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I shouldn&rsquo;t wonder,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;if you go
+to America you will say of the President and country what now you say
+of the King and Church, and cry out for somebody to send you back to
+England.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The Radical dashed his pipe to pieces against the table.&nbsp; &lsquo;I
+tell you what, young fellow, you are a spy of the aristocracy, sent
+here to kick up a disturbance.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Kicking up a disturbance,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;is rather
+inconsistent with the office of spy.&nbsp; If I were a spy, I should
+hold my head down, and say nothing.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The man in black partially raised his head, and gave me another peculiar
+glance.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, if you aren&rsquo;t sent to spy, you are sent to bully,
+to prevent people speaking, and to run down the great American nation;
+but you shan&rsquo;t bully me.&nbsp; I say, down with the aristocracy,
+the beggarly British aristocracy.&nbsp; Come, what have you to say to
+that?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nothing,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nothing!&rsquo; repeated the Radical.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;down with them as soon as you can.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As soon as I can!&nbsp; I wish I could.&nbsp; But I can down
+with a bully of theirs.&nbsp; Come, will you fight for them?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You won&rsquo;t?</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;though, from what I have seen of
+them, I should say they are tolerably able to fight for themselves.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You won&rsquo;t fight for them,&rsquo; said the Radical triumphantly;
+&lsquo;I thought so; all bullies, especially those of the aristocracy,
+are cowards.&nbsp; Here, landlord,&rsquo; said he, raising his voice,
+and striking against the table with the jug, &lsquo;some more ale&mdash;he
+won&rsquo;t fight for his friends.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A white feather,&rsquo; said his companion.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He! he!&rsquo; tittered the man in black.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Landlord, landlord,&rsquo; shouted the Radical, striking the
+table with the jug louder than before.&nbsp; &lsquo;Who called?&rsquo;
+said the landlord, coming in at last.&nbsp; &lsquo;Fill this jug again,&rsquo;
+said the other, &lsquo;and be quick about it.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Does
+any one else want anything?&rsquo; said the landlord.&nbsp; &lsquo;Yes,&rsquo;
+said the man in black; &lsquo;you may bring me another glass of gin
+and water.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Cold?&rsquo; said the landlord.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the man in black, &lsquo;with a lump of sugar
+in it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Gin and water cold, with a lump of sugar in it,&rsquo; said
+I, and struck the table with my fist.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Take some?&rsquo; said the landlord, inquiringly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;only something came into my head.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He&rsquo;s mad,&rsquo; said the man in black.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not he,&rsquo; said the Radical.&nbsp; &lsquo;He&rsquo;s only
+shamming; he knows his master is here, and therefore has recourse to
+these manoeuvres, but it won&rsquo;t do.&nbsp; Come, landlord, what
+are you staring at?&nbsp; Why don&rsquo;t you obey your orders?&nbsp;
+Keeping your customers waiting in this manner is not the way to increase
+your business.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The landlord looked at the Radical, and then at me.&nbsp; At last,
+taking the jug and glass, he left the apartment, and presently returned
+with each filled with its respective liquor.&nbsp; He placed the jug
+with beer before the Radical, and the glass with the gin and water before
+the man in black, and then, with a wink to me, he sauntered out.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Here is your health, sir,&rsquo; said the man of the snuff-coloured
+coat, addressing himself to the one in black; &lsquo;I honour you for
+what you said about the Church of England.&nbsp; Every one who speaks
+against the Church of England has my warm heart.&nbsp; Down with it,
+I say, and may the stones of it be used for mending the roads, as my
+friend William says in his Register.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The man in black, with a courteous nod of his head, drank to the
+man in the snuff-coloured coat.&nbsp; &lsquo;With respect to the steeples,&rsquo;
+said he, &lsquo;I am not altogether of your opinion; they might be turned
+to better account than to serve to mend the roads; they might still
+be used as places of worship, but not for the worship of the Church
+of England.&nbsp; I have no fault to find with the steeples, it is the
+Church itself which I am compelled to arraign; but it will not stand
+long, the respectable part of its ministers are already leaving it.&nbsp;
+It is a bad Church, a persecuting Church.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Whom does it persecute?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>The man in black glanced at me slightly, and then replied slowly,
+&lsquo;The Catholics.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And do those whom you call Catholics never persecute?&rsquo;
+said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Never,&rsquo; said the man in black.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Did you ever read Foxe&rsquo;s <i>Book of Martyrs</i>?&rsquo;
+said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He! he!&rsquo; tittered the man in black; &lsquo;there is
+not a word of truth in Foxe&rsquo;s <i>Book of Martyrs</i>.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ten times more than in the <i>Flos Sanctorum</i>,&rsquo; said
+I.</p>
+<p>The man in black looked at me, but made no answer.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what say you to the Massacre of the Albigenses and the
+Vaudois, &ldquo;whose bones lie scattered on the cold Alp,&rdquo; or
+the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The man in black made no answer.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Go to,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;it is because the Church of England
+is not a persecuting church, that those whom you call the respectable
+part are leaving her; it is because they can&rsquo;t do with the poor
+Dissenters what Simon de Montfort did with the Albigenses, and the cruel
+Piedmontese with the Vaudois, that they turn to bloody Rome; the Pope
+will no doubt welcome them, for the Pope, do you see, being very much
+in want, will welcome&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Hollo!&rsquo; said the Radical, interfering, &lsquo;what are
+you saying about the Pope?&nbsp; I say, hurrah for the Pope; I value
+no religion three halfpence, as I said before, but if I were to adopt
+any, it should be the Popish as it&rsquo;s called, because I conceives
+the Popish to be the grand enemy of the Church of England, of the beggarly
+aristocracy, and the borough-monger system, so I won&rsquo;t hear the
+Pope abused while I am by.&nbsp; Come, don&rsquo;t look fierce.&nbsp;
+You won&rsquo;t fight, you know, I have proved it; but I will give you
+another chance&mdash;I will fight for the Pope, will you fight against
+him?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh dear me, yes,&rsquo; said I, getting up and stepping forward.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I am a quiet peaceable young man, and, being so, am always ready
+to fight against the Pope&mdash;the enemy of all peace and quiet; to
+refuse fighting for the aristocracy is a widely different thing from
+refusing to fight against the Pope; so come on, if you are disposed
+to fight for him.&nbsp; To the Pope broken bells, to Saint James broken
+shells.&nbsp; No Popish vile oppression, but the Protestant succession.
+Confusion to the Groyne, hurrah for the Boyne, for the army at Clonmel,
+and the Protestant young gentlemen who live there as well.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;An Orangeman,&rsquo; said the man in black.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not a Platitude,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>The man in black gave a slight start.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Amongst that family,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;no doubt, something
+may be done, but amongst the Methodist preachers I should conceive that
+the success would not be great.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The man in black sat quite still.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Especially amongst those who have wives,&rsquo; I added.</p>
+<p>The man in black stretched his hand towards his gin and water.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;However,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;we shall see what the grand
+movement will bring about, and the results of the lessons in elocution.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The man in black lifted the glass up to his mouth, and, in doing
+so, let the spoon fall.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But what has this to do with the main question?&rsquo; said
+I; &lsquo;I am waiting here to fight against the Pope.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come, Hunter,&rsquo; said the companion of the man in the
+snuff coloured coat, &lsquo;get up, and fight for the Pope.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t care for the young fellow,&rsquo; said the man
+in the snuff-coloured coat.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know you don&rsquo;t,&rsquo; said the other, &lsquo;so get
+up, and serve him out.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I could serve out three like him,&rsquo; said the man in the
+snuff-coloured coat.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So much the better for you,&rsquo; said the other, &lsquo;the
+present work will be all the easier for you, get up, and serve him out
+at once.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The man in the snuff-coloured coat did not stir.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who shows the white feather now?&rsquo; said the simple-looking
+man.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He! he! he!&rsquo; tittered the man in black.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who told you to interfere?&rsquo; said the Radical, turning
+ferociously towards the simple-looking man; &lsquo;say another word
+and I&rsquo;ll&mdash;&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;And you!&rsquo; said he, addressing
+himself to the man in black, &lsquo;a pretty fellow you to turn against
+me, after I had taken your part.&nbsp; I tell you what, you may fight
+for yourself.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll see you and your Pope in the pit of Eldon
+before I fight for either of you, so make the most of it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you won&rsquo;t fight?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not for the Pope,&rsquo; said the Radical; &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll
+see the Pope&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Dear me!&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;not fight for the Pope, whose
+religion you would turn to, if you were inclined for any.&nbsp; I see
+how it is, you are not fond of fighting; but I&rsquo;ll give you another
+chance&mdash;you were abusing the Church of England just now: I&rsquo;ll
+fight for it&mdash;will you fight against it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come, Hunter,&rsquo; said the other, &lsquo;get up, and fight
+against the Church of England.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have no particular quarrel against the Church of England,&rsquo;
+said the man in the snuff-coloured coat, &lsquo;my quarrel is with the
+aristocracy.&nbsp; If I said anything against the Church, it was merely
+for a bit of corollary, as Master William Cobbett would say; the quarrel
+with the Church belongs to this fellow in black, so let him carry it
+on.&nbsp; However,&rsquo; he continued suddenly, &lsquo;I won&rsquo;t
+slink from the matter either; it shall never be said by the fine fellows
+on the quay of New York that I wouldn&rsquo;t fight against the Church
+of England.&nbsp; So down with the beggarly aristocracy, the Church,
+and the Pope to the bottom of the pit of Eldon, and may the Pope fall
+first, and the others upon him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Thereupon, dashing his hat on the table, he placed himself in an
+attitude of offence and rushed forward.&nbsp; He was, as I have said
+before, a powerful fellow, and might have proved a dangerous antagonist,
+more especially to myself, who, after my recent encounter with the Flaming
+Tinman, and my wrestlings with the evil one, was in anything but fighting
+order.&nbsp; Any collision, however, was prevented by the landlord,
+who, suddenly appearing, thrust himself between us.&nbsp; &lsquo;There
+shall be no fighting here,&rsquo; said he; &lsquo;no one shall fight
+in this house, except it be with myself; so if you two have anything
+to say to each other, you had better go into the field behind the house.&nbsp;
+But, you fool,&rsquo; said he, pushing Hunter violently on the breast,
+&lsquo;do you know whom you are going to tackle with?&mdash;this is
+the young chap that beat Blazing Bosville, only as late as yesterday,
+in Mumpers&rsquo; Dingle.&nbsp; Grey Moll told me all about it last
+night, when she came for some brandy for her husband, who, she said,
+had been half killed; and she described the young man to me so closely
+that I knew him at once, that is, as soon as I saw how his left hand
+was bruised, for she told me he was a left-hand hitter.&nbsp; Aren&rsquo;t
+it all true, young man?&nbsp; Aren&rsquo;t you he that beat Flaming
+Bosville, in Mumpers&rsquo; Dingle?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I never beat
+Flaming Bosville,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;he beat himself.&nbsp; Had he
+not struck his hand against a tree, I shouldn&rsquo;t be here at the
+present moment.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Hear, hear!&rsquo; said the landlord,
+&lsquo;now that&rsquo;s just as it should be; I like a modest man, for,
+as the parson says, nothing sits better upon a young man than modesty.&nbsp;
+I remember, when I was young, fighting with Tom of Hopton, the best
+man that ever pulled off coat in England.&nbsp; I remember, too, that
+I won the battle; for I happened to hit Tom of Hopton in the mark, as
+he was coming in, so that he lost his wind, and falling squelch on the
+ground, do ye see, he lost the battle, though I am free to confess that
+he was a better man than myself; indeed, the best man that ever fought
+in England; yet still, I won the battle, as every customer of mine,
+and everybody within twelve miles round, has heard over and over again.&nbsp;
+Now, Mr. Hunter, I have one thing to say, if you choose to go into the
+field behind the house, and fight the young man, you can.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll
+back him for ten pounds; but no fighting in my kitchen&mdash;because
+why?&nbsp; I keeps a decent kind of an establishment.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have no wish to fight the young man,&rsquo; said Hunter;
+&lsquo;more especially as he has nothing to say for the aristocracy.&nbsp;
+If he chose to fight for them, indeed&mdash;but he won&rsquo;t, I know;
+for I see he&rsquo;s a decent, respectable young man; and, after all,
+fighting is a blackguard way of settling a dispute; so I have no wish
+to fight; however, there is one thing I&rsquo;ll do,&rsquo; said he,
+uplifting his fist, &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll fight this fellow in black here
+for half a crown, or for nothing, if he pleases; it was he that got
+up the last dispute between me and the young man, with his Pope and
+his nonsense; so I will fight him for anything he pleases, and perhaps
+the young man will be my second; whilst you&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come, Doctor,&rsquo; said the landlord, &lsquo;or whatsoever
+you be, will you go into the field with Hunter?&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll second
+you, only you must back yourself.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll lay five pounds on
+Hunter, if you are inclined to back yourself; and will help you to win
+it as far, do you see, as a second can; because why?&nbsp; I always
+likes to do the fair thing.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, I have no wish to fight,&rsquo; said the man in black,
+hastily; &lsquo;fighting is not my trade.&nbsp; If I have given any
+offence, I beg anybody&rsquo;s pardon.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Landlord,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;what have I to pay?</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nothing at all,&rsquo; said the landlord; &lsquo;glad to see
+you.&nbsp; This is the first time that you have been at my house, and
+I never charge new customers, at least customers such as you, anything
+for the first draught.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll come again, I daresay; shall
+always be glad to see you.&nbsp; I won&rsquo;t take it,&rsquo; said
+he, as I put sixpence on the table; &lsquo;I won&rsquo;t take it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, you shall,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;but not in payment for
+anything I have had myself: it shall serve to pay for a jug of ale for
+that gentleman,&rsquo; said I, pointing to the simple-looking individual;
+&lsquo;he is smoking a poor pipe.&nbsp; I do not mean to say that a
+pipe is a bad thing; but a pipe without ale, do you see&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Bravo!&rsquo; said the landlord, &lsquo;that&rsquo;s just
+the conduct I like.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Bravo!&rsquo; said Hunter.&nbsp; &lsquo;I shall be happy to
+drink with the young man whenever I meet him at New York, where, do
+you see, things are better managed than here.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If I have given offence to anybody,&rsquo; said the man in
+black, &lsquo;I repeat that I ask pardon,&mdash;more especially to the
+young gentleman, who was perfectly right to stand up for his religion,
+just as I&mdash;not that I am of any particular religion, no more than
+this honest gentleman here,&rsquo; bowing to Hunter; &lsquo;but I happen
+to know something of the Catholics&mdash;several excellent friends of
+mine are Catholics&mdash;and of a surety the Catholic religion is an
+ancient religion, and a widely-extended religion, though it certainly
+is not a universal religion, but it has of late made considerable progress,
+even amongst those nations who have been particularly opposed to it&mdash;amongst
+the Prussians and the Dutch, for example, to say nothing of the English;
+and then, in the East, amongst the Persians, amongst the Armenians.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Armenians,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;oh dear me, the Armenians&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Have you anything to say about those people, sir?&rsquo; said
+the man in black, lifting up his glass to his mouth.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have nothing further to say,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;than
+that the roots of Ararat are occasionally found to be deeper than those
+of Rome.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There&rsquo;s half-a-crown broke,&rsquo; said the landlord,
+as the man in black let fall the glass, which was broken to pieces on
+the floor.&nbsp; &lsquo;You will pay me the damage, friend, before you
+leave this kitchen.&nbsp; I like to see people drink freely in my kitchen,
+but not too freely, and I hate breakages; because why?&nbsp; I keeps
+a decent kind of an establishment.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER LXXXIX</h2>
+<p>The dingle&mdash;Give them ale&mdash;Not over complimentary&mdash;America&mdash;Many
+people&mdash;Washington&mdash;Promiscuous company&mdash;Language of
+the roads&mdash;The old women&mdash;Numerals&mdash;The man in black.</p>
+<p>The public-house where the scenes which I have attempted to describe
+in the preceding chapters took place, was at the distance of about two
+miles from the dingle.&nbsp; The sun was sinking in the west by the
+time I returned to the latter spot.&nbsp; I found Belle seated by a
+fire, over which her kettle was suspended.&nbsp; During my absence she
+had prepared herself a kind of tent, consisting of large hoops covered
+over with tarpaulins, quite impenetrable to rain, however violent.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I am glad you are returned,&rsquo; said she, as soon as she perceived
+me; &lsquo;I began to be anxious about you.&nbsp; Did you take my advice?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;I went to the public-house and
+drank ale, as you advised me; it cheered, strengthened, and drove away
+the horror from my mind&mdash;I am much beholden to you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I knew it would do you good,&rsquo; said Belle; &lsquo;I remembered
+that when the poor women in the great house were afflicted with hysterics,
+and fearful imaginings, the surgeon, who was a good kind man, used to
+say, &ldquo;Ale, give them ale, and let it be strong.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He was no advocate for tea, then?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He had no objection to tea; but he used to say, &ldquo;Everything
+in its season.&rdquo;&nbsp; Shall we take ours now?&mdash;I have waited
+for you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have no objection,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;I feel rather heated,
+and at present should prefer tea to ale&mdash;&ldquo;Everything in its
+season,&rdquo; as the surgeon said.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Thereupon Belle prepared tea, and, as we were taking it, she said&mdash;&lsquo;What
+did you see and hear at the public-house?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Really,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;you appear to have your full
+portion of curiosity; what matters it to you what I saw and heard at
+the public-house?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It matters very little to me,&rsquo; said Belle; &lsquo;I
+merely inquired of you, for the sake of a little conversation&mdash;you
+were silent, and it is uncomfortable for two people to sit together
+without opening their lips&mdash;at least I think so.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One only feels uncomfortable,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;in being
+silent, when one happens to be thinking of the individual with whom
+one is in company.&nbsp; To tell you the truth, I was not thinking of
+my companion, but of certain company with whom I had been at the public-house.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Really, young man,&rsquo; said Belle, &lsquo;you are not over
+complimentary; but who may this wonderful company have been&mdash;some
+young&mdash;?&rsquo; and here Belle stopped.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;there was no young person&mdash;if
+person you were going to say.&nbsp; There was a big portly landlord,
+whom I daresay you have seen; a noisy savage Radical, who wanted at
+first to fasten upon me a quarrel about America, but who subsequently
+drew in his horns; then there was a strange fellow, a prowling priest,
+I believe, whom I have frequently heard of, who at first seemed disposed
+to side with the Radical against me, and afterwards with me against
+the Radical.&nbsp; There, you know my company, and what took place.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Was there no one else?&rsquo; said Belle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are mighty curious,&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;No, none
+else, except a poor simple mechanic, and some common company, who soon
+went away.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Belle looked at me for a moment, and then appeared to be lost in
+thought&mdash;&lsquo;America!&rsquo; said she, musingly&mdash;&lsquo;America!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What of America?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have heard that it is a mighty country.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I daresay it is,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;I have heard my father
+say that the Americans are first-rate marksmen.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I heard nothing about that,&rsquo; said Belle; &lsquo;what
+I heard was, that it is a great and goodly land, where people can walk
+about without jostling, and where the industrious can always find bread;
+I have frequently thought of going thither.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;the Radical in the public-house
+will perhaps be glad of your company thither; he is as great an admirer
+of America as yourself, though I believe on different grounds.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I shall go by myself,&rsquo; said Belle, &lsquo;unless&mdash;unless
+that should happen which is not likely&mdash;I am not fond of Radicals
+no more than I am of scoffers and mockers.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you mean to say that I am a scoffer and mocker?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t wish to say you are,&rsquo; said Belle; &lsquo;but
+some of your words sound strangely like scoffing and mocking.&nbsp;
+I have now one thing to beg, which is, that if you have anything to
+say against America, you would speak it out boldly.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What should I have to say against America?&nbsp; I never was
+there.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Many people speak against America who never were there.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Many people speak in praise of America who never were there;
+but with respect to myself, I have not spoken for or against America.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If you liked America you would speak in its praise.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;By the same rule, if I disliked America I should speak against
+it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I can&rsquo;t speak with you,&rsquo; said Belle; &lsquo;but
+I see you dislike the country.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The country!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, the people&mdash;don&rsquo;t you?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why do you dislike them?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, I have heard my father say that the American marksmen,
+led on by a chap of the name of Washington, sent the English to the
+right-about in double-quick time.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And that is your reason for disliking the Americans?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;that is my reason for disliking
+them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Will you take another cup of tea?&rsquo; said Belle.</p>
+<p>I took another cup; we were again silent.&nbsp; &lsquo;It is rather
+uncomfortable,&rsquo; said I, at last, &lsquo;for people to sit together
+without having anything to say.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Were you thinking of your company?&rsquo; said Belle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What company?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The present company.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The present company! oh, ah&mdash;I remember that I said one
+only feels uncomfortable in being silent with a companion, when one
+happens to be thinking of the companion.&nbsp; Well, I had been thinking
+of you the last two or three minutes, and had just come to the conclusion
+that, to prevent us both feeling occasionally uncomfortably towards
+each other, having nothing to say, it would be as well to have a standing
+subject on which to employ our tongues.&nbsp; Belle, I have determined
+to give you lessons in Armenian.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is Armenian?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Did you ever hear of Ararat?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, that was the place where the ark rested; I have heard
+the chaplain in the great house talk of it; besides, I have read of
+it in the Bible.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, Armenian is the speech of people of that place, and
+I should like to teach it you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To prevent&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ay, ay, to prevent our occasionally feeling uncomfortable
+together.&nbsp; Your acquiring it besides might prove of ulterior advantage
+to us both; for example, suppose you and I were in promiscuous company,
+at Court, for example, and you had something to communicate to me which
+you did not wish any one else to be acquainted with, how safely you
+might communicate it to me in Armenian.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Would not the language of the roads do as well?&rsquo; said
+Belle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In some places it would,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;but not at
+Court, owing to its resemblance to thieves&rsquo; slang.&nbsp; There
