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As I worked at my little theory, with all the ingenuity I knew how to employ on such occasions, I perceived that he had put up his newspaper, and was gathering together, in old traveller fashion, the odds and ends of his baggage.

“Here we are,” said he, as we glided into the station, “and in capital time too. Don’t trouble yourself about your traps. My steward will be here presently, and take all your things down to the packet along with my own. Our steam is up; so lose no time in getting aboard.”

I had never less inclination to play the loiterer. The odious attaché was still in my neighborhood, and until I had got clear out of his reach I felt anything but security. He, I remembered, was for Calais, so that, by taking the Ostend boat, I was at once separating myself from his detestable companionship. I not only, therefore, accepted the captain’s offer to leave all my effects to the charge of the steward; but no sooner had the train stopped, than I sprang out, hastened through the thronged station, and made at all my speed for the harbor.

Is it to increase the impediments to quitting one’s country, and, by interposing difficulties, to give the exile additional occasion to think twice about expatriating himself, that the way from the railroad to the dock at Dover is made so circuitous and almost impossible to discover? Are these obstacles invented in the spirit of those official details which make banns on the church-door, and a delay of three weeks precede a marriage, as though to say, Halt, impetuous youth, and bethink you whither you are going? Are these amongst the wise precautions of a truly paternal rule? If so, they must occasionally even transcend the original intention, for when I reached the pier, the packet had already begun to move, and it was only by a vigorous leap that I gained the paddle-box, and thus scrambled on board.

“Like every one of you,” growled out my weather-beaten friend; “always within an ace of being left behind.”

“Every one of us!” muttered I. “What can he have known of the Potts family, that he dares to describe us thus characteristically? And who ever presumed to call us loiterers or sluggards?”

“Step down below, as I told you,” whispered he. “It’s a dirty night, and we shall have bucketing weather outside.” And with this friendly hint I at once complied, and stole down the ladder. “Show that gentleman into my stateroom, steward,” called he out from above. “Mix him something warm, and look after him.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” was the brisk reply, as the bustling man of brandy and basins threw open a small door, and ushered me into a little den, with a mingled odor of tar, Stilton, and wet mackintoshes. “All to yourself here, sir,” said he, and vanished.

CHAPTER XI. A JEALOUS HUSBAND

I take it for granted that all special “charities” have had their origin in some specific suffering. At least, I can aver that my first thought on landing at Ostend was, “Why has no great philanthropist thought of establishing such an institution as a Refuge for the Sea-sick?” I declare this publicly, that if I ever become rich, – a consummation which, looking to the general gentleness of my instincts, the wide benevolence of my nature, and the kindliness of my temperament, mankind might well rejoice at, – if, I repeat, I ever become rich, one of the first uses of my affluence will be to endow such an establishment. I will place it in some one of our popular ports, say Southampton. Surrounded with all the charms of inland scenery, rich in every rustic association, the patient shall never be reminded of the scene of his late sufferings. A velvety turf to stroll on, with a leafy shade above his-head, the mellow lowing of cattle in his ears, and the fragrant odors of meadow-sweet and hawthorn around, I would recall the sufferer from the dread memories of the slippery deck, the sea-washed stairs, or the sleepy state-room. For the rattle of cordage, and the hoarse trumpet of the skipper, I would substitute the song of the thrush or the blackbird; and, instead of the thrice odious steward and his basin, I would have trim maidens of pleasing aspect to serve him with syllabubs. I will not go on to say the hundred device» I would employ to cheat memory out of a gloomy record, for I treasure the hope that I may yet live to carry out my theory, and have a copyright in my invention.

It was with sentiments deeply tinctured by the above that I tottered, rather than walked, towards the “Hôtel Royal.” It was a bright moonlight night, and, as if in mockery of the weather outside, as still and calm as might be. Many a picturesque effect of light and shade met me as I went: quaint old gables flaring in a strong flood of moonlight, showed outlines the strangest and oddest; twinkling lamps shone out of tall, dark-sided, old houses, from which strains of music came plaintively enough in the night air; the sounds of a prolonged revel rose loudly out of that deep-pillared chateau-like building in the Place, and in the quiet alley adjoining, I could catch the low song of a mother as she tried to sing her baby to sleep. It was all human in every touch and strain of it And did I not drink it in with rapture? Was it not in a transport of gratitude that I thanked Fortune for once again restoring me to land? “O Earth, Earth!” says the Greek poet, “how art thou interwoven with that nature that first came from thee!” Thus musing, I reached the inn, where, though the hour was a late one, the household was all active and astir.

