"It is the art," said he "that enables us to see things and people as they really are. There is scarcely any thing on this earth really what it appears to be; and this art I have yet to teach you."
From that day forward he began and performed feats that entirely bewildered my senses, but which furnished, wherever we were, a great fund of amusement; all the young people believed him to be in compact with the devil. I have forgot them all but one, which I will remember as long as I live.
We came to a wealthy yeoman's house on the river Urr, where we were to remain several days; and while he exercised the farmer's sons in fencing, I kept the young peasants in exercise—and then in the hall in the evenings he went on with his cantrips. There was a delicious shoulder of bacon hanging up on the farmer's brace, among many meaner hams and pieces of wretched dried flesh. I believe I had fixed my eyes on it, and perhaps my heart a little too. Whether the Gorb noticed this and dreaded the consequences or not, I cannot tell, but he began a speech about things not being what they appeared to be, and offered to give us a striking instance."
"Take down the choicest and best ham among all these above the fire," said he. I did so, taking down the shoulder of bacon with great alacrity.
"Take down the worst," said he. I did so; it was one of venison dried like a crooked stick.
"Which do you account the best?" said he. I told him. "Well, you are mistaken," said he; "and I'll convince you of it. Roll them both neatly up in straw, or as you will."
I did so.
"Now, do you know the one from the other?"
"Yes."
"Very well: heave them up again that you may not be mistaken in the weight. Now, cross your hands, and heave them with different hands. Quite sensible they are the same?"