+is Hebrew, again, which I was thinking of teaching you, till the idea
+of being presented at Court made me abandon it, from the probability
+of our being understood, in the event of our speaking it, by at least
+half a dozen people in our vicinity.&nbsp; There is Latin, it is true,
+or Greek, which we might speak aloud at Court with perfect confidence
+of safety, but upon the whole I should prefer teaching you Armenian,
+not because it would be a safer language to hold communication with
+at Court, but because, not being very well grounded in it myself, I
+am apprehensive that its words and forms may escape from my recollection,
+unless I have sometimes occasion to call them forth.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am afraid we shall have to part company before I have learnt
+it,&rsquo; said Belle; &lsquo;in the meantime, if I wish to say anything
+to you in private, somebody being by, shall I speak in the language
+of the roads?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If no roadster is nigh you may,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;and
+I will do my best to understand you.&nbsp; Belle, I will now give you
+a lesson in Armenian.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I suppose you mean no harm,&rsquo; said Belle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not in the least; I merely propose the thing to prevent our
+occasionally feeling uncomfortable together.&nbsp; Let us begin.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Stop till I have removed the tea things,&rsquo; said Belle;
+and, getting up, she removed them to her own encampment.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am ready,&rsquo; said Belle, returning, and taking her former
+seat, &lsquo;to join with you in anything which will serve to pass away
+the time agreeably, provided there is no harm in it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Belle,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I have determined to commence
+the course of Armenian lessons by teaching you the numerals; but, before
+I do that, it will be as well to tell you that the Armenian language
+is called Haik.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am sure that word will hang upon my memory,&rsquo; said
+Belle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why hang upon it?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because the old women in the great house used to call so the
+chimney-hook, on which they hung the kettle; in like manner, on the
+hake of my memory I will hang your hake.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Good!&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;you will make an apt scholar;
+but mind that I did not say hake, but haik; the words are, however,
+very much alike; and, as you observe, upon your hake you may hang my
+haik.&nbsp; We will now proceed to the numerals.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What are numerals?&rsquo; said Belle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Numbers.&nbsp; I will say the Haikan numbers up to ten.&nbsp;
+There&mdash;have you heard them?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, try and repeat them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I only remember number one,&rsquo; said Belle, &lsquo;and
+that because it is me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo; I will repeat them again,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;and pay greater
+attention.&nbsp; Now, try again.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Me, jergo, earache.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I neither said jergo nor earache.&nbsp; I said yergou and
+yerek.&nbsp; Belle, I am afraid I shall have some difficulty with you
+as a scholar.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Belle made no answer.&nbsp; Her eyes were turned in the direction
+of the winding path which led from the bottom of the hollow, where we
+were seated, to the plain above.&nbsp; &lsquo;Gorgio shunella,&rsquo;
+she said at length, in a low voice.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Pure Rommany,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;where?&rsquo; I added,
+in a whisper.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Dovey odoi,&rsquo; said Belle, nodding with her head towards
+the path.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will soon see who it is,&rsquo; said I; and starting up,
+I rushed towards the pathway, intending to lay violent hands on any
+one I might find lurking in its windings.&nbsp; Before, however, I had
+reached its commencement, a man, somewhat above the middle height, advanced
+from it into the dingle, in whom I recognised the man in black whom
+I had seen in the public-house.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XC</h2>
+<p>Buona sera&mdash;Rather apprehensive&mdash;The steep bank&mdash;Lovely
+virgin&mdash;Hospitality&mdash;Tory minister&mdash;Custom of the country&mdash;Sneering
+smile&mdash;Wandering Zigan&mdash;Gypsies&rsquo; cloaks&mdash;Certain
+faculty&mdash;Acute answer&mdash;Various ways&mdash;Addio&mdash;Best
+Hollands.</p>
+<p>The man in black and myself stood opposite to each other for a minute
+or two in silence; I will not say that we confronted each other that
+time, for the man in black, after a furtive glance, did not look me
+in the face, but kept his eyes fixed apparently on the leaves of a bunch
+of ground-nuts which were growing at my feet.&nbsp; At length, looking
+around the dingle, he exclaimed, &lsquo;Buona sera, I hope I don&rsquo;t
+intrude.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have as much right here,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;as I or
+my companion; but you had no right to stand listening to our conversation.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I was not listening,&rsquo; said the man, &lsquo;I was hesitating
+whether to advance or retire; and if I heard some of your conversation,
+the fault was not mine.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not see why you should have hesitated if your intentions
+were good,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I think the kind of place in which I found myself might excuse
+some hesitation,&rsquo; said the man in black, looking around; &lsquo;moreover,
+from what I had seen of your demeanour at the public-house, I was rather
+apprehensive that the reception I might experience at your hands might
+be more rough than agreeable.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what may have been your motive for coming to this place?&rsquo;
+said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Per far visita a sua signoria, ecco il motivo.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why do you speak to me in that gibberish,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;do
+you think I understand it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is not Armenian,&rsquo; said the man in black; &lsquo;but
+it might serve, in a place like this, for the breathing of a little
+secret communication, were any common roadster near at hand.&nbsp; It
+would not do at Court, it is true, being the language of singing women,
+and the like; but we are not at Court&mdash;when we are, I can perhaps
+summon up a little indifferent Latin, if I have anything private to
+communicate to the learned Professor.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And at the conclusion of this speech the man in black lifted up his
+head, and, for some moments, looked me in the face.&nbsp; The muscles
+of his own seemed to be slightly convulsed, and his mouth opened in
+a singular manner</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I see,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;that for some time you were standing
+near me and my companion, in the mean act of listening.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not at all,&rsquo; said the man in black; &lsquo;I heard from
+the steep bank above, that to which I have now alluded, whilst I was
+puzzling myself to find the path which leads to your retreat.&nbsp;
+I made, indeed, nearly the compass of the whole thicket before I found
+it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And how did you know that I was here?&rsquo; I demanded.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The landlord of the public-house, with whom I had some conversation
+concerning you, informed me that he had no doubt I should find you in
+this place, to which he gave me instructions not very clear.&nbsp; But,
+now I am here, I crave permission to remain a little time, in order
+that I may hold some communion with you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;since you are come, you are welcome;
+please to step this way.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Thereupon I conducted the man in black to the fireplace, where Belle
+was standing, who had risen from her stool on my springing up to go
+in quest of the stranger.&nbsp; The man in black looked at her with
+evident curiosity, then making her rather a graceful bow, &lsquo;Lovely
+virgin,&rsquo; said he, stretching out his hand, &lsquo;allow me to
+salute your fingers.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am not in the habit of shaking hands with strangers,&rsquo;
+said Belle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I did not presume to request to shake hands with you,&rsquo;
+said the man in black, &lsquo;I merely wished to be permitted to salute
+with my lips the extremity of your two forefingers.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I never permit anything of the kind,&rsquo; said Belle; &lsquo;
+I do not approve of such unmanly ways, they are only befitting those
+who lurk in corners or behind trees, listening to the conversation of
+people who would fain be private.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you take me for a listener then?&rsquo; said the man in
+black.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ay, indeed I do,&rsquo; said Belle; &lsquo;the young man may
+receive your excuses, and put confidence in them, if he please, but
+for my part I neither admit them nor believe them;&rsquo; and thereupon
+flinging her long hair back, which was hanging over her cheeks, she
+seated herself on her stool.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come, Belle,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I have bidden the gentleman
+welcome, I beseech you, therefore, to make him welcome; he is a stranger,
+where we are at home, therefore, even did we wish him away, we are bound
+to treat him kindly.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That&rsquo;s not English doctrine,&rsquo; said the man in
+black.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I thought the English prided themselves on their hospitality,&rsquo;
+said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They do so,&rsquo; said the man in black; &lsquo;they are
+proud of showing hospitality to people above them, that is, to those
+who do not want it, but of the hospitality which you were now describing,
+and which is Arabian, they know nothing.&nbsp; No Englishman will tolerate
+another in his house, from whom he does not expect advantage of some
+kind, and to those from whom he does he can be civil enough.&nbsp; An
+Englishman thinks that, because he is in his own house, he has a right
+to be boorish and brutal to any one who is disagreeable to him, as all
+those are who are really in want of assistance.&nbsp; Should a hunted
+fugitive rush into an Englishman&rsquo;s house, beseeching protection,
+and appealing to the master&rsquo;s feelings of hospitality, the Englishman
+would knock him down in the passage.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are too general,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;in your strictures.&nbsp;
+Lord ---, the unpopular Tory minister, was once chased through the streets
+of London by a mob, and, being in danger of his life, took shelter in
+the shop of a Whig linen-draper, declaring his own unpopular name, and
+appealing to the linen-draper&rsquo;s feelings of hospitality; whereupon
+the linen-draper, utterly forgetful of all party rancour, nobly responded
+to the appeal, and telling his wife to conduct his lordship upstairs,
+jumped over the counter, with his ell in his hand, and placing himself
+with half-a-dozen of his assistants at the door of his boutique, manfully
+confronted the mob, telling them that he would allow himself to be torn
+to a thousand pieces ere he would permit them to injure a hair of his
+lordship&rsquo;s head: what do you think of that?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He! he! he!&rsquo; tittered the man in black.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I am afraid your own practice
+is not very different from that which you have been just now describing;
+you sided with the Radical in the public-house against me, as long as
+you thought him the most powerful, and then turned against him when
+you saw he was cowed.&nbsp; What have you to say to that?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, when one is in Rome, I mean England, one must do as they
+do in England; I was merely conforming to the custom of the country,
+he! he! but I beg your pardon here, as I did in the public-house.&nbsp;
+I made a mistake.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;we will drop the matter, but pray
+seat yourself on that stone, and I will sit down on the grass near you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The man in black, after proffering two or three excuses for occupying
+what he supposed to be my seat, sat down upon the stone, and I squatted
+down, gypsy-fashion, just opposite to him, Belle sitting on her stool
+at a slight distance on my right.&nbsp; After a time I addressed him
+thus: &lsquo;Am I to reckon this a mere visit of ceremony? should it
+prove so, it will be, I believe, the first visit of the kind ever paid
+me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Will you permit me to ask,&rsquo; said the man in black&mdash;&lsquo;the
+weather is very warm,&rsquo; said he, interrupting himself, and taking
+off his hat.</p>
+<p>I now observed that he was partly bald, his red hair having died
+away from the fore part of his crown&mdash;his forehead was high, his
+eyebrows scanty, his eyes gray and sly, with a downward tendency, his
+nose was slightly aquiline, his mouth rather large&mdash;a kind of sneering
+smile played continually on his lips, his complexion was somewhat rubicund.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A bad countenance,&rsquo; said Belle, in the language of the
+roads, observing that my eyes were fixed on his face.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Does not my countenance please you, fair damsel?&rsquo; said
+the man in black, resuming his hat, and speaking in a peculiarly gentle
+voice.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;do you understand the language
+of the roads?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As little as I do Armenian,&rsquo; said the man in black;
+&lsquo;but I understand look and tone.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So do I, perhaps,&rsquo; retorted Belle; &lsquo;and, to tell
+you the truth, I like your tone as little as your face.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For shame,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;have you forgot what I was
+saying just now about the duties of hospitality?&nbsp; You have not
+yet answered my question,&rsquo; said I, addressing myself to the man,
+&lsquo;with respect to your visit.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Will you permit me to ask who you are?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you see the place where I live?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do,&rsquo; said the man in black, looking around.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you know the name of this place?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I was told it was Mumpers&rsquo; or Gypsies&rsquo; Dingle,&rsquo;
+said the man in black.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Good,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;and this forge and tent, what
+do they look like?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Like the forge and tent of a wandering Zigan; I have seen
+the like in Italy.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Good,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;they belong to me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are you, then, a gypsy?&rsquo; said the man in black.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What else should I be?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But you seem to have been acquainted with various individuals
+with whom I have likewise had acquaintance; and you have even alluded
+to matters, and even words, which have passed between me and them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you know how gypsies live?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;By hammering old iron, I believe, and telling fortunes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;there&rsquo;s my forge, and yonder
+is some iron, though not old, and by your own confession I am a soothsayer.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But how did you come by your knowledge?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;if you want me to reveal the secrets
+of my trade, I have, of course, nothing further to say.&nbsp; Go to
+the scarlet dyer, and ask him how he dyes cloth.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why scarlet?&rsquo; said the man in black.&nbsp; &lsquo;Is
+it because gypsies blush like scarlet?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Gypsies never blush,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;but gypsies&rsquo;
+cloaks are scarlet.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I should almost take you for a gypsy,&rsquo; said the man
+in black, &lsquo;but for&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For what?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But for that same lesson in Armenian, and your general knowledge
+of languages; as for your manners and appearance I will say nothing,&rsquo;
+said the man in black, with a titter.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And why should not a gypsy possess a knowledge of languages?&rsquo;
+said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because the gypsy race is perfectly illiterate,&rsquo; said
+the man in black; &lsquo;they are possessed, it is true, of a knavish
+acuteness, and are particularly noted for giving subtle and evasive
+answers&mdash;and in your answers, I confess, you remind me of them;
+but that one of the race should acquire a learned language like the
+Armenian, and have a general knowledge of literature, is a thing che
+io non credo afatto.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do you take me for?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why,&rsquo; said the man in black, &lsquo;I should consider
+you to be a philologist, who, for some purpose, has taken up a gypsy
+life; but I confess to you that your way of answering questions is far
+too acute for a philologist.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And why should not a philologist be able to answer questions
+acutely?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because the philological race is the most stupid under heaven,&rsquo;
+said the man in black; &lsquo;they are possessed, it is true, of a certain
+faculty for picking up words, and a memory for retaining them; but that
+any one of the sect should be able to give a rational answer, to say
+nothing of an acute one, on any subject&mdash;even though the subject
+were philology&mdash;is a thing of which I have no idea.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But you found me giving a lesson in Armenian to this handmaid?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I believe I did,&rsquo; said the man in black.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And you heard me give what you are disposed to call acute
+answers to the questions you asked me?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I believe I did,&rsquo; said the man in black.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And would any one but a philologist think of giving a lesson
+in Armenian to a handmaid in a dingle?</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I should think not,&rsquo; said the man in black.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, then, don&rsquo;t you see that it is possible for a
+philologist to give not only a rational, but an acute answer?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I really don&rsquo;t know,&rsquo; said the man in black.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What&rsquo;s the matter with you?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Merely puzzled,&rsquo; said the man in black.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Puzzled?</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Really puzzled?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Remain so.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said the man in black, rising, &lsquo;puzzled
+or not, I will no longer trespass upon your and this young lady&rsquo;s
+retirement; only allow me, before I go, to apologise for my intrusion.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No apology is necessary,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;will you please
+to take anything before you go?&nbsp; I think this young lady, at my
+request, would contrive to make you a cup of tea.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Tea!&rsquo; said the man in black; &lsquo;he! he!&nbsp; I
+don&rsquo;t drink tea; I don&rsquo;t like it&mdash;if, indeed, you had,&rsquo;
+and here he stopped.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There&rsquo;s nothing like gin and water, is there?&rsquo;
+said I, &lsquo;but I am sorry to say I have none.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Gin and water,&rsquo; said the man in black, &lsquo;how do
+you know that I am fond of gin and water?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Did I not see you drinking some at the public-house?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You did,&rsquo; said the man in black, &lsquo;and I remember
+that, when I called for some you repeated my words&mdash;permit me to
+ask, is gin and water an unusual drink in England?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is not usually drunk cold, and with a lump of sugar,&rsquo;
+said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And did you know who I was by my calling for it so?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Gypsies have various ways of obtaining information,&rsquo;
+said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;With all your knowledge,&rsquo; said the man in black, &lsquo;you
+do not appear to have known that I was coming to visit you?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Gypsies do not pretend to know anything which relates to themselves,&rsquo;
+said I; &lsquo;but I advise you, if you ever come again, to come openly.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Have I your permission to come again?&rsquo; said the man
+in black.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come when you please; this dingle is as free for you as me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will visit you again,&rsquo; said the man in black&mdash;&lsquo;till
+then, addio.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Belle,&rsquo; said I, after the man in black had departed,
+&lsquo;we did not treat that man very hospitably; he left us without
+having eaten or drunk at our expense.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You offered him some tea,&rsquo; said Belle, &lsquo;which,
+as it is mine, I should have grudged him, for I like him not.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Our liking or disliking him had nothing to do with the matter,
+he was our visitor, and ought not to have been permitted to depart dry;
+living as we do in this desert, we ought always to be prepared to administer
+to the wants of our visitors.&nbsp; Belle, do you know where to procure
+any good Hollands?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I think I do,&rsquo; said Belle, &lsquo;but&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I will have no buts.&nbsp; Belle, I expect that with as little
+delay as possible you procure, at my expense, the best Hollands you
+can find.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XCI</h2>
+<p>Excursions&mdash;Adventurous English&mdash;Opaque forests&mdash;The
+greatest patience.</p>
+<p>Time passed on, and Belle and I lived in the dingle; when I say lived,
+the reader must not imagine that we were always there.&nbsp; She went
+out upon her pursuits, and I went out where inclination led me; but
+my excursions were very short ones, and hers occasionally occupied whole
+days and nights.&nbsp; If I am asked how we passed the time when we
+were together in the dingle, I would answer that we passed the time
+very tolerably, all things considered; we conversed together, and when
+tired of conversing I would sometimes give Belle a lesson in Armenian;
+her progress was not particularly brilliant, but upon the whole satisfactory;
+in about a fortnight she had hung up one hundred Haikan numerals upon
+the hake of her memory.&nbsp; I found her conversation highly entertaining;
+she had seen much of England and Wales, and had been acquainted with
+some of the most remarkable characters who travelled the roads at that
+period; and let me be permitted to say that many remarkable characters
+have travelled the roads of England, of whom fame has never said a word.&nbsp;
+I loved to hear her anecdotes of these people; some of whom I found
+had occasionally attempted to lay violent hands either upon her person
+or effects, and had invariably been humbled by her without the assistance
+of either justice or constable.&nbsp; I could clearly see, however,
+that she was rather tired of England, and wished for a change of scene;
+she was particularly fond of talking of America, to which country her
+aspirations chiefly tended.&nbsp; She had heard much of America, which
+had excited her imagination; for at that time America was much talked
+of, on roads and in homesteads&mdash;at least, so said Belle, who had
+good opportunities of knowing&mdash;and most people allowed that it
+was a good country for adventurous English.&nbsp; The people who chiefly
+spoke against it, as she informed me, were soldiers disbanded upon pensions,
+the sextons of village churches, and excisemen.&nbsp; Belle had a craving
+desire to visit that country, and to wander with cart and little animal
+amongst its forests; when I would occasionally object that she would
+be exposed to danger from strange and perverse customers, she said that
+she had not wandered the roads of England so long and alone, to be afraid
+of anything which might befall in America; and that she hoped, with
+God&rsquo;s favour, to be able to take her own part, and to give to
+perverse customers as good as they might bring.&nbsp; She had a dauntless
+heart, that same Belle.&nbsp; Such was the staple of Belle&rsquo;s conversation.&nbsp;
+As for mine, I would endeavour to entertain her with strange dreams
+of adventure, in which I figured in opaque forests, strangling wild
+beasts, or discovering and plundering the hoards of dragons; and sometimes
+I would narrate to her other things far more genuine&mdash;how I had
+tamed savage mares, wrestled with Satan, and had dealings with ferocious
+publishers.&nbsp; Belle had a kind heart, and would weep at the accounts
+I gave her of my early wrestlings with the dark Monarch.&nbsp; She would
+sigh, too, as I recounted the many slights and degradations I had received
+at the hands of ferocious publishers; but she had the curiosity of a
+woman; and once, when I talked to her of the triumphs which I had achieved
+over unbroken mares, she lifted up her head and questioned me as to
+the secret of the virtue which I possessed over the aforesaid animals;
+whereupon I sternly reprimanded, and forthwith commanded her to repeat
+the Armenian numerals; and, on her demurring, I made use of words, to
+escape which she was glad to comply, saying the Armenian numerals from
+one to a hundred, which numerals, as a punishment for her curiosity,
+I made her repeat three times, loading her with the bitterest reproaches
+whenever she committed the slightest error, either in accent or pronunciation,
+which reproaches she appeared to bear with the greatest patience.&nbsp;
+And now I have given a very fair account of the manner in which Isopel
+Berners and myself passed our time in the dingle.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XCII</h2>
+<p>The landlord&mdash;Rather too old&mdash;Without a shilling&mdash;Reputation&mdash;A
+fortnight ago&mdash;Liquids&mdash;The main chance&mdash;Respectability&mdash;Irrational
+beings&mdash;Parliament cove&mdash;My brewer.</p>
+<p>Amongst other excursions, I went several times to the public-house
+to which I introduced the reader in a former chapter.&nbsp; I had experienced
+such beneficial effects from the ale I had drunk on that occasion, that
+I wished to put its virtue to a frequent test; nor did the ale on subsequent
+trials belie the good opinion which I had at first formed of it.&nbsp;
+After each visit which I made to the public-house, I found my frame
+stronger and my mind more cheerful than they had previously been.&nbsp;
+The landlord appeared at all times glad to see me, and insisted that
+I should sit within the bar, where, leaving his other guests to be attended
+to by a niece of his, who officiated as his housekeeper, he would sit
+beside me and talk of matters concerning &lsquo;the ring,&rsquo; indulging
+himself with a cigar and a glass of sherry, which he told me was his
+favourite wine, whilst I drank my ale.&nbsp; &lsquo;I loves the conversation
+of all you coves of the ring,&rsquo; said he once, &lsquo;which is natural,
+seeing as how I have fought in a ring myself.&nbsp; Ah, there is nothing