“Many passengers arrived, waiter?” said I, in the easy, careless voice of one who would not own to sea-sickness.

“Very few, sir; the severe weather has deterred several from venturing across.”

“Any ladies?”

“Only one, sir; and, poor thing! she seems to have suffered fearfully. She had to be carried from the boat, and when she tried to walk upstairs, she almost fainted. There might have been some agitation, however, in that, for she expected some one to have met her here; and when she heard that he had not arrived, she was completely overcome.”

“Very sad, indeed,” said I, examining the carte for supper.

“Oh yes, sir; and being in deep mourning, too, and a stranger away for the first time from her country.”

I started, and felt my heart bounding against my side.

“What was it you said about deep mourning, and being young and beautiful?” asked I, eagerly.

“Only the mourning, sir, – it was only the mourning I mentioned; for she kept her veil close down, and would not suffer her face to be seen.”

“Bashful as beautiful! modest as she is fair!” muttered I. “Do you happen to know whither she is going?”

“Yes, sir; her luggage is marked ‘Brussels.’”

“It is she! It is herself!” cried I, in rapture, as I turned away, lest the fellow should notice my emotion. “When does she leave this?”

“She seems doubtful, sir; she told the landlady that she is going to reside at Brussels; but never having been abroad before, she is naturally timid about travelling even so far alone.”

“Gentle creature! why should she be exposed to such hazards? Bring me some of this fricandeau with chiccory, waiter, and a pint of Beaune; fried potatoes too. – Would that I could tell her to fear nothing!” thought I. “Would that I could just whisper, ‘Potts is here; Potts watches over you; Potts will be that friend, that brother, that should have come to meet you! Sleep soundly, and with a head at ease. You are neither friendless nor forsaken!’” I feel I must be naturally a creature of benevolent instincts; for I am never so truly happy as when engaged in a work of kindness. Let me but suggest to myself a labor of charity, some occasion to sorrow with the afflicted, to rally the weak-hearted, and to succor the wretched, and I am infinitely more delighted than by all the blandishment of what is called “society.” Men have their allotted parts in life, just as certain fruits are meet for certain climates. Mine was the grand comforting line. Nature meant me for a consoler. I have none of those impulsive temperaments which make what are called jolly fellows. I have no taste for those excesses which go by the name of conviviality. I can, it is true, be witty, anecdotic, and agreeable; I can spice conversation with epigram, and illustrate argument by apt example; but my forte is tenderness.

“Is not this veal a little tough, waiter?” said I, in gentle remonstrance.

“Monsieur is right,” said he, bowing; “but if a morsel of cold pheasant would be acceptable – mademoiselle, the lady in mourning, has just taken a wing of it – ”

“Bring it directly. – Oh, ecstasy of ecstasies! We are then, as it were, supping together – served from the same dish! – May I have the honor?” said I, filling ont a glass of wine and bowing respectfully And with an air of deep devotion across the table. The pheasant was exquisite, and I ate with an epicurean enjoyment. I called for another pint of Beaune too. It was an occasion for some indulgence, and I could not deny myself. No sooner had the waiter left me alone, than I burst into an expansive acknowledgment of my happiness. “Yes, Potts,” said I, “you are richer in that temperament of yours than if you owned half California. That boundless wealth of good intentions is a well no pumping can exhaust. Go on doing imaginary good forever. You are never the poorer for all the orphans you support, all the distresses you relieve. You rescue the mariner from shipwreck without wetting your feet. You charge at the head of a squadron without the peril of a scratch. All blessed be the gift which can do these things!”

You call these delusions; but is it a delusion to be a king, to deliver a people from slavery, to carry succor to a drowning crew? I have done all of these; that is, I have gone through every changeful mood of hope and fear that accompanies these actions, sipping my glass of Beaune between whiles.

