I did all in my power to comfort the little porter, exhorting him to diligence and sobriety.
“You were always a kind friend,” said he, pathetically; “and perhaps—perhaps you will give me something to drink your health, for old-acquaintance sake.” This unexpected turn compelled me to laughter. I gave him sixpence.
Alas! Matthew, I found, was but a piece of coarse gingerbread, tricked out with the Dutch metal of false sentiment.
CHAPTER XVI.—The Loss of a Friend.
“I say, ma'am, do you happen to have the hair of 'All round my hat I vears a green villow?'”
I WAS startled by the batho-romantic sentiment of Matthew, somewhat in the same manner as the young lady at the bookseller's, when she was accosted by a musical dustman, with—“I say, ma'am, do you happen to have the hair of 'All round my hat I vears a green villow?'”
But, however ridiculous they may appear, such incongruous characters are by no means caricatures—nay, are “as plentiful as blackberries,” especially in the lower grades of society.
I was indulging in a reverie of this sort, when Monsieur Dubois, my kind and gentlemanly tutor, abruptly entered the office. I felt proud in having obtained his friendship—for he was to me a mine of wealth, and appeared master of every subject upon which my curiosity prompted me to inquire, whilst the worthy Frenchman was so flattered by my sincere respect, that he took a delight in imparting his knowledge to so willing and diligent a scholar.