+like the ring; I wish I was not rather too old to go again into it.&nbsp;
+I often think I should like to have another rally&mdash;one more rally,
+and then&mdash;but there&rsquo;s a time for all things&mdash;youth will
+be served, every dog has his day, and mine has been a fine one&mdash;let
+me be content.&nbsp; After beating Tom of Hopton, there was not much
+more to be done in the way of reputation; I have long sat in my bar
+the wonder and glory of this here neighbourhood.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m content,
+as far as reputation goes; I only wish money would come in a little
+faster; however, the next main of cocks will bring me in something handsome&mdash;comes
+off next Wednesday, at ---; have ventured ten five-pound notes&mdash;shouldn&rsquo;t
+say ventured either&mdash;run no risk at all, because why?&nbsp; I knows
+my birds.&rsquo;&nbsp; About ten days after this harangue I called again,
+at about three o&rsquo;clock one afternoon.&nbsp; The landlord was seated
+on a bench by a table in the common room, which was entirely empty;
+he was neither smoking nor drinking, but sat with his arms folded, and
+his head hanging down over his breast.&nbsp; At the sound of my step
+he looked up; &lsquo;Ah,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;I am glad you are come,
+I was just thinking about you.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Thank you,&rsquo;
+said I; &lsquo;it was very kind of you, especially at a time like this,
+when your mind must be full of your good fortune.&nbsp; Allow me to
+congratulate you on the sums of money you won by the main of cocks at
+---.&nbsp; I hope you brought it all safe home.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Safe
+home!&rsquo; said the landlord; &lsquo;I brought myself safe home, and
+that was all; came home without a shilling, regularly done, cleaned
+out.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I am sorry for that,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;but
+after you had won the money, you ought to have been satisfied, and not
+risked it again&mdash;how did you lose it?&nbsp; I hope not by the pea
+and thimble.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Pea and thimble,&rsquo; said the landlord&mdash;&lsquo;not
+I; those confounded cocks left me nothing to lose by the pea and thimble.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Dear me,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;I thought that you knew your birds.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Well, so I did,&rsquo; said the landlord; &lsquo;I knew the birds
+to be good birds, and so they proved, and would have won if better birds
+had not been brought against them, of which I knew nothing, and so do
+you see I am done, regularly done.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Well,&rsquo;
+said I, &lsquo;don&rsquo;t be cast down; there is one thing of which
+the cocks by their misfortune cannot deprive you&mdash;your reputation;
+make the most of that, give up cock-fighting, and be content with the
+custom of your house, of which you will always have plenty, as long
+as you are the wonder and glory of the neighbourhood.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The landlord struck the table before him violently with his fist.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Confound my reputation!&rsquo; said he.&nbsp; &lsquo;No reputation
+that I have will be satisfaction to my brewer for the seventy pounds
+I owe him.&nbsp; Reputation won&rsquo;t pass for the current coin of
+this here realm; and let me tell you, that if it ain&rsquo;t backed
+by some of it, it ain&rsquo;t a bit better than rotten cabbage, as I
+have found.&nbsp; Only three weeks since I was, as I told you, the wonder
+and glory of the neighbourhood; and people used to come to look at me,
+and worship me; but as soon as it began to be whispered about that I
+owed money to the brewer, they presently left off all that kind of thing;
+and now, during the last three days, since the tale of my misfortune
+with the cocks has got wind, almost everybody has left off coming to
+the house, and the few who does, merely comes to insult and flout me.&nbsp;
+It was only last night that fellow, Hunter, called me an old fool in
+my own kitchen here.&nbsp; He wouldn&rsquo;t have called me a fool a
+fortnight ago; &rsquo;twas I called him fool then, and last night he
+called me old fool; what do you think of that?&mdash;the man that beat
+Tom of Hopton, to be called, not only a fool, but an old fool; and I
+hadn&rsquo;t heart, with one blow of this here fist into his face, to
+send his head ringing against the wall; for when a man&rsquo;s pocket
+is low, do you see, his heart ain&rsquo;t much higher; but it is of
+no use talking, something must be done.&nbsp; I was thinking of you
+just as you came in, for you are just the person that can help me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If you mean,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;to ask me to lend you the
+money which you want, it will be to no purpose, as I have very little
+of my own, just enough for my own occasions; it is true, if you desired
+it, I would be your intercessor with the person to whom you owe the
+money, though I should hardly imagine that anything I could say&mdash;&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;You are right there,&rsquo; said the landlord; &lsquo;much the
+brewer would care for anything you could say on my behalf&mdash;your
+going would be the very way to do me up entirely.&nbsp; A pretty opinion
+he would have of the state of my affairs if I were to send him such
+a &lsquo;cessor as you; and as for your lending me money, don&rsquo;t
+think I was ever fool enough to suppose either that you had any, or
+if you had that you would be fool enough to lend me any.&nbsp; No, no,
+the coves of the ring knows better; I have been in the ring myself,
+and knows what a fighting cove is, and though I was fool enough to back
+those birds, I was never quite fool enough to lend anybody money.&nbsp;
+What I am about to propose is something very different from going to
+my landlord, or lending any capital; something which, though it will
+put money into my pocket, will likewise put something handsome into
+your own.&nbsp; I want to get up a fight in this here neighbourhood,
+which would be sure to bring plenty of people to my house, for a week
+before and after it takes place; and as people can&rsquo;t come without
+drinking, I think I could, during one fortnight, get off for the brewer
+all the sour and unsaleable liquids he now has, which people wouldn&rsquo;t
+drink at any other time, and by that means, do you see, liquidate my
+debt; then, by means of betting, making first all right, do you see,
+I have no doubt that I could put something handsome into my pocket and
+yours, for I should wish you to be the fighting man, as I think I can
+depend upon you.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;You really must excuse me,&rsquo;
+said I; &lsquo;I have no wish to figure as a pugilist; besides, there
+is such a difference in our ages; you may be the stronger man of the
+two, and perhaps the hardest hitter, but I am in much better condition,
+am more active on my legs, so that I am almost sure I should have the
+advantage, for, as you very properly observed, &ldquo;Youth will be
+served.&rdquo;&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Oh, I didn&rsquo;t mean to fight,&rsquo;
+said the landlord; &lsquo;I think I could beat you if I were to train
+a little; but in the fight I propose I looks more to the main chance
+than anything else.&nbsp; I question whether half so many people could
+be brought together if you were to fight with me as the person I have
+in view, or whether there would be half such opportunities for betting,
+for I am a man, do you see; the person I wants you to fight with is
+not a man, but the young woman you keeps company with.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The young woman I keep company with,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;pray
+what do you mean?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We will go into the bar, and have something,&rsquo; said the
+landlord, getting up.&nbsp; &lsquo;My niece is out, and there is no
+one in the house, so we can talk the matter over quietly.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Thereupon I followed him into the bar, where, having drawn me a jug
+of ale, helped himself as usual to a glass of sherry, and lighted a
+cigar, he proceeded to explain himself further.&nbsp; &lsquo;What I
+wants is to get up a fight between a man and a woman; there never has
+yet been such a thing in the ring, and the mere noise of the matter
+would bring thousands of people together, quite enough to drink out,
+for the thing should be close to my house, all the brewer&rsquo;s stock
+of liquids, both good and bad.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;But,&rsquo; said
+I, &lsquo;you were the other day boasting of the respectability of your
+house; do you think that a fight between a man and a woman close to
+your establishment would add to its respectability?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Confound
+the respectability of my house,&rsquo; said the landlord; &lsquo;will
+the respectability of my house pay the brewer, or keep the roof over
+my head?&nbsp; No, no! when respectability won&rsquo;t keep a man, do
+you see, the best thing is to let it go and wander.&nbsp; Only let me
+have my own way, and both the brewer, myself, and every one of us, will
+be satisfied.&nbsp; And then the betting&mdash;what a deal we may make
+by the betting&mdash;and that we shall have all to ourselves, you, I,
+and the young woman; the brewer will have no hand in that.&nbsp; I can
+manage to raise ten pounds, and if by flashing that about I don&rsquo;t
+manage to make a hundred, call me horse.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;But suppose,&rsquo;
+said I, &lsquo;the party should lose, on whom you sport your money,
+even as the birds did?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;We must first make all right,&rsquo;
+said the landlord, &lsquo;as I told you before; the birds were irrational
+beings, and therefore couldn&rsquo;t come to an understanding with the
+others, as you and the young woman can.&nbsp; The birds fought fair;
+but I intend that you and the young woman should fight cross.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;What do you mean by cross?&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;Come,
+come,&rsquo; said the landlord, &lsquo;don&rsquo;t attempt to gammon
+me; you in the ring, and pretend not to know what fighting cross is!&nbsp;
+That won&rsquo;t do, my fine fellow; but as no one is near us, I will
+speak out.&nbsp; I intend that you and the young woman should understand
+one another, and agree beforehand which should be beat; and if you take
+my advice, you will determine between you that the young woman shall
+be beat, as I am sure that the odds will run high upon her, her character
+as a fist-woman being spread far and wide, so that all the flats who
+think it will be all right will back her, as I myself would, if I thought
+it would be a fair thing.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Then,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;you
+would not have us fight fair?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;By no means,&rsquo;
+said the landlord, &lsquo;because why?&mdash;I conceives that a cross
+is a certainty to those who are in it, whereas by the fair thing one
+may lose all he has.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;But,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;you
+said the other day that you liked the fair thing.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;That
+was by way of gammon,&rsquo; said the landlord; &lsquo;just, do you
+see, as a Parliament cove might say, speechifying from a barrel to a
+set of flats, whom he means to sell.&nbsp; Come, what do you think of
+the plan?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is a very ingenious one,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ain&rsquo;t it?&rsquo; said the landlord.&nbsp; &lsquo;The
+folks in this neighbourhood are beginning to call me old fool; but if
+they don&rsquo;t call me something else, when they sees me friends with
+the brewer, and money in my pocket, my name is not Catchpole.&nbsp;
+Come, drink your ale, and go home to the young gentlewoman.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am going,&rsquo; said I, rising from my seat, after finishing
+the remainder of the ale.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you think she&rsquo;ll have any objection?&rsquo; said
+the landlord.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To do what?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, to fight cross.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I do,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But you will do your best to persuade her?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, I will not,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are you fool enough to wish to fight fair?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I am wise enough to wish not to
+fight at all.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And how&rsquo;s my brewer to be paid?&rsquo; said the landlord.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I really don&rsquo;t know,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I&rsquo;ll change my religion,&rsquo; said the landlord.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XCIII</h2>
+<p>Another visit&mdash;A la Margutte&mdash;Clever man&mdash;Napoleon&rsquo;s
+estimate&mdash;Another statue.</p>
+<p>One evening Belle and myself received another visit from the man
+in black.&nbsp; After a little conversation of not much importance,
+I asked him whether he would not take some refreshment, assuring him
+that I was now in possession of some very excellent Hollands, which,
+with a glass, a jug of water, and a lump of sugar, was heartily at his
+service; he accepted my offer, and Belle going with a jug to the spring,
+from which she was in the habit of procuring water for tea, speedily
+returned with it full of the clear, delicious water of which I have
+already spoken.&nbsp; Having placed the jug by the side of the man in
+black, she brought him a glass and spoon, and a tea-cup, the latter
+containing various lumps of snowy-white sugar: in the meantime I had
+produced a bottle of the stronger liquid.&nbsp; The man in black helped
+himself to some water, and likewise to some Hollands, the proportion
+of water being about two-thirds; then adding a lump of sugar, he stirred
+the whole up, tasted it, and said that it was good.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This is one of the good things of life,&rsquo; he added, after
+a short pause.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What are the others?&rsquo; I demanded.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There is Malvoisia sack,&rsquo; said the man in black, &lsquo;and
+partridge, and beccafico.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what do you say to high mass?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;High mass!&rsquo; said the man in black; &lsquo;however,&rsquo;
+he continued, after a pause, &lsquo;I will be frank with you; I came
+to be so; I may have heard high mass on a time, and said it too; but
+as for any predilection for it, I assure you I have no more than for
+a long High Church sermon.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You speak a la Margutte,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Margutte!&rsquo; said the man in black, musingly, &lsquo;Margutte!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have read Pulci, I suppose?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, yes,&rsquo; said the man in black, laughing; &lsquo;I
+remember.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He might be rendered into English,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;something
+in this style:</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;To which Margutte answered with a sneer,<br />
+I like the blue no better than the black,<br />
+My faith consists alone in savoury cheer,<br />
+In roasted capons, and in potent sack;<br />
+But above all, in famous gin and clear,<br />
+Which often lays the Briton on his back;<br />
+With lump of sugar, and with lymph from well,<br />
+I drink it, and defy the fiends of hell.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&lsquo;He! he! he!&rsquo; said the man in black; &lsquo;that is more
+than Mezzofante could have done for a stanza of Byron.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A clever man,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who?&rsquo; said the man in black.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Mezzofante di Bologna.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He! he! he!&rsquo; said the man in black; &lsquo;now I know
+that you are not a gypsy, at least a soothsayer; no soothsayer would
+have said that&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;does he not understand five-and-twenty
+tongues?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh yes,&rsquo; said the man in black; &lsquo;and five-and-twenty
+added to them; but, he! he! he! it was principally from him, who is
+certainly the greatest of Philologists, that I formed my opinion of
+the sect.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You ought to speak of him with more respect,&rsquo; said I;
+&lsquo;I have heard say that he has done good service to your See.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh yes,&rsquo; said the man in black; &lsquo;he has done good
+service to our See, that is, in his way; when the neophytes of the Propaganda
+are to be examined in the several tongues in which they are destined
+to preach, he is appointed to question them, the questions being first
+written down for him, or else, he! he! he!&mdash;Of course you know
+Napoleon&rsquo;s estimate of Mezzofante; he sent for the linguist from
+motives of curiosity, and after some discourse with him, told him that
+he might depart; then turning to some of his generals he observed, &ldquo;Nous
+avons eu ici un exemple qu&rsquo;un homme peut avoir beaucoup de paroles
+avec bien pen d&rsquo;esprit.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are ungrateful to him,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;well, perhaps,
+when he is dead and gone you will do him justice.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;True,&rsquo; said the man in black; &lsquo;when he is dead
+and gone, we intend to erect him a statue of wood, on the left-hand
+side of the door of the Vatican library.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of wood?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He was the son of a carpenter, you know,&rsquo; said the man
+in black; &lsquo;the figure will be of wood for no other reason, I assure
+you; he! he!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You should place another statue on the right.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Perhaps we shall,&rsquo; said the man in black; &lsquo;but
+we know of no one amongst the philologists of Italy, nor, indeed, of
+the other countries inhabited by the faithful, worthy to sit parallel
+in effigy with our illustrissimo; when, indeed, we have conquered these
+regions of the perfidious by bringing the inhabitants thereof to the
+true faith, I have no doubt that we shall be able to select one worthy
+to bear him company&mdash;one whose statue shall be placed on the right
+hand of the library, in testimony of our joy at his conversion; for,
+as you know, &ldquo;There is more joy,&rdquo; etc.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Wood?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I hope not,&rsquo; said the man in black; &lsquo;no, if I
+be consulted as to the material for the statue, I should strongly recommend
+bronze.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And when the man in black had said this, he emptied his second tumbler
+of its contents, and prepared himself another.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XCIV</h2>
+<p>Prerogative&mdash;Feeling of gratitude&mdash;A long history&mdash;Alliterative
+style&mdash;Advantageous specimen&mdash;Jesuit benefice&mdash;Not sufficient&mdash;Queen
+Stork&rsquo;s tragedy&mdash;Good sense&mdash;Grandeur and gentility&mdash;Ironmonger&rsquo;s
+daughter&mdash;Clan Mac-Sycophant&mdash;Lickspittles&mdash;A curiosity&mdash;Newspaper
+editors&mdash;Charles the Simple&mdash;High-flying ditty&mdash;Dissenters&mdash;Lower
+classes&mdash;Priestley&rsquo;s house&mdash;Saxon ancestors&mdash;Austin&mdash;Renovating
+glass&mdash;Money&mdash;Quite original.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So you hope to bring these regions again beneath the banner
+of the Roman See?&rsquo; said I, after the man in black had prepared
+the beverage, and tasted it.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Hope!&rsquo; said the man in black; &lsquo;how can we fail?&nbsp;
+Is not the Church of these regions going to lose its prerogative?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Its prerogative?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes; those who should be the guardians of the religion of
+England are about to grant Papists emancipation, and to remove the disabilities
+from Dissenters, which will allow the Holy Father to play his own game
+in England.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>On my inquiring how the Holy Father intended to play his game, the
+man in black gave me to understand that he intended for the present
+to cover the land with temples, in which the religion of Protestants
+would be continually scoffed at and reviled.</p>
+<p>On my observing that such behaviour would savour strongly of ingratitude,
+the man in black gave me to understand that if I entertained the idea
+that the See of Rome was ever influenced in its actions by any feeling
+of gratitude I was much mistaken, assuring me that if the See of Rome
+in any encounter should chance to be disarmed, and its adversary, from
+a feeling of magnanimity, should restore the sword which had been knocked
+out of its hand, the See of Rome always endeavoured on the first opportunity
+to plunge the said sword into its adversary&rsquo;s bosom; conduct which
+the man in black seemed to think was very wise, and which he assured
+me had already enabled it to get rid of a great many troublesome adversaries,
+and would, he had no doubt, enable it to get rid of a great many more.</p>
+<p>On my attempting to argue against the propriety of such behaviour,
+the man in black cut the matter short by saying that if one party was
+a fool he saw no reason why the other should imitate it in its folly.</p>
+<p>After musing a little while, I told him that emancipation had not
+yet passed through the legislature, and that perhaps it never would;
+reminding him that there was often many a slip between the cup and the
+lip; to which observation the man in black agreed, assuring me, however,
+that there was no doubt that emancipation would be carried, inasmuch
+as there was a very loud cry at present in the land&mdash;a cry of &lsquo;tolerance,&rsquo;
+which had almost frightened the Government out of its wits; who, to
+get rid of the cry, was going to grant all that was asked in the way
+of toleration, instead of telling the people to &lsquo;hold their nonsense,&rsquo;
+and cutting them down provided they continued bawling longer.</p>
+<p>I questioned the man in black with respect to the origin of this
+cry; but he said, to trace it to its origin would require a long history;
+that, at any rate, such a cry was in existence, the chief raisers of
+it being certain of the nobility, called Whigs, who hoped by means of
+it to get into power, and to turn out certain ancient adversaries of
+theirs called Tories, who were for letting things remain <i>in statu
+quo</i>; that these Whigs were backed by a party amongst the people
+called Radicals, a specimen of whom I had seen in the public-house;
+a set of fellows who were always in the habit of bawling against those
+in place; &lsquo;and so,&rsquo; he added, &lsquo;by means of these parties,
+and the hubbub which the Papists and other smaller sects are making,
+a general emancipation will be carried, and the Church of England humbled,
+which is the principal thing which the See of Rome cares for.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>On my telling the man in black that I believed that, even among the
+high dignitaries of the English Church, there were many who wished to
+grant perfect freedom to religions of all descriptions, he said he was
+aware that such was the fact, and that such a wish was anything but
+wise, inasmuch as, if they had any regard for the religion they professed,
+they ought to stand by it through thick and thin, proclaiming it to
+be the only true one, and denouncing all others, in an alliterative
+style, as dangerous and damnable; whereas, by their present conduct,
+they were bringing their religion into contempt with the people at large,
+who would never continue long attached to a Church the ministers of
+which did not stand up for it, and likewise cause their own brethren,
+who had a clearer notion of things, to be ashamed of belonging to it.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I speak advisedly,&rsquo; said he, in continuation; &lsquo;there
+is one Platitude.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And I hope there is only one,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;you surely
+would not adduce the likes and dislikes of that poor silly fellow as
+the criterions of the opinions of any party?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You know him,&rsquo; said the man in black, &lsquo;nay, I
+heard you mention him in the public-house; the fellow is not very wise,
+I admit, but he has sense enough to know that, unless a Church can make
+people hold their tongues when it thinks fit, it is scarcely deserving
+the name of a Church; no, I think that the fellow is not such a very
+bad stick, and that upon the whole he is, or rather was, an advantageous
+specimen of the High Church English clergy, who, for the most part,
+so far from troubling their heads about persecuting people, only think
+of securing their tithes, eating their heavy dinners, puffing out their
+cheeks with importance on country justice benches, and occasionally
+exhibiting their conceited wives, hoyden daughters, and gawky sons at
+country balls, whereas Platitude&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Stop,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;you said in the public-house that
+the Church of England was a persecuting Church, and here in the dingle
+you have confessed that one section of it is willing to grant perfect
+freedom to the exercise of all religions, and the other only thinks
+of leading an easy life.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Saying a thing in the public-house is a widely different thing
+from saying it in the dingle,&rsquo; said the man in black; &lsquo;had
+the Church of England been a persecuting Church, it would not stand
+in the position in which it stands at present; it might, with its opportunities,
+have spread itself over the greater part of the world.&nbsp; I was about
+to observe that, instead of practising the indolent habits of his High
+Church brethren, Platitude would be working for his money, preaching
+the proper use of fire and faggot, or rather of the halter and the whipping-post,
+encouraging mobs to attack the houses of Dissenters, employing spies
+to collect the scandal of neighbourhoods, in order that he might use
+it for sacerdotal purposes, and, in fact, endeavouring to turn an English
+parish into something like a Jesuit benefice in the south of France.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He tried that game,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;and the parish said
+&ldquo;Pooh, pooh,&rdquo; and, for the most part, went over to the Dissenters.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very true,&rsquo; said the man in black, taking a sip at his
+glass, &lsquo;but why were the Dissenters allowed to preach? why were
+they not beaten on the lips till they spat out blood, with a dislodged
+tooth or two?&nbsp; Why, but because the authority of the Church of
+England has, by its own fault, become so circumscribed that Mr. Platitude
+was not able to send a host of beadles and sbirri to their chapel to
+bring them to reason, on which account Mr. Platitude is very properly
+ashamed of his Church, and is thinking of uniting himself with one which
+possesses more vigour and authority.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It may have vigour and authority,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;in
+foreign lands, but in these kingdoms the day for practising its atrocities
+is gone by.&nbsp; It is at present almost below contempt, and is obliged
+to sue for grace <i>in forma pauperis</i>.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very true,&rsquo; said the man in black; &lsquo;but let it
+once obtain emancipation, and it will cast its slough, put on its fine
+clothes, and make converts by thousands.&nbsp; &lsquo;What a fine Church!&rsquo;
+they&rsquo;ll say; &lsquo;with what authority it speaks! no doubts,
+no hesitation, no sticking at trifles.&nbsp; What a contrast to the
+sleepy English Church!&nbsp; They&rsquo;ll go over to it by millions,
+till it preponderates here over every other, when it will of course
+be voted the dominant one; and then&mdash;and then&mdash;&rsquo; and
+here the man in black drank a considerable quantity of gin and water.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What then?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What then?&rsquo; said the man in black, &lsquo;why she will
+be true to herself.&nbsp; Let Dissenters, whether they be Church of
+England, as perhaps they may still call themselves, Methodist, or Presbyterian,
+presume to grumble, and there shall be bruising of lips in pulpits,
+tying up to whipping-posts, cutting off ears and noses&mdash;he! he!