When I found myself in my bedroom I had no inclination for sleep; I was in a mood of enjoyment too elevated for mere repose. It was so delightful to be no longer at sea, to feel rescued from the miseries of the rocking ship and the reeking cabin, that I would not lose the rapture of forgetful-ness. I was in the mood for great things, too, if I only knew what they were to be. “Ah!” thought I, suddenly, “I will write to her. She shall know that she is not the friendless and forsaken creature that she deems herself; she shall hear that, though separated from home, friends, and country, there is one near to watch over and protect her, and that Potts devotes himself to her service.” I opened my desk, and in all the impatience of my ardor began: —

“‘Dear Madam,’ – Quere: Ought I to say ‘dear’? ‘We are not acquainted, and can I presume upon the formula that implies acquaintanceship? No. I must omit ‘dear;’ and then ‘madam’ looks fearfully stern and rigid, particularly when addressed to a young unmarried lady; she is certainly not ‘madam’ yet, surely. I can’t begin ‘miss,’ What a language is ours? How cruelly fatal to all the tenderer emotions is a dialect so matter-of-fact and formal!

“If I could only start with ‘Gentilissima Signora,’ how I could get on! What an impulse would the words lend me! What ‘way on me’ would they impart for what was to follow! In our cast-metal tongue there is nothing for it but the third person: ‘The undersigned has the honor,’ &c., &c. This is chilling – it is positively repulsive. Let me see, will this do? —

“‘The gentleman who was fortunate enough to render you some trivial service at the Milford station two days ago, having accidentally learned that you are here and unprovided with a protector, in all humility offers himself to afford you every aid and counsel in his power. No stranger to the touching interest of your life, deeply sensible of the delicacy that should surround your steps, if you deign to accept his devoted services, he will endeavor to prove himself, by every sentiment of respect, your most faithful, most humble, and most grateful servant

“‘P. S. His name is Potts.’

“Yes, all will do but the confounded postscript. What a terrible bathos, – ‘His name is Potts’! What if I say, ‘One word of reply is requested, addressed to Algernon Sydney Pottinger, at this hotel’?”

I made a great many copies of this document, always changing something as I went. I felt the importance of every word, and fastidiously pondered over each expression I employed. The bright sun of morning broke in at last upon my labors and found me still at my desk, still composing. All done, I lay down and slept soundly.

“Is she gone, waiter?” said I, as he entered my room with hot water. “Is she gone?”

“Who, sir?” asked he, in some astonishment.

“The lady in black, who came over in the last mail-packet from Dover; the young lady in deep mourning, who arrived all alone.”

“No, sir. She has sent all round the hotels this morning to inquire after some one who was to have met her here, but, apparently, without success.”

“Give her this; place it in her own hand, and, as you are leaving the room, say, in a gentle voice: ‘Is there an answer, mademoiselle?’ You understand?”

“Well, I believe I do,” said he, significantly, as he slyly pocketed the half-Napoleon fee I had tendered for his acceptance.

Now the fellow had thrown into his countenance – a painfully astute and cunning face it was – one of those expressive looks which actually made me shudder. It seemed to say, “This is a conspiracy, and we are both in it.”

“You are not for a moment to suppose,” said I, hurriedly, “that there is one syllable in that letter which could compromise me, or wound the delicacy of the most susceptible.”

“I am convinced that monsieur has written it with most consummate skill,” said he, with a supercilious grin, and left the room.

How I detest the familiarity of a foreign waiter! The fellows cannot respond to the most ordinary question without an affectation of showing off their immense acuteness and knowledge of life. It is their eternal boast how they read people, and with what an instinctive subtlety they can decipher all the various characters that pass before them. Now this impertinent lackey, who is to say what has he not imputed to me? Utterly incapable as such a creature must necessarily be of the higher and nobler motives that sway men of my order, he will doubtless have ascribed to me the most base and degenerate motives.

I was wrong in speaking one word to the fellow. I might have said, “Take that note to Number Fourteen, and ask if there be an answer;” or, better still, if I had never written at all, but merely sent in my card to ask if the lady would vouchsafe to accord me an audience of a few minutes. Yes, such would have been the discreet course; and then I might have trusted to my manner, my tact, and a certain something in my general bearing, to have brought the matter to a successful issue. While I thus meditated, the waiter re-entered the room, and, cautiously closing the door, approached me with an ostentatious pretence of secrecy and mystery.

“I have given her the letter,” said he, in a whisper.

“Speak up!” said I, severely; “what answer has the lady given?”

“I think you ‘ll get the answer presently,” said he, with a sort of grin that actually thrilled through me.

“You may leave the room,” said I, with dignity, for I saw how the fellow was actually revelling in the enjoyment of my confusion.

“They were reading it over together for the third time when I came away,” said he, with a most peculiar look.

“Whom do you mean? Who are they that you speak of?”

“The gentleman that she was expecting. He came by the 9.40 train from Brussels. Just in time for your note.” As the wretch uttered these words, a violent ringing of bells resounded along the corridor, and he rushed out without waiting for more.

I turned in haste to my note-book; various copies of my letter were there, and I was eager to recall the expressions I had employed in addressing her. Good heavens! what had I really written? Here were scraps of all sorts of absurdity; poetry, too! verses to the “Fair Victim of a Recent War,” with a number of rhymes for the last word, such as “low,” “snow,” “mow,” &c., – all evidences of composition under difficulty.

While I turned over these rough copies, the door opened, and a large, red-faced, stern-looking man, in a suit of red-brown tweed, and with a heavy stick in his hand, entered; he closed the door leisurely after him, and I half thought that I saw him also turn the key in the lock. He advanced towards me with a deliberate step, and, in a voice measured as his gait, said, —

“I am Mr. Jopplyn, sir, – I am Mr. Christopher Jopplyn.”

“I am charmed to hear it, sir,” said I, in some confusion, for, without the vaguest conception of wherefore, I suspected lowering weather ahead.

“May I offer you a chair, Mr. Jopplyn? Won’t you be seated? We are going to have a lovely day, I fancy, – a great change after yesterday.”

“Your name, sir,” said he, in the same solemnity as before, – “your name I apprehend to be Porringer?”

“Pottinger, if you permit me; Pottinger, not Porringer.”

“It shall be as you say, sir; I am indifferent what you call yourself.” He heaved something that sounded like a hoarse sigh, and proceeded: “I have come to settle a small account that stands between us. Is that document your writing?” As he said this, he drew, rather theatrically, from his breast-pocket the letter I had just written, and extended it towards me. “I ask, sir, – and I mean you to understand that I will suffer no prevarication, – is that document in your writing?”

I trembled all over as I took it, and for an instant I determined to disavow it; but in the same brief space I bethought me that my denial would be in vain. I then tried to look boldly, and brazen it out; I fancied to laugh it off as a mere pleasantry, and, failing in courage for each of these, I essayed, as a last resource, the argumentative and discussions! line, and said, —

“If you will favor me with an indulgent hearing for a few minutes, Mr. Jopplyn, I trust to explain to your complete satisfaction the circumstances of that epistle.”

“Take five, sir, – five,” said he, laying a ponderous silver watch on the table as he spoke, and pointing to the minute-hand.

“Really, sir,” said I, stung by the peremptory and dictatorial tone he assumed, “I have yet to learn that intercourse between gentlemen is to be regulated by clockwork, not to say that I have to inquire by what right you ask me for this explanation.”

“One minute gone,” said he, solemnly.

“I don’t care if there were fifty,” said I, passionately. “I disclaim all pretension of a perfect stranger to obtrude himself upon me, and by the mere assumption of a pompous manner and an imposing air, to inquire into my private affairs.”

“There are two!” said he, with the same solemnity.

“Who is Mr. Jopplyn, – what is he to me?” cried I, in increased excitement, “that he presents himself in my apartment like a commissary of police? Do you imagine, sir, because I am a young man, that this – this – impertinence “ – Lord, what a gulp it cost me! – “is to pass unpunished? Do you fancy that a red beard and a heavy walking-cane are to strike terror into me? You may think, perhaps, that I am unarmed – ”

“Three!” said he, with a bang of his stick on the floor that made me actually jump with the stick.

“Leave the room, sir,” said I; “it is my pleasure to be alone, – the apartment is mine, – I am the proprietor here. A very little sense of delicacy, a very small amount of good breeding, might show you, that when a gentleman declines to receive company, when he shows himself indisposed to the society of strangers – ”

“One minute more, now,” said he, in a low growl; while he proceeded to button up his coat to the neck, and make preparation for some coming event.

My heart was in my mouth; I gave a glance at the window; it was the third story, and a leap out would have been fatal. What would I not have given for one of those weapons I had so proudly proclaimed myself possessed of! There was not even a poker in the room. I made a spring at the bell-rope, and before he could interpose, gave one pull that, though it brought down the cord, resounded through the whole house.

“Time is up, Porringer,” said he, slowly, as he replaced the watch in his pocket, and grasped his murderous-looking cane.