+the farce of King Log has been acted long enough; the time for Queen
+Stork&rsquo;s tragedy is drawing nigh&rsquo;; and the man in black sipped
+his gin and water in a very exulting manner.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And this is the Church which, according to your assertion
+in the public-house, never persecutes?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have already given you an answer,&rsquo; said the man in
+black.&nbsp; &lsquo;With respect to the matter of the public-house,
+it is one of the happy privileges of those who belong to my Church to
+deny in the public-house what they admit in the dingle; we have high
+warranty for such double speaking.&nbsp; Did not the foundation stone
+of our Church, Saint Peter, deny in the public-house what he had previously
+professed in the valley?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And do you think,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;that the people of
+England, who have shown aversion to anything in the shape of intolerance,
+will permit such barbarities as you have described?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Let them become Papists,&rsquo; said the man in black; &lsquo;only
+let the majority become Papists, and you will see.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They will never become so,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;the good
+sense of the people of England will never permit them to commit such
+an absurdity.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The good sense of the people of England!&rsquo; said the man
+in black, filling himself another glass.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;the good sense of not only the
+upper, but the middle and lower classes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And of what description of people are the upper class?&rsquo;
+said the man in black, putting a lump of sugar into his gin and water.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very fine people,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;monstrously fine people;
+so, at least, they are generally believed to be.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He! he!&rsquo; said the man in black; &lsquo;only those think
+them so who don&rsquo;t know them.&nbsp; The male part of the upper
+class are in youth a set of heartless profligates; in old age, a parcel
+of poor, shaking, nervous paillards.&nbsp; The female part, worthy to
+be the sisters and wives of such wretches&mdash;unmarried, full of cold
+vice, kept under by vanity and ambition, but which, after marriage,
+they seek not to restrain; in old age, abandoned to vapours and horrors;
+do you think that such beings will afford any obstacle to the progress
+of the Church in these regions, as soon as her movements are unfettered?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I cannot give an opinion; I know nothing of them, except from
+a distance.&nbsp; But what think you of the middle classes?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Their chief characteristic,&rsquo; said the man in black,
+&lsquo;is a rage for grandeur and gentility; and that same rage makes
+us quite sure of them in the long run.&nbsp; Everything that&rsquo;s
+lofty meets their unqualified approbation; whilst everything humble,
+or, as they call it, &ldquo;low,&rdquo; is scouted by them.&nbsp; They
+begin to have a vague idea that the religion which they have hitherto
+professed is low; at any rate, that it is not the religion of the mighty
+ones of the earth, of the great kings and emperors whose shoes they
+have a vast inclination to kiss, nor was used by the grand personages
+of whom they have read in their novels and romances, their Ivanhoes,
+their Marmions, and their Ladies of the Lake.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you think that the writings of Scott have had any influence
+in modifying their religious opinions?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Most certainly I do,&rsquo; said the man in black.&nbsp; &lsquo;The
+writings of that man have made them greater fools than they were before.&nbsp;
+All their conversation now is about gallant knights, princesses, and
+cavaliers, with which his pages are stuffed&mdash;all of whom were Papists,
+or very High Church, which is nearly the same thing; and they are beginning
+to think that the religion of such nice sweet-scented gentry must be
+something very superfine.&nbsp; Why, I know at Birmingham the daughter
+of an ironmonger, who screeches to the piano the Lady of the Lake&rsquo;s
+hymn to the Virgin Mary, always weeps when Mary Queen of Scots is mentioned,
+and fasts on the anniversary of the death of that very wise martyr,
+Charles the First.&nbsp; Why, I would engage to convert such an idiot
+to popery in a week, were it worth my trouble.&nbsp; O Cavaliere Gualtiero,
+avete fatto molto in favore della Santa Sede!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If he has,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;he has done it unwittingly;
+I never heard before that he was a favourer of the popish delusion.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Only in theory,&rsquo; said the man in black.&nbsp; &lsquo;Trust
+any of the clan Mac-Sycophant for interfering openly and boldly in favour
+of any cause on which the sun does not shine benignantly.&nbsp; Popery
+is at present, as you say, suing for grace in these regions <i>in forma
+pauperis</i>; but let royalty once take it up, let old gouty George
+once patronise it, and I would consent to drink puddle-water if, the
+very next time the canny Scot was admitted to the royal symposium, he
+did not say, &ldquo;By my faith, yere Majesty, I have always thought,
+at the bottom of my heart, that popery, as ill-scrapit tongues ca&rsquo;
+it, was a very grand religion; I shall be proud to follow your Majesty&rsquo;s
+example in adopting it.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I doubt not,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;that both gouty George
+and his devoted servant will be mouldering in their tombs long before
+Royalty in England thinks about adopting popery.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We can wait,&rsquo; said the man in black; &lsquo;in these
+days of rampant gentility, there will be no want of kings nor of Scots
+about them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But not Walters,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Our work has been already tolerably well done by one,&rsquo;
+said the man in black; &lsquo;but if we wanted literature, we should
+never lack in these regions hosts of literary men of some kind or other
+to eulogise us, provided our religion were in the fashion, and our popish
+nobles chose&mdash;and they always do our bidding&mdash;to admit the
+canaille to their tables&mdash;their kitchen tables.&nbsp; As for literature
+in general,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;the Santa Sede is not particularly
+partial to it, it may be employed both ways.&nbsp; In Italy, in particular,
+it has discovered that literary men are not always disposed to be lickspittles.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For example, Dante,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the man in black, &lsquo;a dangerous personage;
+that poem of his cuts both ways; and then there was Pulci, that <i>Morgante</i>
+of his cuts both ways, or rather one way, and that sheer against us;
+and then there was Aretino, who dealt so hard with the <i>poveri frati</i>;
+all writers, at least Italian ones, are not lickspittles.&nbsp; And
+then in Spain,&mdash;&rsquo;tis true, Lope de Vega and Calderon were
+most inordinate lickspittles; the <i>Principe Constante</i> of the last
+is a curiosity in its way; and then the <i>Mary Stuart</i> of Lope;
+I think I shall recommend the perusal of that work to the Birmingham
+ironmonger&rsquo;s daughter&mdash;she has been lately thinking of adding
+&ldquo;a slight knowledge of the magneeficent language of the Peninsula&rdquo;
+to the rest of her accomplishments, he! he! he!&nbsp; But then there
+was Cervantes, starving, but straight; he deals us some hard knocks
+in that second part of his <i>Quixote</i>.&nbsp; Then there were some
+of the writers of the picaresque novels.&nbsp; No, all literary men
+are not lickspittles, whether in Italy or Spain, or, indeed, upon the
+Continent; it is only in England that all&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;Mind what you are about to say
+of English literary men.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why should I mind?&rsquo; said the man in black, &lsquo;there
+are no literary men here.&nbsp; I have heard of literary men living
+in garrets, but not in dingles, whatever philologists may do; I may,
+therefore, speak out freely.&nbsp; It is only in England that literary
+men are invariably lickspittles; on which account, perhaps, they are
+so despised, even by those who benefit by their dirty services.&nbsp;
+Look at your fashionable novel-writers, he! he!&mdash;and, above all,
+at your newspaper editors, ho! ho!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You will, of course, except the editors of the&mdash;from
+your censure of the last class?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Them!&rsquo; said the man in black; &lsquo;why, they might
+serve as models in the dirty trade to all the rest who practise it.&nbsp;
+See how they bepraise their patrons, the grand Whig nobility, who hope,
+by raising the cry of liberalism and by putting themselves at the head
+of the populace, to come into power shortly.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t wish
+to be hard, at present, upon those Whigs,&rsquo; he continued, &lsquo;for
+they are playing our game; but a time will come when, not wanting them,
+we will kick them to a considerable distance: and then, when toleration
+is no longer the cry, and the Whigs are no longer backed by the populace,
+see whether the editors of the&mdash;will stand by them; they will prove
+themselves as expert lickspittles of despotism as of liberalism.&nbsp;
+Don&rsquo;t think they will always bespatter the Tories and Austria.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I am sorry to find that you entertain
+so low an opinion of the spirit of English literary men; we will now
+return, if you please, to the subject of the middle classes; I think
+your strictures upon them in general are rather too sweeping&mdash;they
+are not altogether the foolish people which you have described.&nbsp;
+Look, for example, at that very powerful and numerous body the Dissenters,
+the descendants of those sturdy Patriots who hurled Charles the Simple
+from his throne.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There are some sturdy fellows amongst them, I do not deny,&rsquo;
+said the man in black, &lsquo;especially amongst the preachers, clever
+withal&mdash;two or three of that class nearly drove Mr. Platitude mad,
+as perhaps you are aware, but they are not very numerous; and the old
+sturdy sort of preachers are fast dropping off, and, as we observe with
+pleasure, are generally succeeded by frothy coxcombs, whom it would
+not be very difficult to gain over.&nbsp; But what we most rely upon
+as an instrument to bring the Dissenters over to us is the mania for
+gentility, which amongst them has of late become as great, and more
+ridiculous than amongst the middle classes belonging to the Church of
+England.&nbsp; All the plain and simple fashions of their forefathers
+they are either about to abandon, or have already done so.&nbsp; Look
+at the most part of their chapels&mdash;no longer modest brick edifices,
+situated in quiet and retired streets, but lunatic-looking erections,
+in what the simpletons call the modern Gothic taste, of Portland stone,
+with a cross upon the top, and the site generally the most conspicuous
+that can be found.&nbsp; And look at the manner in which they educate
+their children&mdash;I mean those that are wealthy.&nbsp; They do not
+even wish them to be Dissenters&mdash;&ldquo;the sweet dears shall enjoy
+the advantages of good society, of which their parents were debarred.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+So the girls are sent to tip-top boarding-schools, where amongst other
+trash they read <i>Rokeby</i>, and are taught to sing snatches from
+that high-flying ditty, the &ldquo;Cavalier&rdquo;&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;Would you match the base Skippon, and Massey,
+and Brown,<br />
+With the barons of England, who fight for the crown?&mdash;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>he! he! their own names.&nbsp; Whilst the lads are sent to those
+hotbeds of pride and folly&mdash;colleges, whence they return with a
+greater contempt for everything &ldquo;low,&rdquo; and especially for
+their own pedigree, than they went with.&nbsp; I tell you, friend, the
+children of Dissenters, if not their parents, are going over to the
+Church, as you call it, and the Church is going over to Rome.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do not see the justice of that latter assertion at all,&rsquo;
+said I; &lsquo;some of the Dissenters&rsquo; children may be coming
+over to the Church of England, and yet the Church of England be very
+far from going over to Rome.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In the high road for it, I assure you,&rsquo; said the man
+in black; &lsquo;part of it is going to abandon, the rest to lose their
+prerogative, and when a Church no longer retains its prerogative, it
+speedily loses its own respect, and that of others.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;if the higher classes have all
+the vices and follies which you represent, on which point I can say
+nothing, as I have never mixed with them; and even supposing the middle
+classes are the foolish beings you would fain make them, and which I
+do not believe them as a body to be, you would still find some resistance
+amongst the lower classes: I have a considerable respect for their good
+sense and independence of character; but pray let me hear your opinion
+of them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As for the lower classes,&rsquo; said the man in black, &lsquo;I
+believe them to be the most brutal wretches in the world, the most addicted
+to foul feeding, foul language, and foul vices of every kind; wretches
+who have neither love for country, religion, nor anything save their
+own vile selves.&nbsp; You surely do not think that they would oppose
+a change of religion! why, there is not one of them but would hurrah
+for the Pope, or Mahomet, for the sake of a hearty gorge and a drunken
+bout, like those which they are treated with at election contests.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Has your church any followers amongst them?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Wherever there happens to be a Romish family of considerable
+possessions,&rsquo; said the man in black, &lsquo;our church is sure
+to have followers of the lower class, who have come over in the hope
+of getting something in the shape of dole or donation.&nbsp; As, however,
+the Romish is not yet the dominant religion, and the clergy of the English
+establishment have some patronage to bestow, the churches are not quite
+deserted by the lower classes; yet, were the Romish to become the established
+religion, they would, to a certainty, all go over to it; you can scarcely
+imagine what a self-interested set they are&mdash;for example, the landlord
+of that public-house in which I first met you, having lost a sum of
+money upon a cock-fight, and his affairs in consequence being in a bad
+condition, is on the eve of coming over to us, in the hope that two
+old Popish females of property, whom I confess, will advance a sum of
+money to set him up again in the world.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what could have put such an idea into the poor fellow&rsquo;s
+head?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, he and I have had some conversation upon the state of
+his affairs,&rsquo; said the man in black; &lsquo;I think he might make
+a rather useful convert in these parts, provided things take a certain
+turn, as they doubtless will.&nbsp; It is no bad thing to have a fighting
+fellow, who keeps a public-house, belonging to one&rsquo;s religion.&nbsp;
+He has been occasionally employed as a bully at elections by the Tory
+party, and he may serve us in the same capacity.&nbsp; The fellow comes
+of a good stock; I heard him say that his father headed the High Church
+mob who sacked and burnt Priestley&rsquo;s house at Birmingham, towards
+the end of the last century.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A disgraceful affair,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do you mean by a disgraceful affair?&rsquo; said the
+man in black.&nbsp; &lsquo;I assure you that nothing has occurred for
+the last fifty years which has given the High Church party so much credit
+in the eyes of Rome as that,&mdash;we did not imagine that the fellows
+had so much energy.&nbsp; Had they followed up that affair by twenty
+others of a similar kind, they would by this time have had everything
+in their own power; but they did not, and, as a necessary consequence,
+they are reduced to almost nothing.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I suppose,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;that your Church would have
+acted very differently in its place.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It has always done so,&rsquo; said the man in black, coolly
+sipping.&nbsp; &lsquo;Our Church has always armed the brute population
+against the genius and intellect of a country, provided that same intellect
+and genius were not willing to become its instruments and eulogists;
+and provided we once obtain a firm hold here again, we would not fail
+to do so.&nbsp; We would occasionally stuff the beastly rabble with
+horseflesh and bitter ale, and then halloo them on against all those
+who were obnoxious to us.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Horseflesh and bitter ale!&rsquo; I replied.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the man in black; &lsquo;horseflesh and bitter
+ale&mdash;the favourite delicacies of their Saxon ancestors, who were
+always ready to do our bidding after a liberal allowance of such cheer.&nbsp;
+There is a tradition in our Church, that before the Northumbrian rabble,
+at the instigation of Austin, attacked and massacred the presbyterian
+monks of Bangor, they had been allowed a good gorge of horseflesh and
+bitter ale.&nbsp; He! he! he!&rsquo; continued the man in black, &lsquo;what
+a fine spectacle to see such a mob, headed by a fellow like our friend
+the landlord, sack the house of another Priestley!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you don&rsquo;t deny that we have had a Priestley,&rsquo;
+said I, &lsquo;and admit the possibility of our having another?&nbsp;
+You were lately observing that all English literary men were sycophants?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Lickspittles,&rsquo; said the man in black; &lsquo;yes, I
+admit that you have had a Priestley, but he was a Dissenter of the old
+class; you have had him, and perhaps may have another.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Perhaps we may,&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;But with respect
+to the lower classes, have you mixed much with them?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have mixed with all classes,&rsquo; said the man in black,
+&lsquo;and with the lower not less than the upper and middle; they are
+much as I have described them; and of the three, the lower are the worst.&nbsp;
+I never knew one of them that possessed the slightest principle, no,
+not ---.&nbsp; It is true, there was one fellow whom I once met, who&mdash;;
+but it is a long story, and the affair happened abroad.&mdash;I ought
+to know something of the English people,&rsquo; he continued, after
+a moment&rsquo;s pause; &lsquo;I have been many years amongst them,
+labouring in the cause of the Church.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Your See must have had great confidence in your powers when
+it selected you to labour for it in these parts,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They chose me,&rsquo; said the man in black, &lsquo;principally
+because, being of British extraction and education, I could speak the
+English language and bear a glass of something strong.&nbsp; It is the
+opinion of my See that it would hardly do to send a missionary into
+a country like this who is not well versed in English&mdash;a country
+where, they think, so far from understanding any language besides his
+own, scarcely one individual in ten speaks his own intelligibly; or
+an ascetic person where, as they say, high and low, male and female,
+are, at some period of their lives, fond of a renovating glass, as it
+is styled&mdash;in other words, of tippling.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Your See appears to entertain a very strange opinion of the
+English,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not altogether an unjust one,&rsquo; said the man in black,
+lifting the glass to his mouth.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;it is certainly very kind on its
+part to wish to bring back such a set of beings beneath its wing.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, as to the kindness of my See,&rsquo; said the man in
+black, &lsquo;I have not much to say; my See has generally in what it
+does a tolerably good motive; these heretics possess in plenty what
+my See has a great hankering for, and can turn to a good account&mdash;money!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Founder of the Christian religion cared nothing for money,&rsquo;
+said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What have we to do with what the Founder of the Christian
+religion cared for?&rsquo; said the man in black.&nbsp; &lsquo;How could
+our temples be built and our priests supported without money?&nbsp;
+But you are unwise to reproach us with a desire of obtaining money;
+you forget that your own Church, if the Church of England be your own
+Church, as I suppose it is from the willingness which you displayed
+in the public-house to fight for it, is equally avaricious; look at
+your greedy Bishops and your corpulent Rectors&mdash;do they imitate
+Christ in His disregard for money?&nbsp; You might as well tell me that
+they imitate Christ in His meekness and humility.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;whatever their faults may be,
+you can&rsquo;t say that they go to Rome for money.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The man in black made no direct answer, but appeared by the motion
+of his lips to be repeating something to himself.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I see your glass is again empty,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;perhaps
+you will replenish it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The man in black arose from his seat, adjusted his habiliments, which
+were rather in disorder, and placed upon his head his hat, which he
+had laid aside; then, looking at me, who was still lying on the ground,
+he said&mdash;&lsquo;I might, perhaps, take another glass, though I
+believe I have had quite as much as I can well bear; but I do not wish
+to hear you utter anything more this evening, after that last observation
+of yours&mdash;it is quite original; I will meditate upon it on my pillow
+this night, after having said an ave and a pater&mdash;go to Rome for
+money!&rsquo;&nbsp; He then made Belle a low bow, slightly motioned
+to me with his hand as if bidding farewell, and then left the dingle
+with rather uneven steps.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Go to Rome for money,&rsquo; I heard him say as he ascended
+the winding path, &lsquo;he! he! he!&nbsp; Go to Rome for money, ho!
+ho! ho!&rsquo;</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page538b.jpg">
+<img alt="&lsquo;Go to Rome for money,&rsquo; I heard him say as he ascended the winding path, &lsquo;he! he! he!  Go to Rome for money, ho! ho! ho!&rsquo;" src="images/page538s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XCV</h2>
+<p>Wooded retreat&mdash;Fresh shoes&mdash;Wood fire&mdash;Ash, when
+green&mdash;Queen of China&mdash;Cleverest people&mdash;Declensions&mdash;Armenian&mdash;Thunder&mdash;Deep
+olive&mdash;What do you mean?&mdash;Koul Adonai&mdash;The thick bushes&mdash;Wood
+pigeon&mdash;Old G&ouml;the.</p>
+<p>Nearly three days elapsed without anything of particular moment occurring.&nbsp;
+Belle drove the little cart containing her merchandise about the neighbourhood,
+returning to the dingle towards the evening.&nbsp; As for myself, I
+kept within my wooded retreat, working during the periods of her absence
+leisurely at my forge.&nbsp; Having observed that the quadruped which
+my companion drove was as much in need of shoes as my own had been some
+time previously, I had determined to provide it with a set, and during
+the aforesaid periods occupied myself in preparing them.&nbsp; As I
+was employed three mornings and afternoons about them, I am sure that
+the reader will agree that I worked leisurely, or rather, lazily.&nbsp;
+On the third day Belle arrived somewhat later than usual; I was lying
+on my back at the bottom of the dingle, employed in tossing up the shoes
+which I had produced, and catching them as they fell&mdash;some being
+always in the air mounting or descending, somewhat after the fashion
+of the waters of a fountain.</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page540b.jpg">
+<img alt="I was lying on my back at the bottom of the dingle, employed in tossing up the shoes, and catching them as they fell" src="images/page540s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why have you been absent so long?&rsquo; said I to Belle;
+&lsquo;it must be long past four by the day.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have been almost killed by the heat,&rsquo; said Belle;
+&lsquo;I was never out in a more sultry day&mdash;the poor donkey, too,
+could scarcely move along.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He shall have fresh shoes,&rsquo; said I, continuing my exercise;
+&lsquo;here they are quite ready; to-morrow I will tack them on.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And why are you playing with them in that manner?&rsquo; said
+Belle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Partly in triumph at having made them, and partly to show
+that I can do something besides making them; it is not every one who,
+after having made a set of horse-shoes, can keep them going up and down
+in the air, without letting one fall&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One has now fallen on your chin,&rsquo; said Belle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And another on my cheek,&rsquo; said I, getting up; &lsquo;it
+is time to discontinue the game, for the last shoe drew blood.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Belle went to her own little encampment; and as for myself, after
+having flung the donkey&rsquo;s shoes into my tent, I put some fresh
+wood on the fire, which was nearly out, and hung the kettle over it.&nbsp;
+I then issued forth from the dingle, and strolled round the wood that
+surrounded it; for a long time I was busied in meditation, looking at
+the ground, striking with my foot, half unconsciously, the tufts of
+grass and thistles that I met in my way.&nbsp; After some time, I lifted
+up my eyes to the sky, at first vacantly, and then with more attention,
+turning my head in all directions for a minute or two; after which I
+returned to the dingle.&nbsp; Isopel was seated near the fire, over
+which the kettle was now hung; she had changed her dress&mdash;no signs
+of the dust and fatigue of her late excursion remained; she had just
+added to the fire a small billet of wood, two or three of which I had
+left beside it; the fire cracked, and a sweet odour filled the dingle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am fond of sitting by a wood fire,&rsquo; said Belle, &lsquo;when
+abroad, whether it be hot or cold; I love to see the flames dart out
+of the wood; but what kind is this, and where did you get it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is ash,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;green ash.&nbsp; Somewhat
+less than a week ago, whilst I was wandering along the road by the side
+of a wood, I came to a place where some peasants were engaged in cutting
+up and clearing away a confused mass of fallen timber: a mighty aged
+oak had given way the night before, and in its fall had shivered some
+smaller trees; the upper part of the oak, and the fragments of the rest,
+lay across the road.&nbsp; I purchased, for a trifle, a bundle or two,
+and the wood on the fire is part of it&mdash;ash, green ash.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That makes good the old rhyme,&rsquo; said Belle, &lsquo;which
+I have heard sung by the old women in the great house:&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;Ash, when green,<br />
+Is fire for a queen.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page543b.jpg">
+<img alt="&lsquo;Ash, when green,Is fire for a queen.&rsquo;" src="images/page543s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>&lsquo;And on fairer form of queen ash fire never shone,&rsquo; said
+I, &lsquo;than on thine, O beauteous queen of the dingle.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am half disposed to be angry with you, young man,&rsquo;
+said Belle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And why not entirely?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>Belle made no reply.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Shall I tell you?&rsquo; I demanded.&nbsp; &lsquo;You had
+no objection to the first part of the speech, but you did not like being
+called queen of the dingle.&nbsp; Well, if I had the power, I would
+make you queen of something better than the dingle&mdash;Queen of China.&nbsp;
+Come, let us have tea.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Something less would content me,&rsquo; said Belle, sighing,
+as she rose to prepare our evening meal.</p>
+<p>So we took tea together, Belle and I.&nbsp; &lsquo;How delicious
+tea is after a hot summer&rsquo;s day and a long walk,&rsquo; said she.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I daresay it is most refreshing then,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;but
+I have heard people say that they most enjoy it on a cold winter&rsquo;s
+night, when the kettle is hissing on the fire, and their children playing
+on the hearth.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Belle sighed.&nbsp; &lsquo;Where does tea come from?&rsquo; she presently
+demanded.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;From China,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;I just now mentioned it,
+and the mention of it put me in mind of tea.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What kind of country is China?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know very little about it; all I know is, that it is a very
+large country far to the East, but scarcely large enough to contain
+its inhabitants, who are so numerous, that though China does not cover
+one-ninth part of the world, its inhabitants amount to one-third of
+the population of the world.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And do they talk as we do?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh no!&nbsp; I know nothing of their language; but I have
+heard that it is quite different from all others, and so difficult that
+none but the cleverest people amongst foreigners can master it, on which
+account, perhaps, only the French pretend to know anything about it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are the French so very clever, then?&rsquo; said Belle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They say there are no people like them, at least in Europe.&nbsp;
+But talking of Chinese reminds me that I have not for some time past
+given you a lesson in Armenian.&nbsp; The word for tea in Armenian is&mdash;by
+the bye what is the Armenian word for tea?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That&rsquo;s your affair, not mine,&rsquo; said Belle; &lsquo;it
+seems hard that the master should ask the scholar.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;whatever the word may be in Armenian,
+it is a noun; and as we have never yet declined an Armenian noun together,
+we may as well take this opportunity of declining one.&nbsp; Belle,
+there are ten declensions in Armenian!</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What&rsquo;s a declension?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The way of declining a noun.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then, in the civilest way imaginable, I decline the noun.&nbsp;
+Is that a declension?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You should never play on words; to do so is low, vulgar, smelling
+of the pothouse, the workhouse.&nbsp; Belle, I insist on your declining
+an Armenian noun.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have done so already,&rsquo; said Belle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If you go on in this way,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I shall decline
+taking any more tea with you.&nbsp; Will you decline an Armenian noun?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t like the language,&rsquo; said Belle.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;If you must teach me languages, why not teach me French or Chinese?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know nothing of Chinese; and as for French, none but a Frenchman
+is clever enough to speak it&mdash;to say nothing of teaching; no, we
+will stick to Armenian, unless, indeed, you would prefer Welsh!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Welsh, I have heard, is vulgar,&rsquo; said Belle; &lsquo;so,
+if I must learn one of the two, I will prefer Armenian, which I never
+heard of till you mentioned it to me; though, of the two, I really think
+Welsh sounds best.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Armenian noun,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;which I propose for
+your declension this night, is ---, which signifieth Master.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I neither like the word nor the sound,&rsquo; said Belle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I can&rsquo;t help that,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;it is the word
+I choose: Master, with all its variations, being the first noun the
+sound of which I would have you learn from my lips.&nbsp; Come, let
+us begin&mdash;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A master.&nbsp; Of a master, etc.&nbsp; Repeat&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am not much used to say the word,&rsquo; said Belle, &lsquo;but
+to oblige you I will decline it as you wish&rsquo;; and thereupon Belle
+declined Master in Armenian.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You have declined the noun very well,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;that
+is in the singular number; we will now go to the plural.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is the plural?&rsquo; said Belle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That which implies more than one, for example, Masters; you
+shall now go through masters in Armenian.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Never,&rsquo; said Belle, &lsquo;never; it is bad to have
+one master, but more I would never bear, whether in Armenian or English.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You do not understand,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;I merely want
+you to decline Masters in Armenian.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I do decline them; I will have nothing to do with them, nor
+with master either; I was wrong to&mdash;What sound is that?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I did not hear it, but I daresay it is thunder; in Armenian&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Never mind what it is in Armenian; but why do you think it
+is thunder?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ere I returned from my stroll, I looked up into the heavens,
+and by their appearance I judged that a storm was nigh at hand.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And why did you not tell me so?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You never asked me about the state of the atmosphere, and
+I am not in the habit of giving my opinion to people on any subject,
+unless questioned.&nbsp; But, setting that aside, can you blame me for
+not troubling you with forebodings about storm and tempest, which might
+have prevented the pleasure you promised yourself in drinking tea, or
+perhaps a lesson in Armenian, though you pretend to dislike the latter?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My dislike is not pretended,&rsquo; said Belle; &lsquo;I hate
+the sound of it, but I love my tea, and it was kind of you not to wish
+to cast a cloud over my little pleasures; the thunder came quite time
+enough to interrupt it without being anticipated&mdash;there is another
+peal&mdash;I will clear away, and see that my tent is in a condition
+to resist the storm; and I think you had better bestir yourself.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Isopel departed, and I remained seated on my stone, as nothing belonging
+to myself required any particular attention; in about a quarter of an
+hour she returned, and seated herself upon her stool.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How dark the place is become since I left you,&rsquo; said
+she; &lsquo;just as if night were just at hand.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Look up at the sky,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;and you will not
+wonder; it is all of a deep olive.&nbsp; The wind is beginning to rise;
+hark how it moans among the branches, and see how their tops are bending;
+it brings dust on its wings&mdash;I felt some fall on my face; and what
+is this, a drop of rain?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We shall have plenty anon,&rsquo; said Belle; &lsquo;do you
+hear? it already begins to hiss upon the embers; that fire of ours will
+soon be extinguished.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is not probable that we shall want it,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;but
+we had better seek shelter: let us go into my tent.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Go in,&rsquo; said Belle, &lsquo;but you go in alone; as for
+me, I will seek my own.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are right,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;to be afraid of me; I
+have taught you to decline master in Armenian.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You almost tempt me,&rsquo; said Belle, &lsquo;to make you
+decline mistress in English.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To make matters short,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I decline a mistress.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do you mean?&rsquo; said Belle, angrily.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have merely done what you wished me,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;and
+in your own style; there is no other way of declining anything in English,
+for in English there are no declensions.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The rain is increasing,&rsquo; said Belle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is so,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;I shall go to my tent; you
+may come if you please; I do assure you I am not afraid of you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nor I of you,&rsquo; said Belle; &lsquo;so I will come.&nbsp;
+Why should I be afraid?&nbsp; I can take my own part; that is&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>We went into the tent and sat down, and now the rain began to pour
+with vehemence.&nbsp; &lsquo;I hope we shall not be flooded in this
+hollow,&rsquo; said I to Belle.&nbsp; &lsquo;There is no fear of that,&rsquo;
+said Belle; &lsquo;the wandering people, amongst other names, call it
+the dry hollow.&nbsp; I believe there is a passage somewhere or other
+by which the wet is carried off.&nbsp; There must be a cloud right above
+us, it is so dark.&nbsp; Oh! what a flash!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what a peal!&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;that is what the Hebrews
+call Koul Adonai&mdash;the voice of the Lord.&nbsp; Are you afraid?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said Belle, &lsquo;I rather like to hear it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are right,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I am fond of the sound
+of thunder myself.&nbsp; There is nothing like it; Koul Adonai behadar:
+the voice of the Lord is a glorious voice, as the prayer-book version
+hath it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There is something awful in it,&rsquo; said Belle; &lsquo;and
+then the lightning&mdash;the whole dingle is now in a blaze.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&ldquo;The voice of the Lord maketh the hinds to calve, and
+discovereth the thick bushes.&rdquo;&nbsp; As you say, there is something
+awful in thunder.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There are all kinds of noises above us,&rsquo; said Belle;
+&lsquo;surely I heard the crashing of a tree?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&ldquo;The voice of the Lord breaketh the cedar trees,&rdquo;&rsquo;
+said I, &lsquo;but what you hear is caused by a convulsion of the air;
+during a thunder-storm there are occasionally all kinds of aerial noises.&nbsp;
+Ab Gwilym, who, next to King David, has best described a thunderstorm,
+speaks of these aerial noises in the following manner:&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;Astonied now I stand at strains,<br />
+As of ten thousand clanking chains;<br />
+And once, methought that, overthrown,<br />
+The welkin&rsquo;s oaks came whelming down;<br />
+Upon my head up starts my hair:<br />
+Why hunt abroad the hounds of air?<br />
+What cursed hag is screeching high,<br />
+Whilst crash goes all her crockery?&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>You would hardly believe, Belle, that though I offered at least ten
+thousand lines nearly as good as those to the booksellers in London,
+the simpletons were so blind to their interest, as to refuse purchasing
+them!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t wonder at it,&rsquo; said Belle, &lsquo;especially
+if such dreadful expressions frequently occur as that towards the end;&mdash;surely
+that was the crash of a tree?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;there falls the cedar tree&mdash;I
+mean the sallow; one of the tall trees on the outside of the dingle
+has been snapped short.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What a pity,&rsquo; said Belle, &lsquo;that the fine old oak,
+which you saw the peasants cutting up, gave way the other night, when
+scarcely a breath of air was stirring; how much better to have fallen
+in a storm like this, the fiercest I remember.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t think so,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;after braving
+a thousand tempests, it was meeter for it to fall of itself than to
+be vanquished at last.&nbsp; But to return to Ab Gwilym&rsquo;s poetry:
+he was above culling dainty words, and spoke boldly his mind on all
+subjects.&nbsp; Enraged with the thunder for parting him and Morfydd,
+he says, at the conclusion of his ode,</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;My curse, O Thunder, cling to thee,<br />
+For parting my dear pearl and me!&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&lsquo;You and I shall part, that is, I shall go to my tent, if you
+persist in repeating from him.&nbsp; The man must have been a savage.&nbsp;
+A poor wood-pigeon has fallen dead.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;there he lies, just outside the
+tent; often have I listened to his note when alone in this wilderness.&nbsp;
+So you do not like Ab Gwilym; what say you to old G&ouml;the?&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;Mist shrouds the night, and rack;<br />
+Hear, in the woods, what an awful crack!<br />
+Wildly the owls are flitting,<br />
+Hark to the pillars splitting<br />
+Of palaces verdant ever,<br />
+The branches quiver and sever,<br />
+The mighty stems are creaking,<br />
+The poor roots breaking and shrieking,<br />
+In wild mixt ruin down dashing,<br />
+O&rsquo;er one another they&rsquo;re crashing;<br />
+Whilst &lsquo;midst the rocks so hoary<br />
+Whirlwinds hurry and worry.<br />
+Hear&rsquo;st not, sister&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&lsquo;Hark!&rsquo; said Belle, &lsquo;hark!&rsquo;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;Hear&rsquo;st not, sister, a chorus<br />
+Of voices&mdash;?&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said Belle, &lsquo;but I hear a voice.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XCVI</h2>
+<p>A shout&mdash;A fireball&mdash;See to the horses&mdash;Passing away&mdash;Gap
+in the hedge&mdash;On three wheels&mdash;Why do you stop?&mdash;No craven
+heart&mdash;The cordial&mdash;Across the country&mdash;Small bags.</p>
+<p>I listened attentively, but I could hear nothing but the loud clashing
+of branches, the pattering of rain, and the muttered growl of thunder.&nbsp;
+I was about to tell Belle that she must have been mistaken, when I heard
+a shout&mdash;indistinct, it is true, owing to the noises aforesaid&mdash;from
+some part of the field above the dingle.&nbsp; &lsquo;I will soon see
+what&rsquo;s the matter,&rsquo; said I to Belle, starting up.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I will go too;&rsquo; said the girl.&nbsp; &lsquo;Stay where
+you are,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;if I need you, I will call&rsquo;; and,
+without waiting for any answer, I hurried to the mouth of the dingle.&nbsp;
+I was about a few yards only from the top of the ascent, when I beheld
+a blaze of light, from whence I knew not; the next moment there was
+a loud crash, and I appeared involved in a cloud of sulphurous smoke.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Lord have mercy upon us!&rsquo; I heard a voice say, and methought
+I heard the plunging and struggling of horses.&nbsp; I had stopped short
+on hearing the crash, for I was half stunned; but I now hurried forward,
+and in a moment stood upon the plain.&nbsp; Here I was instantly aware
+of the cause of the crash and the smoke.&nbsp; One of those balls, generally
+called fireballs, had fallen from the clouds, and was burning on the
+plain at a short distance; and the voice which I had heard, and the
+plunging, were as easily accounted for.&nbsp; Near the left-hand corner
+of the grove which surrounded the dingle, and about ten yards from the
+fireball, I perceived a chaise, with a postilion on the box, who was
+making efforts, apparently useless, to control his horses, which were
+kicking and plunging in the highest degree of excitement.&nbsp; I instantly
+ran towards the chaise, in order to offer what help was in my power.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Help me,&rsquo; said the poor fellow, as I drew nigh; but before
+I could reach the horses, they had turned rapidly round, one of the
+fore-wheels flew from its axle-tree, the chaise was overset, and the
+postilion flung violently from his seat upon the field.&nbsp; The horses
+now became more furious than before, kicking desperately, and endeavouring
+to disengage themselves from the fallen chaise.&nbsp; As I was hesitating
+whether to run to the assistance of the postilion or endeavour to disengage
+the animals, I heard the voice of Belle exclaiming, &lsquo;See to the
+horses, I will look after the man.&rsquo;&nbsp; She had, it seems, been
+alarmed by the crash which accompanied the firebolt, and had hurried
+up to learn the cause.&nbsp; I forthwith seized the horses by the heads,
+and used all the means I possessed to soothe and pacify them, employing
+every gentle modulation of which my voice was capable.&nbsp; Belle,
+in the meantime, had raised up the man, who was much stunned by his
+fall; but, presently recovering his recollection to a certain degree,
+he came limping to me, holding his hand to his right thigh.&nbsp; &lsquo;The
+first thing that must now be done,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;is to free
+these horses from the traces; can you undertake to do so?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo; I think I can,&rsquo; said the man, looking at me somewhat stupidly.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I will help,&rsquo; said Belle, and without loss of time laid
+hold of one of the traces.&nbsp; The man, after a short pause, also
+set to work, and in a few minutes the horses were extricated.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Now,&rsquo; said I to the man, &lsquo;what is next to be done?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know,&rsquo; said he; &lsquo;indeed, I scarcely
+know anything; I have been so frightened by this horrible storm, and
+so shaken by my fall.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I think,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;that
+the storm is passing away, so cast your fears away too; and as for your
+fall, you must bear it as lightly as you can.&nbsp; I will tie the horses
+amongst those trees, and then we will all betake us to the hollow below.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;And what&rsquo;s to become of my chaise?&rsquo; said the postilion,
+looking ruefully on the fallen vehicle.&nbsp; &lsquo;Let us leave the
+chaise for the present,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;we can be of no use to
+it.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t like to leave my chaise lying
+on the ground in this weather,&rsquo; said the man; &lsquo;I love my
+chaise, and him whom it belongs to.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;You are quite
+right to be fond of yourself,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;on which account
+I advise you to seek shelter from the rain as soon as possible.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I was not talking of myself,&rsquo; said the man, &lsquo;but
+my master, to whom the chaise belongs.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I thought
+you called the chaise yours,&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;That&rsquo;s
+my way of speaking,&rsquo; said the man; &lsquo;but the chaise is my
+master&rsquo;s, and a better master does not live.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t
+you think we could manage to raise up the chaise?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;And
+what is to become of the horses?&rsquo; said I.&nbsp; &lsquo;I love
+my horses well enough,&rsquo; said the man; &lsquo;but they will take
+less harm than the chaise.&nbsp; We two can never lift up that chaise.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;But we three can,&rsquo; said Belle; &lsquo;at least, I think
+so; and I know where to find two poles which will assist us.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;You had better go to the tent,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;you will
+be wet through.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I care not for a little wetting,&rsquo;
+said Belle; &lsquo;moreover, I have more gowns than one&mdash;see you
+after the horses.&rsquo;&nbsp; Thereupon, I led the horses past the
+mouth of the dingle, to a place where a gap in the hedge afforded admission
+to the copse or plantation on the southern side.&nbsp; Forcing them
+through the gap, I led them to a spot amidst the trees which I deemed
+would afford them the most convenient place for standing; then, darting
+down into the dingle, I brought up a rope, and also the halter of my
+own nag, and with these fastened them each to a separate tree in the
+best manner I could.&nbsp; This done, I returned to the chaise and the
+postilion.&nbsp; In a minute or two Belle arrived with two poles which,
+it seems, had long been lying, overgrown with brushwood, in a ditch
+or hollow behind the plantation.&nbsp; With these both she and I set
+to work in endeavouring to raise the fallen chaise from the ground.</p>
+<p>We experienced considerable difficulty in this undertaking; at length,
+with the assistance of the postilion, we saw our efforts crowned with
+success&mdash;the chaise was lifted up, and stood upright on three wheels.</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page552b.jpg">
+<img alt="At length, with the assistance of the postilion, we saw our efforts crowned with success&mdash;the chaise was lifted up, and stood upright on three wheels" src="images/page552s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>&lsquo;We may leave it here in safety,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;for
+it will hardly move away on three wheels, even supposing it could run
+by itself; I am afraid there is work here for a wheelwright, in which
+case I cannot assist you; if you were in need of a blacksmith it would
+be otherwise.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t think either the wheel
+or the axle is hurt,&rsquo; said the postilion, who had been handling
+both; &lsquo;it is only the linch-pin having dropped out that caused
+the wheel to fly off; if I could but find the linch-pin!&mdash;though,
+perhaps, it fell out a mile away.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Very likely,&rsquo;
+said I; &lsquo;but never mind the linch-pin, I can make you one, or
+something that will serve: but I can&rsquo;t stay here any longer, I
+am going to my place below with this young gentlewoman, and you had
+better follow us.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;I am ready,&rsquo; said the man;
+and after lifting up the wheel and propping it against the chaise, he
+went with us, slightly limping, and with his hand pressed to his thigh.</p>
+<p>As we were descending the narrow path, Belle leading the way, and
+myself the last of the party, the postilion suddenly stopped short,
+and looked about him.&nbsp; &lsquo;Why do you stop?&rsquo; said I.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t wish to offend you,&rsquo; said the man, &lsquo;but
+this seems to be a strange place you are leading me into; I hope you
+and the young gentlewoman, as you call her, don&rsquo;t mean me any
+harm&mdash;you seemed in a great hurry to bring me here.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;We wished to get you out of the rain,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;and
+ourselves too; that is, if we can, which I rather doubt, for the canvas
+of a tent is slight shelter in such a rain; but what harm should we
+wish to do you?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;You may think I have money,&rsquo;
+said the man, &lsquo;and I have some, but only thirty shillings, and
+for a sum like that it would be hardly worth while to&mdash;&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Would it not?&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;thirty shillings, after all,
+are thirty shillings, and for what I know, half a dozen throats may
+have been cut in this place for that sum at the rate of five shillings
+each; moreover, there are the horses, which would serve to establish
+this young gentlewoman and myself in housekeeping, provided we were
+thinking of such a thing.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Then I suppose I have
+fallen into pretty hands,&rsquo; said the man, putting himself in a
+posture of defence; &lsquo;but I&rsquo;ll show no craven heart; and
+if you attempt to lay hands on me, I&rsquo;ll try to pay you in your
+own coin.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m rather lamed in the leg, but I can still use
+my fists; so come on, both of you, man and woman, if woman this be,
+though she looks more like a grenadier.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Let me hear no more of this nonsense,&rsquo; said Belle; &lsquo;if
+you are afraid, you can go back to your chaise&mdash;we only seek to
+do you a kindness.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, he was just now talking of cutting throats,&rsquo; said
+the man.&nbsp; &lsquo;You brought it on yourself,&rsquo; said Belle;
+&lsquo;you suspected us, and he wished to pass a joke upon you; he would
+not hurt a hair of your head, were your coach laden with gold, nor would
+I.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said the man, &lsquo;I was wrong&mdash;here&rsquo;s
+my hand to both of you,&rsquo; shaking us by the hands; &lsquo;I&rsquo;ll
+go with you where you please, but I thought this a strange lonesome
+place, though I ought not much to mind strange lonesome places, having
+been in plenty of such when I was a servant in Italy, without coming
+to any harm&mdash;come, let us move on, for &rsquo;tis a shame to keep
+you two in the rain.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>So we descended the path which led into the depths of the dingle;
+at the bottom I conducted the postilion to my tent, which, though the
+rain dripped and trickled through it, afforded some shelter; there I
+bade him sit down on the log of wood, whilst I placed myself as usual
+on my stone.&nbsp; Belle in the meantime had repaired to her own place
+of abode.&nbsp; After a little time, I produced a bottle of the cordial
+of which I have previously had occasion to speak, and made my guest
+take a considerable draught.&nbsp; I then offered him some, bread and
+cheese, which he accepted with thanks.&nbsp; In about an hour the rain
+had much abated: &lsquo;What do you now propose to do?&rsquo; said I.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I scarcely know,&rsquo; said the man; &lsquo;I suppose I must
+endeavour to put on the wheel with your help.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;How
+far are you from your home?&rsquo; I demanded.&nbsp; &lsquo;Upwards
+of thirty miles,&rsquo; said the man; &lsquo;my master keeps an inn
+on the great north road, and from thence I started early this morning
+with a family, which I conveyed across the country to a hall at some
+distance from here.&nbsp; On my return I was beset by the thunderstorm,
+which frightened the horses, who dragged the chaise off the road to
+the field above, and overset it as you saw.&nbsp; I had proposed to
+pass the night at an inn about twelve miles from here on my way back,
+though how I am to get there to-night I scarcely know, even if we can
+put on the wheel, for, to tell you the truth, I am shaken by my fall,
+and the smoulder and smoke of that fireball have rather bewildered my
+head; I am, moreover, not much acquainted with the way.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The best thing you can do,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;is to pass
+the night here; I will presently light a fire, and endeavour to make
+you comfortable&mdash;in the morning we will see to your wheel.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said the man, &lsquo;I shall be glad to pass the
+night here, provided I do not intrude, but I must see to the horses.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Thereupon I conducted the man to the place where the horses were tied.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;The trees drip very much upon them,&rsquo; said the man, &lsquo;and
+it will not do for them to remain here all night; they will be better
+out on the field picking the grass; but first of all they must have
+a good feed of corn.&rsquo;&nbsp; Thereupon he went to his chaise, from
+which he presently brought two small bags, partly filled with corn&mdash;into
+them he inserted the mouths of the horses, tying them over their heads.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Here we will leave them for a time,&rsquo; said the man; &lsquo;when
+I think they have had enough, I will come back, tie their fore-legs,
+and let them pick about.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XCVII</h2>
+<p>Fire of charcoal&mdash;The new-comer&mdash;No wonder!&mdash;Not a
+blacksmith&mdash;A love affair&mdash;Gretna Green&mdash;A cool thousand&mdash;Family
+estates&mdash;Borough interest&mdash;Grand education&mdash;Let us hear&mdash;Already
+quarrelling&mdash;Honourable parents&mdash;Most heroically&mdash;Not
+common people&mdash;Fresh charcoal.</p>
+<p>It might be about ten o&rsquo;clock at night.&nbsp; Belle, the postilion,
+and myself, sat just within the tent, by a fire of charcoal which I
+had kindled in the chafing-pan.&nbsp; The man had removed the harness
+from his horses, and, after tethering their legs, had left them for
+the night in the field above to regale themselves on what grass they
+could find.&nbsp; The rain had long since entirely ceased, and the moon
+and stars shone bright in the firmament, up to which, putting aside
+the canvas, I occasionally looked from the depths of the dingle.&nbsp;
+Large drops of water, however, falling now and then upon the tent from
+the neighbouring trees, would have served, could we have forgotten it,
+to remind us of the recent storm, and also a certain chilliness in the
+atmosphere, unusual to the season, proceeding from the moisture with
+which the ground was saturated; yet these circumstances only served
+to make our party enjoy the charcoal fire the more.&nbsp; There we sat
+bending over it: Belle, with her long beautiful hair streaming over
+her magnificent shoulders; the postilion smoking his pipe, in his shirt-sleeves
+and waistcoat, having flung aside his greatcoat, which had sustained
+a thorough wetting; and I without my wagoner&rsquo;s slop, of which,
+it being in the same plight, I had also divested myself.</p>
+<p>The new-comer was a well-made fellow of about thirty, with an open
+and agreeable countenance.&nbsp; I found him very well informed for
+a man in his station, and with some pretensions to humour.&nbsp; After
+we had discoursed for some time on indifferent subjects, the postilion,
+who had exhausted his pipe, took it from his mouth, and, knocking out
+the ashes upon the ground, exclaimed, &lsquo;I little thought, when
+I got up in the morning, that I should spend the night in such agreeable
+company, and after such a fright.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I am glad that your opinion of
+us has improved; it is not long since you seemed to hold us in rather
+a suspicious light.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And no wonder,&rsquo; said the man, &lsquo;seeing the place
+you were taking me to!&nbsp; I was not a little, but very much afraid
+of ye both; and so I continued for some time, though, not to show a
+craven heart, I pretended to be quite satisfied; but I see I was altogether
+mistaken about ye.&nbsp; I thought you vagrant gypsy folks and trampers;
+but now&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Vagrant gypsy folks and trampers,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;and
+what are we but people of that stamp?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh,&rsquo; said the postilion, &lsquo;if you wish to be thought
+such, I am far too civil a person to contradict you, especially after
+your kindness to me, but&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But!&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;what do you mean by but?&nbsp;
+I would have you to know that I am proud of being a travelling blacksmith;
+look at these donkey-shoes, I finished them this day.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The postilion took the shoes and examined them.&nbsp; &lsquo;So you
+made these shoes?&rsquo; he cried at last.</p>
+<p class="picture">
+<a href="images/page557b.jpg">
+<img alt="The postilion took the shoes and examined them.  &lsquo;So you made these shoes?&rsquo; he cried at last" src="images/page557s.jpg" />
+</a></p>
+<p>&lsquo;To be sure I did; do you doubt it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not in the least,&rsquo; said the man.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah! ah!&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I thought I should bring you
+back to your original opinion.&nbsp; I am, then, a vagrant gypsy body,
+a tramper, a wandering blacksmith.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not a blacksmith, whatever else you may be,&rsquo; said the
+postilion, laughing.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then how do you account for my making those shoes?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;By your not being a blacksmith,&rsquo; said the postilion;
+&lsquo;no blacksmith would have made shoes in that manner.&nbsp; Besides,
+what did you mean just now by saying you had finished these shoes to-day?&nbsp;
+A real blacksmith would have flung off three or four sets of donkey-shoes
+in one morning, but you, I will be sworn, have been hammering at these
+for days, and they do you credit&mdash;but why?&mdash;because you are
+no blacksmith; no, friend, your shoes may do for this young gentlewoman&rsquo;s
+animal, but I shouldn&rsquo;t like to have my horses shod by you, unless
+at a great pinch indeed.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;for what do you take me?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, for some runaway young gentleman,&rsquo; said the postilion.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;No offence, I hope?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;None at all; no one is offended at being taken or mistaken
+for a young gentleman, whether runaway or not; but from whence do you
+suppose I have run away?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, from college,&rsquo; said the man: &lsquo;no offence?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;None whatever; and what induced me to run away from college?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A love affair, I&rsquo;ll be sworn,&rsquo; said the postilion.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;You had become acquainted with this young gentlewoman, so she
+and you&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Mind how you get on, friend,&rsquo; said Belle, in a deep