There was a large table in the room, and I intrenched myself at once behind this, armed with a light cane chair, while I screamed murder in every language I could command. Failing to reach me across the table, my assailant tried to dodge me by false starts, now at this side, now at that. Though a large fleshy man, he was not inactive, and it required all my quickness to escape him. These manoeuvres being unsuccessful, he very quickly placed a chair beside the table and mounted upon it. I now hurled my chair at him; he warded off the blow and rushed on; with one spring I bounded under the table, reappearing at the opposite side just as he had reached mine. These tactics we now pursued for several minutes, when my enemy suddenly changed his attack, and, descending from the table, he turned it on edge; the effort required strength. I seized the moment and reached the door; I tore it open in some fashion, gained the stairs, the court, the streets, and ran ever onward with the wildness of one possessed with no time for thought, nor any knowledge to guide; I turned left and right, choosing only the narrowest lanes that presented themselves, and at last came to a dead halt at an open drawbridge, where a crowd stood waiting to pass.

“How is this? What’s all the hurry for? Where are you running this fashion?” cried a well-known voice. I turned, and saw the skipper of the packet.

“Are you armed? Can you defend me?” cried I, in terror; “or shall I leap in and swim for it?”

“I’ll stand by you. Don’t be afraid, man,” said he, drawing my arm within his; “no one shall harm you. Were they robbers?”

“No, worse, – assassins!” said I, gulping, for I was heartily ashamed of my terror, and determined to show “cause why” in the plural.

“Come in here, and have a glass of something,” said he, turning into a little cabaret, with whose penetralia he seemed not unfamiliar. “You ‘re all safe here,” said he, as he closed the door of a little room. “Let’s hear all about it, though I half guess the story already.”

I had no difficulty in perceiving, from my companion’s manner, that he believed some sudden shock had shaken my faculties, and that my intellects were for the time deranged; nor was it very easy for me to assume sufficient calm to disabuse him of his error, and assert my own perfect coherency. “You have been out for a lark,” said he, laughingly. “I see it all. You have been at one of those tea-gardens and got into a row with some stout Fleming. All the young English go through that sort of thing. Ain’t I right?”

“Never more mistaken in your life, Captain. My conduct since I landed would not discredit a canon of St. Paul’s. In fact, all my habits, my tastes, my instincts, are averse to every sort of junketing. I am essentially retiring, sensitive, And, if you will, over-fastidious in my choice of associates. My story is simply this.” My reader will readily excuse my repeating what is already known to him. It is enough if I say that the captain, although anything rather than mirthful, held his hand several times over his face, and once laughed out loudly and boisterously.

“You don’t say it was Christy Jopplyn, do you?” said he, at last. “You don’t tell me it was Jopplyn?”

“The fellow called himself Jopplyn, but I know nothing of him beyond that.”

“Why, he’s mad jealous about that wife of his; that little woman with the corkscrew curls, and the scorbutic face, that came over with us. Oh! you did not see her aboard, you went below at once, I remember; but there was, she, in her black ugly, and her old crape shawl – ”

“In mourning?”

“Yes. Always in mourning. She never wears anything else, though Christy goes about in colors, and not particular as to the tint, either.”

There came a cold perspiration over me as I heard these words, and perceived that my proffer of devotion had been addressed to a married woman, and the wife of the “most jealous man in Europe.”

“And who is this Jopplyn?” asked I, haughtily, and in all the proud confidence of my present security.

“He’s a railway contractor, – a shrewd sort of fellow, with plenty of money, and a good head on his shoulders; sensible on every point except his Jealousy.”

“The man must be an idiot,” said I, indignantly, “to rush indiscriminately about the world with accusations of this kind. Who wants to supplant him? Who seeks to rob him of the affections of his wife?”

“That’s all very well and very specious,” said he, gravely; “but if men will deliberately set themselves down at a writing-table, hammering their brains for fine sentiments, and toiling to find grand expressions for their passion, it does not require that a husband should be as jealous as Christy Jopplyn to take it badly. I don’t think I’m a rash or a hasty man, but I know what I ‘d do in such a circumstance.”

“And pray, what would you do?” said I, half impertinently.

“I ‘d just say,4 Look here, young gent, is this balderdash here your hand? Well, now, eat your words. Yes, eat them. I mean what I say. Eat up that letter, seal and all, or, by my oath, I ‘ll break every bone in your skin!’”

“It is exactly what I intend,” cried a voice, hoarse with passion; and Jopplyn himself sprang into the room, and dashed at me.