+serious tone.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Pray proceed,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;I daresay you mean no
+offence.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;None in the world,&rsquo; said the postilion; &lsquo;all I
+was going to say was, that you agreed to run away together, you from
+college, and she from boarding-school.&nbsp; Well, there&rsquo;s nothing
+to be ashamed of in a matter like that, such things are done every day
+by young folks in high life.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are you offended?&rsquo; said I to Belle.</p>
+<p>Belle made no answer; but, placing her elbows on her knees, buried
+her face in her hands.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So we ran away together?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ay, ay,&rsquo; said the postilion, &lsquo;to Gretna Green,
+though I can&rsquo;t say that I drove ye, though I have driven many
+a pair.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And from Gretna Green we came here?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I&rsquo;ll be bound you did,&rsquo; said the man, &lsquo;till
+you could arrange matters at home.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And the horse-shoes?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The donkey-shoes you mean,&rsquo; answered the postilion;
+&lsquo;why, I suppose you persuaded the blacksmith who married you to
+give you, before you left, a few lessons in his trade.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And we intend to stay here till we have arranged matters at
+home?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ay, ay,&rsquo; said the postilion, &lsquo;till the old people
+are pacified, and they send you letters directed to the next post town,
+to be left till called for, beginning with &ldquo;Dear children,&rdquo;
+and enclosing you each a cheque for one hundred pounds, when you will
+leave this place, and go home in a coach like gentlefolks, to visit
+your governors; I should like nothing better than to have the driving
+of you: and then there will be a grand meeting of the two families,
+and after a few reproaches, the old people will agree to do something
+handsome for the poor thoughtless things; so you will have a genteel
+house taken for you, and an annuity allowed you.&nbsp; You won&rsquo;t
+get much the first year, five hundred at the most, in order that the
+old folks may let you feel that they are not altogether satisfied with
+you, and that you are yet entirely in their power; but the second, if
+you don&rsquo;t get a cool thousand, may I catch cold, especially should
+young madam here present a son and heir for the old people to fondle,
+destined one day to become sole heir of the two illustrious houses;
+and then all the grand folks in the neighbourhood, who have&mdash;bless
+their prudent hearts!&mdash;kept rather aloof from you till then, for
+fear you should want anything from them&mdash;I say all the carriage
+people in the neighbourhood, when they see how swimmingly matters are
+going on, will come in shoals to visit you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Really,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;you are getting on swimmingly.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh,&rsquo; said the postilion, &lsquo;I was not a gentleman&rsquo;s
+servant nine years without learning the ways of gentry, and being able
+to know gentry when I see them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what do you say to all this?&rsquo; I demanded of Belle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Stop a moment,&rsquo; interposed the postilion, &lsquo;I have
+one more word to say:&mdash;and when you are surrounded by your comforts,
+keeping your nice little barouche and pair, your coachman and livery
+servant, and visited by all the carriage people in the neighbourhood&mdash;to
+say nothing of the time when you come to the family estates on the death
+of the old people&mdash;I shouldn&rsquo;t wonder if now and then you
+look back with longing and regret to the days when you lived in the
+damp dripping dingle, had no better equipage than a pony or donkey cart,
+and saw no better company than a tramper or gypsy, except once, when
+a poor postilion was glad to seat himself at your charcoal fire.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Pray,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;did you ever take lessons in elocution?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not directly,&rsquo; said the postilion; &lsquo;but my old
+master, who was in Parliament, did, and so did his son, who was intended
+to be an orator.&nbsp; A great professor used to come and give them
+lessons, and I used to stand and listen, by which means I picked up
+a considerable quantity of what is called rhetoric.&nbsp; In what I
+last said, I was aiming at what I have heard him frequently endeavouring
+to teach my governors as a thing indispensably necessary in all oratory,
+a graceful pere&mdash;pere&mdash;peregrination.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Peroration, perhaps?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Just so,&rsquo; said the postilion; &lsquo;and now I&rsquo;m
+sure I am not mistaken about you; you have taken lessons yourself, at
+first hand, in the college vacations, and a promising pupil you were,
+I make no doubt.&nbsp; Well, your friends will be all the happier to
+get you back.&nbsp; Has your governor much borough interest?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I ask you once more,&rsquo; said I, addressing myself to Belle,
+&lsquo;what you think of the history which this good man has made for
+us?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What should I think of it,&rsquo; said Belle, still keeping
+her face buried in her hands, &lsquo;but that it is mere nonsense?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nonsense!&rsquo; said the postilion.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the girl, &lsquo;and you know it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;May my leg always ache, if I do,&rsquo; said the postilion,
+patting his leg with his hand; &lsquo;will you persuade me that this
+young man has never been at college?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have never been at college, but&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ay, ay,&rsquo; said the postilion, &lsquo;but&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have been to the best schools in Britain, to say nothing
+of a celebrated one in Ireland.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, then, it comes to the same thing,&rsquo; said the postilion,
+&lsquo;or perhaps you know more than if you had been at college&mdash;and
+your governor&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My governor, as you call him,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;is dead.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And his borough interest?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My father had no borough interest,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;had
+he possessed any, he would perhaps not have died, as he did, honourably
+poor.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, no,&rsquo; said the postilion, &lsquo;if he had had borough
+interest, he wouldn&rsquo;t have been poor, nor honourable, though perhaps
+a right honourable.&nbsp; However, with your grand education and genteel
+manners, you made all right at last by persuading this noble young gentlewoman
+to run away from boarding-school with you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I was never at boarding-school,&rsquo; said Belle, &lsquo;unless
+you call&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ay, ay,&rsquo; said the postilion, &lsquo;boarding-school
+is vulgar, I know: I beg your pardon, I ought to have called it academy,
+or by some other much finer name&mdash;you were in something much greater
+than a boarding-school.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There you are right,&rsquo; said Belle, lifting up her head
+and looking the postilion full in the face by the light of the charcoal
+fire, &lsquo;for I was bred in the workhouse.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Wooh!&rsquo; said the postilion.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is true that I am of good&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ay, ay,&rsquo; said the postilion, &lsquo;let us hear&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of good blood,&rsquo; continued Belle; &lsquo;my name is Berners,
+Isopel Berners, though my parents were unfortunate.&nbsp; Indeed, with
+respect to blood, I believe I am of better blood than the young man.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There you are mistaken,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;by my father&rsquo;s
+side I am of Cornish blood, and by my mother&rsquo;s of brave French
+Protestant extraction.&nbsp; Now, with respect to the blood of my father&mdash;and
+to be descended well on the father&rsquo;s side is the principal thing&mdash;it
+is the best blood in the world, for the Cornish blood, as the proverb
+says&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t care what the proverb says,&rsquo; said Belle;
+&lsquo;I say my blood is the best&mdash;my name is Berners, Isopel Berners&mdash;it
+was my mother&rsquo;s name, and is better, I am sure, than any you bear,
+whatever that may be; and though you say that the descent on the fathers
+side is the principal thing&mdash;and I know why you say so,&rsquo;
+she added with some excitement&mdash;&lsquo;I say that descent on the
+mother&rsquo;s side is of most account, because the mother&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Just come from Gretna Green, and already quarrelling!&rsquo;
+said the postilion.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We do not come from Gretna Green,&rsquo; said Belle.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, I had forgot,&rsquo; said the postilion; &lsquo;none but
+great people go to Gretna Green.&nbsp; Well, then, from church, and
+already quarrelling about family, just like two great people.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We have never been to church,&rsquo; said Belle; &lsquo;and
+to prevent any more guessing on your part, it will be as well for me
+to tell you, friend, that I am nothing to the young man, and he, of
+course, nothing to me.&nbsp; I am a poor travelling girl, born in a
+workhouse: journeying on my occasions with certain companions, I came
+to this hollow, where my company quarrelled with the young man, who
+had settled down here, as he had a right to do if he pleased; and not
+being able to drive him out, they went away after quarrelling with me,
+too, for not choosing to side with them; so I stayed here along with
+the young man, there being room for us both, and the place being as
+free to me as to him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And in order that you may be no longer puzzled with respect
+to myself,&rsquo; said I; &lsquo;I will give you a brief outline of
+my history.&nbsp; I am the son of honourable parents, who gave me a
+first-rate education, as far as literature and languages went, with
+which education I endeavoured, on the death of my father, to advance
+myself to wealth and reputation in the big city; but failing in the
+attempt, I conceived a disgust for the busy world, and determined to
+retire from it.&nbsp; After wandering about for some time, and meeting
+with various adventures, in one of which I contrived to obtain a pony,
+cart, and certain tools used by smiths and tinkers, I came to this place,
+where I amused myself with making horse-shoes, or rather pony-shoes,
+having acquired the art of wielding the hammer and tongs from a strange
+kind of smith&mdash;not him of Gretna Green&mdash;whom I knew in my
+childhood.&nbsp; And here I lived, doing harm to no one, quite lonely
+and solitary, till one fine morning the premises were visited by this
+young gentlewoman and her companions.&nbsp; She did herself anything
+but justice when she said that her companions quarrelled with her because
+she would not side with them against me; they quarrelled with her because
+she came most heroically to my assistance as I was on the point of being
+murdered; and she forgot to tell you that, after they had abandoned
+her, she stood by me in the&mdash;dark hour, comforting and cheering
+me, when unspeakable dread, to which I am occasionally subject, took
+possession of my mind.&nbsp; She says she is nothing to me, even as
+I am nothing to her.&nbsp; I am of course nothing to her, but she is
+mistaken in thinking she is nothing to me.&nbsp; I entertain the highest
+regard and admiration for her, being convinced that I might search the
+whole world in vain for a nature more heroic and devoted.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And for my part,&rsquo; said Belle, with a sob, &lsquo;a more
+quiet agreeable partner in a place like this I would not wish to have;
+it is true he has strange ways, and frequently puts words into my mouth
+very difficult to utter, but&mdash;but&mdash;&rsquo; and here she buried
+her face once more in her hands.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said the postilion, &lsquo;I have been mistaken
+about you; that is, not altogether, but in part.&nbsp; You are not rich
+folks, it seems, but you are not common people, and that I could have
+sworn.&nbsp; What I call a shame is, that some people I have known are
+not in your place and you in theirs, you with their estates and borough
+interest, they in this dingle with these carts and animals; but there
+is no help for these things.&nbsp; Were I the great Mumbo Jumbo above,
+I would endeavour to manage matters better; but being a simple postilion,
+glad to earn three shillings a day, I can&rsquo;t be expected to do
+much.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Who is Mumbo Jumbo?&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah!&rsquo; said the postilion, &lsquo;I see there may be a
+thing or two I know better than yourself.&nbsp; Mumbo Jumbo is a god
+of the black coast, to which people go for ivory and gold.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Were you ever there?&rsquo; I demanded.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said the postilion, &lsquo;but I heard plenty of
+Mumbo Jumbo when I was a boy.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I wish you would tell us something about yourself.&nbsp; I
+believe that your own real history would prove quite as entertaining,
+if not more, than that which you imagined about us.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am rather tired,&rsquo; said the postilion, &lsquo;and my
+leg is rather troublesome.&nbsp; I should be glad to try to sleep upon
+one of your blankets.&nbsp; However, as you wish to hear something about
+me, I shall be happy to oblige you; but your fire is rather low, and
+this place is chilly.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Thereupon I arose, and put fresh charcoal on the pan; then taking
+it outside the tent, with a kind of fan which I had fashioned, I fanned
+the coals into a red glow, and continued doing so until the greater
+part of the noxious gas, which the coals are in the habit of exhaling,
+was exhausted.&nbsp; I then brought it into the tent and reseated myself,
+scattering over the coals a small portion of sugar.&nbsp; &lsquo;No
+bad smell,&rsquo; said the postilion; &lsquo;but upon the whole I think
+I like the smell of tobacco better; and with your permission I will
+once more light my pipe.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Thereupon he relighted his pipe; and, after taking two or three whiffs,
+began in the following manner.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XCVIII</h2>
+<p>An exordium&mdash;Fine ships&mdash;High Barbary captains&mdash;Free-born
+Englishmen&mdash;Monstrous figure&mdash;Swashbuckler&mdash;The grand
+coaches&mdash;The footmen&mdash;A travelling expedition&mdash;Black
+Jack&mdash;Nelson&rsquo;s cannon&mdash;Pharaoh&rsquo;s butler&mdash;A
+diligence&mdash;Two passengers&mdash;Sharking priest&mdash;Virgilio&mdash;Lessons
+in Italian&mdash;Two opinions&mdash;Holy Mary&mdash;Priestly confederates&mdash;Methodist
+chapel&mdash;Veturini&mdash;Some of our party&mdash;Like a sepulchre&mdash;All
+for themselves.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am a poor postilion, as you see; yet, as I have seen a thing
+or two and heard a thing or two of what is going on in the world, perhaps
+what I have to tell you connected with myself may not prove altogether
+uninteresting.&nbsp; Now, my friends, this manner of opening a story
+is what the man who taught rhetoric would call a hex&mdash;hex&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Exordium,&rsquo; said I.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Just so,&rsquo; said the postilion; &lsquo;I treated you to
+a per&mdash;per&mdash;peroration some time ago, so that I have contrived
+to put the cart before the horse, as the Irish orators frequently do
+in the honourable House, in whose speeches, especially those who have
+taken lessons in rhetoric, the per&mdash;per&mdash;what&rsquo;s the
+word?&mdash;frequently goes before the exordium.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I was born in the neighbouring county; my father was land-steward
+to a squire of about a thousand a year.&nbsp; My father had two sons,
+of whom I am the youngest by some years.&nbsp; My elder brother was
+of a spirited roving disposition, and for fear that he should turn out
+what is generally termed ungain, my father determined to send him to
+sea: so once upon a time, when my brother was about fifteen, he took
+him to the great seaport of the county, where he apprenticed him to
+a captain of one of the ships which trade to the high Barbary coast.&nbsp;
+Fine ships they were, I have heard say, more than thirty in number,
+and all belonging to a wonderful great gentleman, who had once been
+a parish boy, but had contrived to make an immense fortune by trading
+to that coast for gold-dust, ivory, and other strange articles; and
+for doing so, I mean for making a fortune, had been made a knight baronet.&nbsp;
+So my brother went to the high Barbary shore, on board the fine vessel,
+and in about a year returned and came to visit us; he repeated the voyage
+several times, always coming to see his parents on his return.&nbsp;
+Strange stories he used to tell us of what he had been witness to on
+the high Barbary coast, both off shore and on.&nbsp; He said that the
+fine vessel in which he sailed was nothing better than a painted hell;
+that the captain was a veritable fiend, whose grand delight was in tormenting
+his men, especially when they were sick, as they frequently were, there
+being always fever on the high Barbary coast; and that though the captain
+was occasionally sick himself, his being so made no difference, or rather
+it did make a difference, though for the worse, he being when sick always
+more inveterate and malignant than at other times.&nbsp; He said that
+once, when he himself was sick, his captain had pitched his face all
+over, which exploit was much applauded by the other high Barbary captains&mdash;all
+of whom, from what my brother said, appeared to be of much the same
+disposition as my brother&rsquo;s captain, taking wonderful delight
+in tormenting the crews, and doing all manner of terrible things.&nbsp;
+My brother frequently said that nothing whatever prevented him from
+running away from his ship, and never returning, but the hope he entertained
+of one day being captain himself, and able to torment people in his
+turn, which he solemnly vowed he would do, as a kind of compensation
+for what he himself had undergone.&nbsp; And if things were going on
+in a strange way off the high Barbary shore amongst those who came there
+to trade, they were going on in a way yet stranger with the people who
+lived upon it.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh the strange ways of the black men who lived on that shore,
+of which my brother used to tell us at home&mdash;selling their sons,
+daughters, and servants for slaves, and the prisoners taken in battle,
+to the Spanish captains, to be carried to Havannah, and when there,
+sold at a profit, the idea of which, my brother said, went to the hearts
+of our own captains, who used to say what a hard thing it was that free-born
+Englishmen could not have a hand in the traffic, seeing that it was
+forbidden by the laws of their country; talking fondly of the good old
+times when their forefathers used to carry slaves to Jamaica and Barbadoes,
+realising immense profit, besides the pleasure of hearing their shrieks
+on the voyage; and then the superstitions of the blacks, which my brother
+used to talk of; their sharks&rsquo; teeth, their wisps of fowls&rsquo;
+feathers, their half-baked pots full of burnt bones, of which they used
+to make what they called fetish, and bow down to, and ask favours of,
+and then, perhaps, abuse and strike, provided the senseless rubbish
+did not give them what they asked for; and then, above all, Mumbo Jumbo,
+the grand fetish master, who lived somewhere in the woods, and who used
+to come out every now and then with his fetish companions; a monstrous
+figure, all wound round with leaves and branches, so as to be quite
+indistinguishable, and, seating himself on the high seat in the villages,
+receive homage from the people, and also gifts and offerings, the most
+valuable of which were pretty damsels, and then betake himself back
+again, with his followers, into the woods.&nbsp; Oh the tales that my
+brother used to tell us of the high Barbary shore!&nbsp; Poor fellow!
+what became of him I can&rsquo;t say; the last time he came back from
+a voyage, he told us that his captain, as soon as he had brought his
+vessel to port and settled with his owner, drowned himself off the quay,
+in a fit of the horrors, which it seems high Barbary captains, after
+a certain number of years, are much subject to.&nbsp; After staying
+about a month with us, he went to sea again, with another captain; and,
+bad as the old one had been, it appears the new one was worse, for,
+unable to bear his treatment, my brother left his ship off the high
+Barbary shore, and ran away up the country.&nbsp; Some of his comrades,
+whom we afterwards saw, said that there were various reports about him
+on the shore; one that he had taken on with Mumbo Jumbo, and was serving
+him in his house in the woods, in the capacity of swashbuckler, or life-guardsman;
+another, that he was gone in quest of a mighty city in the heart of
+the negro country; another, that in swimming a stream he had been devoured
+by an alligator.&nbsp; Now, these two last reports were bad enough;
+the idea of their flesh and blood being bit asunder by a ravenous fish
+was sad enough to my poor parents; and not very comfortable was the
+thought of his sweltering over the hot sands in quest of the negro city;
+but the idea of their son, their eldest child, serving Mumbo Jumbo as
+swashbuckler was worst of all, and caused my poor parents to shed many
+a scalding tear.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I stayed at home with my parents until I was about eighteen,
+assisting my father in various ways.&nbsp; I then went to live at the
+Squire&rsquo;s, partly as groom, partly as footman.&nbsp; After living
+in the country some time, I attended the family in a trip of six weeks
+which they made to London.&nbsp; Whilst there, happening to have some
+words with an old ill-tempered coachman, who had been for a great many
+years in the family, my master advised me to leave, offering to recommend
+me to a family of his acquaintance who were in need of a footman.&nbsp;
+I was glad to accept his offer, and in a few days went to my new place.&nbsp;
+My new master was one of the great gentry, a baronet in Parliament,
+and possessed of an estate of about twenty thousand a year; his family
+consisted of his lady, a son, a fine young man just coming of age, and
+two very sweet amiable daughters.&nbsp; I liked this place much better
+than my first, there was so much more pleasant noise and bustle&mdash;so
+much more grand company, and so many more opportunities of improving
+myself.&nbsp; Oh, how I liked to see the grand coaches drive up to the
+door, with the grand company; and though, amidst that company, there
+were some who did not look very grand, there were others, and not a
+few, who did.&nbsp; Some of the ladies quite captivated me; there was
+the Marchioness of&mdash;in particular.&nbsp; This young lady puts me
+much in mind of her; it is true, the Marchioness, as I saw her then,
+was about fifteen years older than this young gentlewoman is now, and
+not so tall by some inches, but she had the very same hair, and much
+the same neck and shoulders&mdash;no offence, I hope?&nbsp; And then
+some of the young gentlemen, with their cool, haughty, care-for-nothing
+looks, struck me as being very fine fellows.&nbsp; There was one in
+particular, whom I frequently used to stare at, not altogether unlike
+some one I have seen hereabouts&mdash;he had a slight cast in his eye,
+and . . . but I won&rsquo;t enter into every particular.&nbsp; And then
+the footmen!&nbsp; Oh, how those footmen helped to improve me with their
+conversation.&nbsp; Many of them could converse much more glibly than
+their masters, and appeared to have much better taste.&nbsp; At any
+rate, they seldom approved of what their masters did.&nbsp; I remember
+being once with one in the gallery of the play-house, when something
+of Shakspeare&rsquo;s was being performed: some one in the first tier
+of boxes was applauding very loudly.&nbsp; &ldquo;That&rsquo;s my fool
+of a governor,&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;he is weak enough to like Shakspeare&mdash;I
+don&rsquo;t;&mdash;he&rsquo;s so confoundedly low, but he won&rsquo;t
+last long&mdash;going down.&nbsp; Shakspeare culminated&rdquo;&mdash;I
+think that was the word&mdash;&ldquo;culminated some time ago.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And then the professor of elocution, of whom my governors
+used to take lessons, and of which lessons I had my share, by listening
+behind the door; but for that professor of elocution I should not be
+able to round my periods&mdash;an expression of his&mdash;in the manner
+I do.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;After I had been three years at this place my mistress died.&nbsp;
+Her death, however, made no great alteration in my way of living, the
+family spending their winters in London, and their summers at their
+old seat in S--- as before.&nbsp; At last, the young ladies, who had
+not yet got husbands, which was strange enough, seeing, as I told you
+before, they were very amiable, proposed to our governor a travelling
+expedition abroad.&nbsp; The old baronet consented, though young master
+was much against it, saying they would all be much better at home.&nbsp;
+As the girls persisted, however, he at last withdrew his opposition,
+and even promised to follow them as soon as his parliamentary duties
+would permit; for he was just got into Parliament, and, like most other
+young members, thought that nothing could be done in the House without
+him.&nbsp; So the old gentleman and the two young ladies set off, taking
+me with them, and a couple of ladies&rsquo; maids to wait upon them.&nbsp;
+First of all, we went to Paris, where we continued three months, the
+old baronet and the ladies going to see the various sights of the city
+and the neighbourhood, and I attending them.&nbsp; They soon got tired
+of sight-seeing, and of Paris too; and so did I.&nbsp; However, they
+still continued there, in order, I believe, that the young ladies might
+lay in a store of French finery.&nbsp; I should have passed my idle
+time at Paris, of which I had plenty after the sight-seeing was over,
+very unpleasantly, but for Black Jack.&nbsp; Eh! did you never hear
+of Black Jack?&nbsp; Ah! if you had ever been an English servant in
+Paris, you would have known Black Jack; not an English gentleman&rsquo;s
+servant who has been at Paris for this last ten years but knows Black
+Jack and his ordinary.&nbsp; A strange fellow he was&mdash;of what country
+no one could exactly say&mdash;for as for judging from speech, that
+was impossible, Jack speaking all languages equally ill.&nbsp; Some
+said he came direct from Satan&rsquo;s kitchen, and that when he gives
+up keeping ordinary, he will return there again, though the generally-received
+opinion at Paris was, that he was at one time butler to King Pharaoh;
+and that, after lying asleep for four thousand years in a place called
+the Kattycombs, he was awaked by the sound of Nelson&rsquo;s cannon
+at the battle of the Nile, and going to the shore, took on with the
+admiral, and became, in course of time, ship steward; and that after
+Nelson&rsquo;s death he was captured by the French, on board one of
+whose vessels he served in a somewhat similar capacity till the peace,
+when he came to Paris, and set up an ordinary for servants, sticking
+the name of Katcomb over the door, in allusion to the place where he
+had his long sleep.&nbsp; But, whatever his origin was, Jack kept his
+own counsel, and appeared to care nothing for what people said about
+him, or called him.&nbsp; Yes, I forgot, there was one name he would
+not be called, and that was &ldquo;Portuguese.&rdquo;&nbsp; I once saw
+Black Jack knock down a coachman, six foot high, who called him black-faced
+Portuguese.&nbsp; &ldquo;Any name but dat, you shab,&rdquo; said Black
+Jack, who was a little round fellow, of about five feet two; &ldquo;I
+would not stand to be called Portuguese by Nelson himself.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+Jack was rather fond of talking about Nelson, and hearing people talk
+about him, so that it is not improbable that he may have sailed with
+him; and with respect to his having been King Pharaoh&rsquo;s butler,
+all I have to say is, I am not disposed to give the downright lie to
+the report. Jack was always ready to do a kind turn to a poor servant
+out of place, and has often been known to assist such as were in prison,
+which charitable disposition he perhaps acquired from having lost a
+good place himself, having seen the inside of a prison, and known the
+want of a meal&rsquo;s victuals, all which trials King Pharaoh&rsquo;s
+butler underwent, so he may have been that butler; at any rate, I have
+known positive conclusions come to on no better premisses, if indeed
+as good.&nbsp; As for the story of his coming direct from Satan&rsquo;s
+kitchen, I place no confidence in it at all, as Black Jack had nothing
+of Satan about him but blackness, on which account he was called Black
+Jack.&nbsp; Nor am I disposed to give credit to a report that his hatred
+of the Portuguese arose from some ill treatment which he had once experienced
+when on shore, at Lisbon, from certain gentlewomen of the place, but
+rather conclude that it arose from an opinion he entertained that the
+Portuguese never paid their debts, one of the ambassadors of that nation,
+whose house he had served, having left Paris several thousand francs
+in his debt.&nbsp; This is all that I have to say about Black Jack,
+without whose funny jokes and good ordinary I should have passed my
+time in Paris in a very disconsolate manner.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;After we had been at Paris between two and three months, we
+left it in the direction of Italy, which country the family had a great
+desire to see.&nbsp; After travelling a great many days in a thing which,
+though called a diligence, did not exhibit much diligence, we came to
+a great big town, seated around a nasty salt-water bason, connected
+by a narrow passage with the sea.&nbsp; Here we were to embark; and
+so we did as soon as possible, glad enough to get away&mdash;at least
+I was, and so I make no doubt were the rest, for such a place for bad
+smells I never was in.&nbsp; It seems all the drains and sewers of the
+place run into that same salt bason, voiding into it all their impurities,
+which, not being able to escape into the sea in any considerable quantity,
+owing to the narrowness of the entrance, there accumulate, filling the
+whole atmosphere with these same outrageous scents, on which account
+the town is a famous lodging-house of the plague.&nbsp; The ship in
+which we embarked was bound for a place in Italy called Naples, where
+we were to stay some time.&nbsp; The voyage was rather a lazy one, the
+ship not being moved by steam; for at the time of which I am speaking,
+some five years ago, steam-ships were not so plentiful as now.&nbsp;
+There were only two passengers in the grand cabin, where my governor
+and his daughters were, an Italian lady and a priest.&nbsp; Of the lady
+I have not much to say; she appeared to be a quiet respectable person
+enough, and after our arrival at Naples I neither saw nor heard anything
+more of her; but of the priest I shall have a good deal to say in the
+sequel (that, by the bye, is a word I learnt from the professor of rhetoric),
+and it would have been well for our family had they never met him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;On the third day of the voyage the priest came to me, who
+was rather unwell with sea-sickness, which he, of course, felt nothing
+of&mdash;that kind of people being never affected like others.&nbsp;
+He was a finish-looking man of about forty-five, but had something strange
+in his eyes, which I have since thought denoted that all was not right
+in a certain place called the heart.&nbsp; After a few words of condolence,
+in a broken kind of English, he asked me various questions about our
+family; and I, won by his seeming kindness, told him all I knew about
+them&mdash;of which communicativeness I afterwards very much repented.&nbsp;
+As soon as he had got out of me all he desired, he left me; and I observed
+that during the rest of the voyage he was wonderfully attentive to our
+governor, and yet more to the young ladies.&nbsp; Both, however, kept
+him rather at a distance; the young ladies were reserved, and once or
+twice I heard our governor cursing him between his teeth for a sharking
+priest.&nbsp; The priest, however, was not disconcerted, and continued
+his attentions, which in a little time produced an effect, so that,
+by the time we landed at Naples, our great folks had conceived a kind
+of liking for the man, and when they took their leave invited him to
+visit them, which he promised to do.&nbsp; We hired a grand house or
+palace at Naples; it belonged to a poor kind of prince, who was glad
+enough to let it to our governor, and also his servants and carriages;
+and glad enough were the poor servants, for they got from us what they
+never got from the prince&mdash;plenty of meat and money; and glad enough,
+I make no doubt, were the horses for the provender we gave them; and
+I daresay the coaches were not sorry to be cleaned and furbished up.&nbsp;
+Well, we went out and came in; going to see the sights, and returning.&nbsp;
+Amongst other things we saw was the burning mountain, and the tomb of
+a certain sorcerer called Virgilio, who made witch rhymes, by which
+he could raise the dead.&nbsp; Plenty of people came to see us, both
+English and Italians, and amongst the rest the priest.&nbsp; He did
+not come amongst the first, but allowed us to settle and become a little
+quiet before he showed himself; and after a day or two he paid us another
+visit, then another, till at last his visits were daily.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I did not like that Jack Priest; so I kept my eye upon all
+his motions.&nbsp; Lord! how that Jack Priest did curry favour with
+our governor and the two young ladies; and he curried, and curried,
+till he had got himself into favour with the governor, and more especially
+with the two young ladies, of whom their father was doatingly fond.&nbsp;
+At last the ladies took lessons in Italian of the priest, a language
+in which he was said to be a grand proficient, and of which they had
+hitherto known but very little; and from that time his influence over
+them, and consequently over the old governor, increased, till the tables
+were turned, and he no longer curried favour with them, but they with
+him&mdash;yes, as true as my leg aches, the young ladies curried, and
+the old governor curried favour with that same priest; when he was with
+them, they seemed almost to hang on his lips, that is, the young ladies;
+and as for the old governor, he never contradicted him, and when the
+fellow was absent, which, by the bye, was not often, it was, &ldquo;Father
+so-and-so said this,&rdquo; and &ldquo;Father so-and-so said that&rdquo;;
+&ldquo;Father so-and-so thinks we should do so-and-so, or that we should
+not do so-and-so.&rdquo;&nbsp; I at first thought that he must have
+given them something, some philtre or the like, but one of the English
+maid-servants, who had a kind of respect for me, and who saw much more
+behind the scenes than I did, informed me that he was continually instilling
+strange notions into their heads, striving, by every possible method,
+to make them despise the religion of their own land, and take up that
+of the foreign country in which they were.&nbsp; And sure enough, in
+a little time, the girls had altogether left off going to an English
+chapel, and were continually visiting places of Italian worship.&nbsp;
+The old governor, it is true, still went to his church, but he appeared
+to be hesitating between two opinions; and once, when he was at dinner,
+he said to two or three English friends that, since he had become better
+acquainted with it, he had conceived a much more favourable opinion
+of the Catholic religion than he had previously entertained.&nbsp; In
+a word, the priest ruled the house, and everything was done according
+to his will and pleasure; by degrees he persuaded the young ladies to
+drop their English acquaintances, whose place he supplied with Italians,
+chiefly females.&nbsp; My poor old governor would not have had a person
+to speak to&mdash;for he never could learn the language&mdash;but for
+two or three Englishmen who used to come occasionally and take a bottle
+with him in a summer-house, whose company he could not be persuaded
+to resign, notwithstanding the entreaties of his daughters, instigated
+by the priest, whose grand endeavour seemed to be to render the minds
+of all three foolish, for his own ends.&nbsp; And if he was busy above
+stairs with the governor, there was another busy below with us poor
+English servants, a kind of subordinate priest, a low Italian; as he
+could speak no language but his own, he was continually jabbering to
+us in that, and by hearing him the maids and myself contrived to pick
+up a good deal of the language, so that we understood most that was
+said, and could speak it very fairly; and the themes of his jabber were
+the beauty and virtues of one whom he called Holy Mary, and the power
+and grandeur of one whom he called the Holy Father; and he told us that
+we should shortly have an opportunity of seeing the Holy Father, who
+could do anything he liked with Holy Mary: in the meantime we had plenty
+of opportunities of seeing Holy Mary, for in every church, chapel, and
+convent to which we were taken, there was an image of Holy Mary, who,
+if the images were dressed at all in her fashion, must have been very
+fond of short petticoats and tinsel, and who, if those said figures
+at all resembled her in face, could scarcely have been half as handsome
+as either of my two fellow-servants, not to speak of the young ladies.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Now it happened that one of the female servants was much taken
+with what she saw and heard, and gave herself up entirely to the will
+of the subordinate, who had quite as much dominion over her as his superior
+had over the ladies; the other maid, however, the one who had a kind
+of respect for me, was not so easily besotted; she used to laugh at
+what she saw, and at what the fellow told her, and from her I learnt
+that amongst other things intended by these priestly confederates was
+robbery; she said that the poor old governor had already been persuaded
+by his daughters to put more than a thousand pounds into the superior
+priest&rsquo;s hands for purposes of charity and religion, as was said,
+and that the subordinate one had already inveigled her fellow-servant
+out of every penny which she had saved from her wages, and had endeavoured
+likewise to obtain what money she herself had, but in vain.&nbsp; With
+respect to myself, the fellow shortly after made an attempt towards
+obtaining a hundred crowns, of which, by some means, he knew me to be
+in possession, telling me what a meritorious thing it was to give one&rsquo;s
+superfluities for the purposes of religion.&nbsp; &ldquo;That is true,&rdquo;
+said I, &ldquo;and if, after my return to my native country, I find
+I have anything which I don&rsquo;t want myself, I will employ it in
+helping to build a Methodist chapel.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;By the time that the three months were expired for which we
+had hired the palace of the needy Prince, the old governor began to
+talk of returning to England, at least of leaving Italy.&nbsp; I believe
+he had become frightened at the calls which were continually being made
+upon him for money; for after all, you know, if there is a sensitive
+part of a man&rsquo;s wearing apparel, it is his breeches pocket; but
+the young ladies could not think of leaving dear Italy and the dear
+priest; and then they had seen nothing of the country, they had only
+seen Naples; before leaving dear Italia they must see more of the country
+and the cities; above all, they must see a place which they called the
+Eternal City, or some similar nonsensical name; and they persisted so
+that the poor governor permitted them, as usual, to have their way;
+and it was decided what route they should take&mdash;that is, the priest
+was kind enough to decide for them, and was also kind enough to promise
+to go with them part of the route, as far as a place where there was
+a wonderful figure of Holy Mary, which the priest said it was highly
+necessary for them to see before visiting the Eternal City: so we left
+Naples in hired carriages, driven by fellows they call veturini, cheating,
+drunken dogs, I remember they were.&nbsp; Besides our own family there
+was the priest and his subordinate, and a couple of hired lackeys.&nbsp;
+We were several days upon the journey, travelling through a very wild
+country, which the ladies pretended to be delighted with, and which
+the governor cursed on account of the badness of the roads; and when
+we came to any particularly wild spot we used to stop, in order to enjoy
+the scenery, as the ladies said; and then we would spread a horse-cloth
+on the ground, and eat bread and cheese, and drink wine of the country.&nbsp;
+And some of the holes and corners in which we bivouacked, as the ladies
+called it, were something like this place where we are now, so that
+when I came down here it put me in mind of them.&nbsp; At last we arrived
+at the place where was the holy image.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We went to the house or chapel in which the holy image was
+kept&mdash;a frightful, ugly black figure of Holy Mary, dressed in her
+usual way; and after we had stared at the figure, and some of our party
+had bowed down to it, we were shown a great many things which were called
+holy relics, which consisted of thumb-nails, and fore-nails, and toe-nails,
+and hair, and teeth, and a feather or two, and a mighty thigh-bone,
+but whether of a man or a camel I can&rsquo;t say; all of which things,
+I was told, if properly touched and handled, had mighty power to cure
+all kinds of disorders.&nbsp; And as we went from the holy house we
+saw a man in a state of great excitement: he was foaming at the mouth,
+and cursing the holy image and all its household, because, after he
+had worshipped it and made offerings to it, and besought it to assist
+him in a game of chance which he was about to play, it had left him
+in the lurch, allowing him to lose all his money.&nbsp; And when I thought
+of all the rubbish I had seen, and the purposes which it was applied
+to, in conjunction with the rage of the losing gamester at the deaf
+and dumb image, I could not help comparing the whole with what my poor
+brother used to tell me of the superstitious practices of the blacks
+on the high Barbary shore, and their occasional rage and fury at the
+things they worshipped; and I said to myself, If all this here doesn&rsquo;t
+smell of fetish, may I smell fetid.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;At this place the priest left us, returning to Naples with
+his subordinate, on some particular business I suppose.&nbsp; It was,
+however, agreed that he should visit us at the Holy City.&nbsp; We did
+not go direct to the Holy City, but bent our course to two or three
+other cities which the family were desirous of seeing; but as nothing
+occurred to us in these places of any particular interest, I shall take
+the liberty of passing them by in silence.&nbsp; At length we arrived
+at the Eternal City: an immense city it was, looking as if it had stood
+for a long time, and would stand for a long time still; compared with
+it, London would look like a mere assemblage of bee-skeps; however,
+give me the bee-skeps with their merry hum and bustle, and life and
+honey, rather than that huge town, which looked like a sepulchre, where
+there was no life, no busy hum, no bees, but a scanty sallow population,
+intermixed with black priests, white priests, gray priests; and though
+I don&rsquo;t say there was no honey in the place, for I believe there
+was, I am ready to take my Bible oath that it was not made there, and
+that the priests kept it all for themselves.</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER XCIX</h2>
+<p>A cloister&mdash;Half English&mdash;New acquaintance&mdash;Mixed
+liquors&mdash;Turning Papist&mdash;Purposes of charity&mdash;Foreign
+religion&mdash;Melancholy&mdash;Elbowing and pushing&mdash;Outlandish
+sight&mdash;The figure&mdash;I don&rsquo;t care for you&mdash;Merry-andrews&mdash;One
+good&mdash;Religion of my country&mdash;Fellow of spirit&mdash;A dispute&mdash;The
+next morning&mdash;Female doll&mdash;Proper dignity&mdash;Fetish country.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The day after our arrival,&rsquo; continued the postilion,
+&lsquo;I was sent, under the guidance of a lackey of the place, with
+a letter, which the priest, when he left, had given us for a friend
+of his in the Eternal City.&nbsp; We went to a large house, and on ringing
+were admitted by a porter into a cloister, where I saw some ill-looking,
+shabby young fellows walking about, who spoke English to one another.&nbsp;
+To one of these the porter delivered the letter, and the young fellow,
+going away, presently returned and told me to follow him; he led me
+into a large room where, behind a table on which were various papers
+and a thing which they call, in that country, a crucifix, sat a man
+in a kind of priestly dress.&nbsp; The lad having opened the door for
+me, shut it behind me, and went away.&nbsp; The man behind the table
+was so engaged in reading the letter which I had brought, that at first
+he took no notice of me; he had red hair, a kind of half-English countenance,
+and was seemingly about five-and-thirty.&nbsp; After a little time he
+laid the letter down, appeared to consider a moment, and then opened
+his mouth with a strange laugh, not a loud laugh, for I heard nothing
+but a kind of hissing deep down the throat; all of a sudden, however,
+perceiving me, he gave a slight start, but, instantly recovering himself,
+he inquired in English concerning the health of the family, and where
+we lived: on my delivering him a card, he bade me inform my master and
+the ladies that in the course of the day he would do himself the honour
+of waiting upon them.&nbsp; He then arose and opened the door for me
+to depart.&nbsp; The man was perfectly civil and courteous, but I did
+not like that strange laugh of his after having read the letter.&nbsp;
+He was as good as his word, and that same day paid us a visit.&nbsp;
+It was now arranged that we should pass the winter in Rome&mdash;to
+my great annoyance, for I wished to return to my native land, being
+heartily tired of everything connected with Italy.&nbsp; I was not,
+however, without hope that our young master would shortly arrive, when
+I trusted that matters, as far as the family were concerned, would be
+put on a better footing.&nbsp; In a few days our new acquaintance, who,
+it seems, was a mongrel Englishman, had procured a house for our accommodation;
+it was large enough, but not near so pleasant as that we had at Naples,
+which was light and airy, with a large garden.&nbsp; This was a dark
+gloomy structure in a narrow street, with a frowning church beside it;
+it was not far from the place where our new friend lived, and its being
+so was probably the reason why he selected it.&nbsp; It was furnished
+partly with articles which we bought, and partly with those which we
+hired.&nbsp; We lived something in the same way as at Naples; but though
+I did not much like Naples, I yet liked it better than this place, which
+was so gloomy.&nbsp; Our new acquaintance made himself as agreeable
+as he could, conducting the ladies to churches and convents, and frequently
+passing the afternoon drinking with the governor, who was fond of a
+glass of brandy and water and a cigar, as the new acquaintance also
+was&mdash;no, I remember, he was fond of gin and water, and did not
+smoke.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t think he had so much influence over the young
+ladies as the other priest, which was, perhaps, owing to his not being
+so good-looking; but I am sure he had more influence with the governor,
+owing, doubtless, to his bearing him company in drinking mixed liquors,
+which the other priest did not do.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He was a strange fellow, that same new acquaintance of ours,
+and unlike all the priests I saw in that country, and I saw plenty of
+various nations; they were always upon their guard, and had their features
+and voice modulated; but this man was subject to fits of absence, during
+which he would frequently mutter to himself, then, though he was perfectly
+civil to everybody, as far as words went, I observed that he entertained
+a thorough contempt for most people, especially for those whom he was
+making dupes.&nbsp; I have observed him whilst drinking with our governor,
+when the old man&rsquo;s head was turned, look at him with an air which
+seemed to say, &ldquo;What a thundering old fool you are&rdquo;; and
+at our young ladies, when their backs were turned, with a glance which
+said distinctly enough, &ldquo;You precious pair of ninnyhammers&rdquo;;
+and then his laugh&mdash;he had two kinds of laughs&mdash;one which
+you could hear, and another which you could only see.&nbsp; I have seen
+him laugh at our governor and the young ladies, when their heads were
+turned away, but I heard no sound.&nbsp; My mother had a sandy cat,
+which sometimes used to open its mouth wide with a mew which nobody
+could hear, and the silent laugh of that red-haired priest used to put
+me wonderfully in mind of the silent mew of my mother&rsquo;s sandy-red
+cat.&nbsp; And then the other laugh, which you could hear; what a strange
+laugh that was, never loud, yes, I have heard it tolerably loud.&nbsp;
+He once passed near me, after having taken leave of a silly English
+fellow&mdash;a limping parson of the name of Platitude, who, they said,
+was thinking of turning Papist, and was much in his company; I was standing
+behind the pillar of a piazza, and as he passed he was laughing heartily.&nbsp;
+O he was a strange fellow, that same red-haired acquaintance of ours!</p>
+<p>&lsquo;After we had been at Rome about six weeks our old friend the
+priest of Naples arrived, but without his subordinate, for whose services
+he now perhaps thought that he had no occasion.&nbsp; I believe he found
+matters in our family wearing almost as favourable an aspect as he could
+desire: with what he had previously taught them and shown them at Naples
+and elsewhere, and with what the red-haired confederate had taught them
+and shown them at Rome, the poor young ladies had become quite handmaids
+of superstition, so that they, especially the youngest, were prepared
+to bow down to anything, and kiss anything, however vile and ugly, provided
+a priest commanded them; and as for the old governor, what with the
+influence which his daughters exerted, and what with the ascendency
+which the red-haired man had obtained over him, he dared not say his
+purse, far less his soul, was his own.&nbsp; Only think of an Englishman
+not being master of his own purse!&nbsp; My acquaintance, the lady&rsquo;s
+maid, assured me that, to her certain knowledge, he had disbursed to
+the red-haired man, for purposes of charity, as it was said, at least
+one thousand pounds during the five weeks we had been at Rome.&nbsp;
+She also told me that things would shortly be brought to a conclusion&mdash;and
+so indeed they were, though in a different manner from what she and
+I and some other people imagined; that there was to be a grand festival,
+and a mass, at which we were to be present, after which the family were
+to be presented to the Holy Father, for so those two priestly sharks
+had managed it; and then . . . she said she was certain that the two
+ladies, and perhaps the old governor, would forsake the religion of
+their native land, taking up with that of these foreign regions, for
+so my fellow-servant expressed it, and that perhaps attempts might be
+made to induce us poor English servants to take up with the foreign
+religion, that is herself and me, for as for our fellow-servant, the
+other maid, she wanted no inducing, being disposed body and soul to
+go over to it.&nbsp; Whereupon I swore with an oath that nothing should
+induce me to take up with the foreign religion; and the poor maid, my
+fellow-servant, bursting into tears, said that for her part she would
+die sooner than have anything to do with it; thereupon we shook hands
+and agreed to stand by and countenance one another: and moreover, provided
+our governors were fools enough to go over to the religion of these
+here foreigners, we would not wait to be asked to do the like, but leave
+them at once, and make the best of our way home, even if we were forced
+to beg on the road.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;At last the day of the grand festival came, and we were all
+to go to the big church to hear the mass.&nbsp; Now it happened that
+for some time past I had been much afflicted with melancholy, especially
+when I got up of a morning, produced by the strange manner in which
+I saw things going on in our family; and to dispel it in some degree,
+I had been in the habit of taking a dram before breakfast.&nbsp; On
+the morning in question, feeling particularly low spirited when I thought
+of the foolish step our governor would probably take before evening,
+I took two drams before breakfast; and after breakfast, feeling my melancholy
+still continuing, I took another, which produced a slight effect upon
+my head, though I am convinced nobody observed it.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Away we drove to the big church; it was a dark misty day,
+I remember, and very cold, so that if anybody had noticed my being slightly
+in liquor, I could have excused myself by saying that I had merely taken
+a glass to fortify my constitution against the weather; and of one thing
+I am certain, which is, that such an excuse would have stood me in stead
+with our governor, who looked, I thought, as if he had taken one too;
+but I may be mistaken, and why should I notice him, seeing that he took
+no notice of me? so away we drove to the big church, to which all the
+population of the place appeared to be moving.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;On arriving there we dismounted, and the two priests, who
+were with us, led the family in, whilst I followed at a little distance,
+but quickly lost them amidst the throng of people.&nbsp; I made my way,
+however, though in what direction I knew not, except it was one in which
+everybody seemed striving, and by dint of elbowing and pushing I at
+last got to a place which looked like the aisle of a cathedral, where
+the people stood in two rows, a space between being kept open by certain
+strangely-dressed men who moved up and down with rods in their hands;
+all were looking to the upper end of this place or aisle; and at the
+upper end, separated from the people by palings like those of an altar,
+sat in magnificent-looking stalls, on the right and the left, various
+wonderful-looking individuals in scarlet dresses.&nbsp; At the farther
+end was what appeared to be an altar, on the left hand was a pulpit,
+and on the right a stall higher than any of the rest, where was a figure
+whom I could scarcely see.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I can&rsquo;t pretend to describe what I saw exactly, for
+my head, which was at first rather flurried, had become more so from
+the efforts which I had made to get through the crowd; also from certain
+singing, which proceeded from I know not where; and, above all, from
+the bursts of an organ, which were occasionally so loud that I thought
+the roof, which was painted with wondrous colours, would come toppling
+down on those below.&nbsp; So there stood I&mdash;a poor English servant&mdash;in
+that outlandish place, in the midst of that foreign crowd, looking at
+that outlandish sight, hearing those outlandish sounds, and occasionally
+glancing at our party, which, by this time, I distinguished at the opposite
+side to where I stood, but much nearer the place where the red figures
+sat.&nbsp; Yes, there stood our poor governor and the sweet young ladies,
+and I thought they never looked so handsome before; and close by them
+were the sharking priests, and not far from them was that idiotical
+parson Platitude, winking and grinning, and occasionally lifting up
+his hands as if in ecstasy at what he saw and heard, so that he drew
+upon himself the notice of the congregation.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And now an individual mounted the pulpit, and began to preach
+in a language which I did not understand, but which I believe to be
+Latin, addressing himself seemingly to the figure in the stall; and
+when he had ceased, there was more singing, more organ-playing, and
+then two men in robes brought forth two things which they held up; and
+then the people bowed their heads, and our poor governor bowed his head,
+and the sweet young ladies bowed their heads, and the sharking priests,
+whilst the idiotical parson Platitude tried to fling himself down; and
+then there were various evolutions withinside the pale, and the scarlet
+figures got up and sat down; and this kind of thing continued for some
+time.&nbsp; At length the figure which I had seen in the principal stall
+came forth and advanced towards the people; an awful figure he was,
+a huge old man with a sugar-loaf hat, with a sulphur-coloured dress,
+and holding a crook in his hand like that of a shepherd; and as he advanced
+the people fell on their knees, our poor old governor amongst them;
+the sweet young ladies, the sharking priests, the idiotical parson Platitude,
+all fell on their knees, and somebody or other tried to pull me on my
+knees; but by this time I had become outrageous; all that my poor brother
+used to tell me of the superstitions of the high Barbary shore rushed
+into my mind, and I thought they were acting them over here; above all,
+the idea that the sweet young ladies, to say nothing of my poor old
+governor, were, after the conclusion of all this mummery, going to deliver
+themselves up body and soul into the power of that horrid-looking old
+man, maddened me, and, rushing forward into the open space, I confronted
+the horrible-looking old figure with the sugar-loaf hat, the sulphur-coloured
+garments, and shepherd&rsquo;s crook, and shaking my fist at his nose,
+I bellowed out in English&mdash;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t care for you, old Mumbo Jumbo, though
+you have fetish!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I can scarcely tell you what occurred for some time.&nbsp;
+I have a dim recollection that hands were laid upon me, and that I struck
+out violently left and right.&nbsp; On coming to myself, I was seated
+on a stone bench in a large room, something like a guard-room, in the
+custody of certain fellows dressed like Merry-andrews; they were bluff,
+good-looking, wholesome fellows, very different from the sallow Italians:
+they were looking at me attentively, and occasionally talking to each
+other in a language which sounded very like the cracking of walnuts
+in the mouth, very different from cooing Italian.&nbsp; At last one
+of them asked me in Italian what had ailed me, to which I replied, in
+an incoherent manner, something about Mumbo Jumbo; whereupon the fellow,
+one of the bluffest of the lot, a jovial rosy-faced rascal, lifted up
+his right hand, placing it in such a manner that the lips were between
+the fore-finger and thumb, then lifting up his right foot and drawing
+back his head, he sucked in his breath with a hissing sound, as if to
+imitate one drinking a hearty draught, and then slapped me on the shoulder,
+saying something which sounded like goot wine, goot companion, whereupon
+they all laughed, exclaiming, ya, ya, goot companion.&nbsp; And now
+hurried into the room our poor old governor, with the red-haired priest.&nbsp;
+The first asked what could have induced me to behave in such a manner
+in such a place, to which I replied that I was not going to bow down
+to Mumbo Jumbo, whatever other people might do.&nbsp; Whereupon my master
+said he believed I was mad, and the priest said he believed I was drunk;
+to which I answered that I was neither so mad nor drunk but I could
+distinguish how the wind lay.&nbsp; Whereupon they left me, and in a
+little time I was told by the bluff-looking Merry-andrews I was at liberty
+to depart.&nbsp; I believe the priest, in order to please my governor,
+interceded for me in high quarters.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But one good resulted from this affair; there was no presentation
+of our family to the Holy Father, for old Mumbo was so frightened by
+my outrageous looks that he was laid up for a week, as I was afterwards
+informed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I went home, and had scarcely been there half an hour when
+I was sent for by the governor, who again referred to the scene in church,
+said that he could not tolerate such scandalous behaviour, and that
+unless I promised to be more circumspect in future, he should be compelled
+to discharge me.&nbsp; I said that if he was scandalised at my behaviour
+in the church, I was more scandalised at all I saw going on in the family,
+which was governed by two rascally priests, who, not content with plundering
+him, appeared bent on hurrying the souls of us all to destruction; and
+that with respect to discharging me, he could do so that moment, as
+I wished to go.&nbsp; I believe his own reason told him that I was right,
+for he made no direct answer, but, after looking on the ground for some
+time, he told me to leave him.&nbsp; As he did not tell me to leave
+the house, I went to my room, intending to lie down for an hour or two;
+but scarcely was I there when the door opened, and in came the red-haired
+priest.&nbsp; He showed himself, as he always did, perfectly civil,
+asked me how I was, took a chair and sat down.&nbsp; After a hem or
+two he entered into a long conversation on the excellence of what he
+called the Catholic religion; told me that he hoped I would not set
+myself against the light, and likewise against my interest; for that
+the family were about to embrace the Catholic religion, and would make
+it worth my while to follow their example.&nbsp; I told him that the
+family might do what they pleased, but that I would never forsake the
+religion of my country for any consideration whatever; that I was nothing
+but a poor servant, but I was not to be bought by base gold.&nbsp; &ldquo;I
+admire your honourable feelings,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;you shall have
+no gold; and as I see you are a fellow of spirit, and do not like being
+a servant, for which I commend you, I can promise you something better.&nbsp;
+I have a good deal of influence in this place, and if you will not set
+your face against the light, but embrace the Catholic religion, I will
+undertake to make your fortune.&nbsp; You remember those fine fellows
+to-day who took you into custody, they are the guards of his Holiness.&nbsp;
+I have no doubt that I have interest enough to procure your enrolment
+amongst them.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;What,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;become
+swashbuckler to Mumbo Jumbo up here!&nbsp; May I . . .&rdquo;&mdash;and
+here I swore&mdash;&ldquo;if I do.&nbsp; The mere possibility of one
+of their children being swashbuckler to Mumbo Jumbo on the high Barbary
+shore has always been a source of heart-breaking to my poor parents.&nbsp;
+What, then, would they not undergo, if they knew for certain that their
+other child was swashbuckler to Mumbo Jumbo up here?&rdquo;&nbsp; Thereupon
+he asked me, even as you did some time ago, what I meant by Mumbo Jumbo.&nbsp;
+And I told him all I had heard about the Mumbo Jumbo of the high Barbary
+shore; telling him that I had no doubt that the old fellow up here was
+his brother, or nearly related to him.&nbsp; The man with the red hair
+listened with the greatest attention to all I said, and when I had concluded,
+he got up, nodded to me, and moved to the door; ere he reached the door
+I saw his shoulders shaking, and as he closed it behind him I heard
+him distinctly laughing, to the tune of&mdash;he! he! he!</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But now matters began to mend.&nbsp; That same evening my
+young master unexpectedly arrived.&nbsp; I believe he soon perceived
+that something extraordinary had been going on in the family.&nbsp;
+He was for some time closeted with the governor, with whom, I believe,
+he had a dispute; for my fellow-servant, the lady&rsquo;s maid, informed
+me that she heard high words.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Rather late at night the young gentleman sent for me into