The skipper was a most powerful man, but it required all his strength, and not very gingerly exercised either, to hold off my enraged adversary. “Will you be quiet, Christy?” cried he, holding him by the throat “Will you just be quiet for one instant, or must I knock you down?”

“Do! do! by all means,” muttered I; for I thought if he were once on the ground, I could finish him off with a large pewter measure that stood on the table.

With a rough shake the skipper had at last convinced the other that resistance was useless, and induced him to consent to a parley.

“Let him only tell you” said he, “what he has told me, Christy.”

“Don’t strike, but hear me,” cried I; and safe in my stockade behind the skipper, I recounted my mistake.

“And you believe all this?” asked Jopplyn of the skipper, when I had finished.

“Believe it, – I should think I do! I have known him since he was a child that high, and I ‘ll answer for his good conduct and behavior.”

Heaven bless you for that bail bond, though endorsed in a lie, honest ship-captain! and I only hope I may live to requite you for it.

Jopplyn was appeased; but it was the suppressed wrath of a brown bear rather than the vanquished anger of a man. He had booked himself for something cruel, and he was miserable to be balked. Nor was I myself – I shame to own it – an emblem of perfect forgiveness. I know nothing harder than for a constitutionally timid man of weak proportions to forgive the bullying superiority of brute force. It is about the greatest trial human forgiveness can be subjected to; so that when Jopplyn, in a vulgar spirit of reconciliation, proposed that we should go and dine with him that day, I declined the invitation with a frigid politeness.

“I wish I could persuade you to change your plans,” said he, “and let Mrs. J. and myself see you at six.”

“I believe I can answer for him that it is impossible,” broke in the skipper; while he added in a whisper, “They never can afford any delay; they have to put on the steam at high pressure from one end of Europe to t’ other.”

What could he possibly mean by imputing such haste to my movements, and who were “they” with whom he thus associated me? I would have given worlds to ask, but the presence of Jopplyn prevented me, and so I could simply assent with a sort of foolish laugh, and a muttered “Very true, – quite correct.”

“Indeed, how you manage to be here now, I can scarcely imagine,” continued the skipper. “The last of yours that went through this took a roll of bread and a cold chicken with him into the train, rather than halt to eat his supper, – but I conclude you know best.”

What confounded mystification was passing through his marine intellects I could not fathom. To what guild or brotherhood of impetuous travellers had he ascribed me? Why should I not “take mine ease in mine inn”? All this was very tantalizing and irritating, and pleading a pressing engagement, I took leave of them both, and returned to the hotel.

I was in need of rest and a little composure. The incident of the morning had jarred my nerves and disconcerted me much. But a few hours ago, and life had seemed to me like a flowery meadow, through which, without path or track, one might ramble at will; now it rather presented the aspect of a vulgar kitchen-garden, fenced in, and divided, and partitioned off, with only a few very stony alleys to walk in. “This boasted civilization of ours,” exclaimed I, “what is it but snobbery? Our class distinctions, our artificial intercourses, our hypocritical professions, our deference for externals, – are they not the flimsiest pretences that ever were fashioned? Why has no man the courage to make short work of these, and see the world as it really is? Why has not some one gone forth, the apostle of frankness and plain speaking, the same to prince as to peasant? What I would like would be a ramble through the less visited parts of Europe, – countries in which civilization slants in just as the rays of a setting sun steal into a forest at evening. I would buy me a horse. Oh, Blonde.” thought I, suddenly, “am I not in search of you? Is it not in the hope to recover you that I am here; and, with you for my companion, am I not content to roam the world, taking each incident of the way with the calm of one who asks little of his fellow-man save a kind word as he passes, and a God-speed as he goes?” I knew perfectly that, with any other beast for my “mount,” I could not view the scene of life with the same bland composure. A horse that started, that tripped, that shied, reared, kicked, craned his neck, or even shook himself, as certain of these beasts do, would have kept me in a paroxysm of anxiety and uneasiness, the least adapted of all modes for thoughtfulness and reflection. Like an ill-assorted union, it would have given no time save for squabble and recrimination. But Blondel almost seemed to understand my mission, and lent himself to its accomplishment. There was none of the obtrusive selfishness of an ordinary horse in his ways. He neither asked you to remark the glossiness of his skin, nor the graceful curve of his neck; he did not passage nor curvet Superior to the petty arts by which vulgar natures present themselves to notice, he felt that destiny had given him a duty, and he did it.