+his room, and asked me various questions with respect to what had been
+going on, and my behaviour in the church, of which he had heard something.&nbsp;
+I told him all I knew with respect to the intrigues of the two priests
+in the family, and gave him a circumstantial account of all that had
+occurred in the church; adding that, under similar circumstances, I
+was ready to play the same part over again.&nbsp; Instead of blaming
+me, he commended my behaviour, told me I was a fine fellow, and said
+he hoped that, if he wanted my assistance, I would stand by him: this
+I promised to do.&nbsp; Before I left him, he entreated me to inform
+him the very next time I saw the priests entering the house.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The next morning, as I was in the courtyard, where I had placed
+myself to watch, I saw the two enter and make their way up a private
+stair to the young ladies&rsquo; apartment; they were attended by a
+man dressed something like a priest, who bore a large box; I instantly
+ran to relate what I had seen to my young master.&nbsp; I found him
+shaving.&nbsp; &ldquo;I will just finish what I am about,&rdquo; said
+he, &ldquo;and then wait upon these gentlemen.&rdquo;&nbsp; He finished
+what he was about with great deliberation; then taking a horsewhip,
+and bidding me follow him, he proceeded at once to the door of his sisters&rsquo;
+apartment: finding it fastened, he burst it open at once with his foot
+and entered, followed by myself.&nbsp; There we beheld the two unfortunate
+young ladies down on their knees before a large female doll, dressed
+up, as usual, in rags and tinsel; the two priests were standing near,
+one on either side, with their hands uplifted, whilst the fellow who
+brought the trumpery stood a little way down the private stair, the
+door of which stood open; without a moment&rsquo;s hesitation, my young
+master rushed forward, gave the image a cut or two with his horsewhip&mdash;then
+flying at the priests, he gave them a sound flogging, kicked them down
+the private stair, and spurned the man, box and image after them&mdash;then
+locking the door, he gave his sisters a fine sermon, in which he represented
+to them their folly in worshipping a silly wooden graven image, which,
+though it had eyes, could see not; though it had ears, could hear not;
+though it had hands, could not help itself; and though it had feet,
+could not move about unless it were carried.&nbsp; Oh, it was a fine
+sermon that my young master preached, and sorry I am that the Father
+of the Fetish, old Mumbo, did not hear it.&nbsp; The elder sister looked
+ashamed, but the youngest, who was very weak, did nothing but wring
+her hands, weep and bewail the injury which had been done to the dear
+image.&nbsp; The young man, however, without paying much regard to either
+of them, went to his father, with whom he had a long conversation, which
+terminated in the old governor giving orders for preparations to be
+made for the family&rsquo;s leaving Rome and returning to England.&nbsp;
+I believe that the old governor was glad of his son&rsquo;s arrival,
+and rejoiced at the idea of getting away from Italy, where he had been
+so plundered and imposed upon.&nbsp; The priests, however, made another
+attempt upon the poor young ladies.&nbsp; By the connivance of the female
+servant who was in their interest they found their way once more into
+their apartment, bringing with them the fetish image, whose body they
+partly stripped, exhibiting upon it certain sanguine marks which they
+had daubed upon it with red paint, but which they said were the result
+of the lashes which it had received from the horsewhip.&nbsp; The youngest
+girl believed all they said, and kissed and embraced the dear image;
+but the eldest, whose eyes had been opened by her brother, to whom she
+was much attached, behaved with proper dignity; for, going to the door,
+she called the female servant who had a respect for me, and in her presence
+reproached the two deceivers for their various impudent cheats, and
+especially for this their last attempt at imposition; adding that if
+they did not forthwith withdraw and rid her sister and herself of their
+presence, she would send word by her maid to her brother, who would
+presently take effectual means to expel them.&nbsp; They took the hint
+and departed, and we saw no more of them.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;At the end of three days we departed from Rome, but the maid
+whom the priests had cajoled remained behind, and it is probable that
+the youngest of our ladies would have done the same thing if she could
+have had her own will, for she was continually raving about her image,
+and saying she should wish to live with it in a convent; but we watched
+the poor thing, and got her on board ship.&nbsp; Oh, glad was I to leave
+that fetish country and old Mumbo behind me!</p>
+<h2>CHAPTER C</h2>
+<p>Nothing but gloom&mdash;Sporting character&mdash;Gouty Tory&mdash;Servants&rsquo;
+Club&mdash;Politics&mdash;Reformado footman&mdash;Peroration&mdash;Good-night.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We arrived in England, and went to our country seat, but the
+peace and tranquillity of the family had been marred, and I no longer
+found my place the pleasant one which it had formerly been; there was
+nothing but gloom in the house, for the youngest daughter exhibited
+signs of lunacy, and was obliged to be kept under confinement.&nbsp;
+The next season I attended my master, his son, and eldest daughter to
+London, as I had previously done.&nbsp; There I left them, for hearing
+that a young baronet, an acquaintance of the family, wanted a servant,
+I applied for the place, with the consent of my masters, both of whom
+gave me a strong recommendation; and, being approved of, I went to live
+with him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My new master was what is called a sporting character, very
+fond of the turf, upon which he was not very fortunate.&nbsp; He was
+frequently very much in want of money, and my wages were anything but
+regularly paid; nevertheless, I liked him very much, for he treated
+me more like a friend than a domestic, continually consulting me as
+to his affairs.&nbsp; At length he was brought nearly to his last shifts,
+by backing the favourite at the Derby, which favourite turned out a
+regular brute, being found nowhere at the rush.&nbsp; Whereupon, he
+and I had a solemn consultation over fourteen glasses of brandy and
+water, and as many cigars&mdash;I mean, between us&mdash;as to what
+was to be done.&nbsp; He wished to start a coach, in which event he
+was to be driver, and I guard.&nbsp; He was quite competent to drive
+a coach, being a first-rate whip, and I daresay I should have made a
+first-rate guard; but, to start a coach requires money, and we neither
+of us believed that anybody would trust us with vehicles and horses,
+so that idea was laid aside.&nbsp; We then debated as to whether or
+not he should go into the Church; but to go into the Church&mdash;at
+any rate to become a dean or bishop, which would have been our aim&mdash;it
+is necessary for a man to possess some education; and my master, although
+he had been at the best school in England, that is, the most expensive,
+and also at College, was almost totally illiterate, so we let the Church
+scheme follow that of the coach.&nbsp; At last, bethinking me that he
+was tolerably glib at the tongue, as most people are who are addicted
+to the turf, also a great master of slang; remembering also that he
+had a crabbed old uncle, who had some borough interest, I proposed that
+he should get into the House, promising in one fortnight to qualify
+him to make a figure in it, by certain lessons which I would give him.&nbsp;
+He consented; and during the next fortnight I did little else than give
+him lessons in elocution, following to a tittle the method of the great
+professor, which I had picked up, listening behind the door.&nbsp; At
+the end of that period we paid a visit to his relation, an old gouty
+Tory, who at first received us very coolly.&nbsp; My master, however,
+by flattering a predilection of his for Billy Pitt, soon won his affections
+so much that he promised to bring him into Parliament; and in less than
+a month was as good as his word.&nbsp; My master, partly by his own
+qualifications, and partly by the assistance which he had derived, and
+still occasionally derived, from me, cut a wonderful figure in the House,
+and was speedily considered one of the most promising speakers; he was
+always a good hand at promising&mdash;he is at present, I believe, a
+Cabinet minister.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But as he got up in the world he began to look down on me.&nbsp;
+I believe he was ashamed of the obligation under which he lay to me;
+and at last, requiring no further hints as to oratory from a poor servant
+like me, he took an opportunity of quarrelling with me and discharging
+me.&nbsp; However, as he had still some grace, he recommended me to
+a gentleman with whom, since he had attached himself to politics, he
+had formed an acquaintance, the editor of a grand Tory Review.&nbsp;
+I lost caste terribly amongst the servants for entering the service
+of a person connected with a profession so mean as literature; and it
+was proposed at the Servants&rsquo; Club, in Park Lane, to eject me
+from that society.&nbsp; The proposition, however, was not carried into
+effect, and I was permitted to show myself among them, though few condescended
+to take much notice of me.&nbsp; My master was one of the best men in
+the world, but also one of the most sensitive.&nbsp; On his veracity
+being impugned by the editor of a newspaper, he called him out, and
+shot him through the arm.&nbsp; Though servants are seldom admirers
+of their masters, I was a great admirer of mine, and eager to follow
+his example.&nbsp; The day after the encounter, on my veracity being
+impugned by the servant of Lord C--- in something I said in praise of
+my master, I determined to call him out; so I went into another room
+and wrote a challenge.&nbsp; But whom should I send it by?&nbsp; Several
+servants to whom I applied refused to be the bearers of it; they said
+I had lost caste, and they could not think of going out with me.&nbsp;
+At length the servant of the Duke of B--- consented to take it; but
+he made me to understand that, though he went out with me, he did so
+merely because he despised the Whiggish principles of Lord C---&rsquo;s
+servant, and that if I thought he intended to associate with me I should
+be mistaken.&nbsp; Politics, I must tell you, at that time ran as high
+amongst the servants as the gentlemen, the servants, however, being
+almost invariably opposed to the politics of their respective masters,
+though both parties agreed in one point, the scouting of everything
+low and literary, though I think, of the two, the liberal or reform
+party were the most inveterate.&nbsp; So he took my challenge, which
+was accepted; we went out, Lord C---&rsquo;s servant being seconded
+by a reformado footman from the palace.&nbsp; We fired three times without
+effect; but this affair lost me my place; my master on hearing it forthwith
+discharged me; he was, as I have said before, very sensitive, and he
+said this duel of mine was a parody of his own.&nbsp; Being, however,
+one of the best men in the world, on his discharging me he made me a
+donation of twenty pounds.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And it was well that he made me this present, for without
+it I should have been penniless, having contracted rather expensive
+habits during the time that I lived with the young baronet.&nbsp; I
+now determined to visit my parents, whom I had not seen for years.&nbsp;
+I found them in good health, and, after staying with them for two months,
+I returned again in the direction of town, walking, in order to see
+the country.&nbsp; On the second day of my journey, not being used to
+such fatigue, I fell ill at a great inn on the north road, and there
+I continued for some weeks till I recovered, but by that time my money
+was entirely spent.&nbsp; By living at the inn I had contracted an acquaintance
+with the master and the people, and become accustomed to inn life.&nbsp;
+As I thought that I might find some difficulty in procuring any desirable
+situation in London, owing to my late connection with literature, I
+determined to remain where I was, provided my services would be accepted.&nbsp;
+I offered them to the master, who, finding I knew something of horses,
+engaged me as a postilion.&nbsp; I have remained there since.&nbsp;
+You have now heard my story.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Stay, you shan&rsquo;t say that I told my tale without a per&mdash;peroration.&nbsp;
+What shall it be?&nbsp; Oh, I remember something which will serve for
+one.&nbsp; As I was driving my chaise some weeks ago, I saw standing
+at the gate of an avenue, which led up to an old mansion, a figure which
+I thought I recognised.&nbsp; I looked at it attentively, and the figure,
+as I passed, looked at me; whether it remembered me I do not know, but
+I recognised the face it showed me full well.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If it was not the identical face of the red-haired priest
+whom I had seen at Rome, may I catch cold!</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Young gentleman, I will now take a spell on your blanket&mdash;young
+lady, good-night.&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="footnote5"></a><a href="#citation5">{5}</a>&nbsp; &lsquo;In
+Cornwall are the best gentlemen.&rsquo;&mdash;<i>Corn. Prov</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote19"></a><a href="#citation19">{19}</a>&nbsp; Norwegian
+ells&mdash;about eight feet.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote143"></a><a href="#citation143">{143}</a>&nbsp;
+Klopstock.</p>
+<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAVENGRO***</p>
+<pre>
+
+
+***** This file should be named 452-h.htm or 452-h.zip******
+
+
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/5/452
+
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+http://www.gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at http://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit:
+http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     http://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
+</pre></body>
+</html>
diff --git a/452-h/images/page0b.jpg b/452-h/images/page0b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..eb6fc1e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page0b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page0s.jpg b/452-h/images/page0s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1fc377c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page0s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page112b.jpg b/452-h/images/page112b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0fe935b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page112b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page112s.jpg b/452-h/images/page112s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fe3ee49
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page112s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page115b.jpg b/452-h/images/page115b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1c288f5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page115b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page115s.jpg b/452-h/images/page115s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4c3d2e7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page115s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page122b.jpg b/452-h/images/page122b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..85a7b3c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page122b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page122s.jpg b/452-h/images/page122s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..eafe337
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page122s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page124b.jpg b/452-h/images/page124b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a9c7853
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page124b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page124s.jpg b/452-h/images/page124s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..33e0dc3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page124s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page13b.jpg b/452-h/images/page13b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..21e657d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page13b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page13s.jpg b/452-h/images/page13s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..28b7e5d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page13s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page171b.jpg b/452-h/images/page171b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dd1348b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page171b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page171s.jpg b/452-h/images/page171s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c8ddfa3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page171s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page179b.jpg b/452-h/images/page179b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c8c2981
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page179b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page179s.jpg b/452-h/images/page179s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f08aebc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page179s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page18b.jpg b/452-h/images/page18b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..adcd31d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page18b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page18s.jpg b/452-h/images/page18s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9de9f29
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page18s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page192b.jpg b/452-h/images/page192b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b4ceb98
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page192b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page192s.jpg b/452-h/images/page192s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f08e218
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page192s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page203b.jpg b/452-h/images/page203b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7d147b0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page203b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page203s.jpg b/452-h/images/page203s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..67181a7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page203s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page209b.jpg b/452-h/images/page209b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7cd7986
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page209b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page209s.jpg b/452-h/images/page209s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5e016e4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page209s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page217b.jpg b/452-h/images/page217b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b90021b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page217b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page217s.jpg b/452-h/images/page217s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1828f04
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page217s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page223b.jpg b/452-h/images/page223b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b6a64bb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page223b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page223s.jpg b/452-h/images/page223s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7bd1d31
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page223s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page228b.jpg b/452-h/images/page228b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4cad3d5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page228b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page228s.jpg b/452-h/images/page228s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..18844d1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page228s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page304b.jpg b/452-h/images/page304b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..88e2fc0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page304b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page304s.jpg b/452-h/images/page304s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4dc02aa
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page304s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page307b.jpg b/452-h/images/page307b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..adff20d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page307b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page307s.jpg b/452-h/images/page307s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4c63464
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page307s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page31b.jpg b/452-h/images/page31b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cc2396a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page31b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page31s.jpg b/452-h/images/page31s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..90c2bf3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page31s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page321b.jpg b/452-h/images/page321b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f11d7d7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page321b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page321s.jpg b/452-h/images/page321s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c2750e0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page321s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page326b.jpg b/452-h/images/page326b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2bdaf7b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page326b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page326s.jpg b/452-h/images/page326s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d44a9b2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page326s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page329b.jpg b/452-h/images/page329b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..53ee55b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page329b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page329s.jpg b/452-h/images/page329s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4d1a8f7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page329s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page338b.jpg b/452-h/images/page338b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..859f9f7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page338b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page338s.jpg b/452-h/images/page338s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6b6177b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page338s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page369b.jpg b/452-h/images/page369b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3c07841
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page369b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page369s.jpg b/452-h/images/page369s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e319c75
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page369s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page36b.jpg b/452-h/images/page36b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c8aa36c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page36b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page36s.jpg b/452-h/images/page36s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8631d30
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page36s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page371b.jpg b/452-h/images/page371b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5a368cc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page371b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page371s.jpg b/452-h/images/page371s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..85af475
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page371s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page373b.jpg b/452-h/images/page373b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..53fe63d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page373b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page373s.jpg b/452-h/images/page373s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1c252d6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page373s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page393b.jpg b/452-h/images/page393b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3301aff
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page393b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page393s.jpg b/452-h/images/page393s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9cd83d5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page393s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page396b.jpg b/452-h/images/page396b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7e998a0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page396b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page396s.jpg b/452-h/images/page396s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..87cbe61
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page396s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page40b.jpg b/452-h/images/page40b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9bc8810
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page40b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page40s.jpg b/452-h/images/page40s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..47b9aa4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page40s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page454b.jpg b/452-h/images/page454b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..283828d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page454b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page454s.jpg b/452-h/images/page454s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dc779ee
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page454s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page456b.jpg b/452-h/images/page456b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..528c6b2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page456b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page456s.jpg b/452-h/images/page456s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..04869ce
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page456s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page463b.jpg b/452-h/images/page463b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7862a0b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page463b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page463s.jpg b/452-h/images/page463s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4d0a580
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page463s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page472b.jpg b/452-h/images/page472b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f1f3d9c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page472b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page472s.jpg b/452-h/images/page472s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..759a5d8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page472s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page47b.jpg b/452-h/images/page47b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..93b0583
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page47b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page47s.jpg b/452-h/images/page47s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bc97923
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page47s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page480b.jpg b/452-h/images/page480b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2a40786
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page480b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page480s.jpg b/452-h/images/page480s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b8a3f21
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page480s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page483b.jpg b/452-h/images/page483b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3a7824f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page483b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page483s.jpg b/452-h/images/page483s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e86a7f9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page483s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page485b.jpg b/452-h/images/page485b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fa32821
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page485b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page485s.jpg b/452-h/images/page485s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b880102
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page485s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page488b.jpg b/452-h/images/page488b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2f2c000
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page488b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page488s.jpg b/452-h/images/page488s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..672a938
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page488s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page491b.jpg b/452-h/images/page491b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fb0dcbc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page491b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page491s.jpg b/452-h/images/page491s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..504c3e4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page491s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page538b.jpg b/452-h/images/page538b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0348a04
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page538b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page538s.jpg b/452-h/images/page538s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..72bc2d5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page538s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page540b.jpg b/452-h/images/page540b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..73b6876
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page540b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page540s.jpg b/452-h/images/page540s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4472234
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page540s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page543b.jpg b/452-h/images/page543b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ea36f4f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page543b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page543s.jpg b/452-h/images/page543s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8fabd59
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page543s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page552b.jpg b/452-h/images/page552b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b703151
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page552b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page552s.jpg b/452-h/images/page552s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4c027e8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page552s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page557b.jpg b/452-h/images/page557b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2125eb2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page557b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page557s.jpg b/452-h/images/page557s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4811106
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page557s.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page94b.jpg b/452-h/images/page94b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4d92190
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page94b.jpg
diff --git a/452-h/images/page94s.jpg b/452-h/images/page94s.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dd7e7c3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/452-h/images/page94s.jpg
author	Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org>	2025-10-15 05:15:01 -0700
committer	Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org>	2025-10-15 05:15:01 -0700
commit	fd63059c32a801400018cd0d37aee0dc6e63e64f (patch)
tree	5b2fa7525e5a27378046173da660391aba2d9ebf /452-h