"Ha! ye f'un' it out?" cried the farmer's wife: "Lord! maister Hubby, do tell us what ye think it is."
"A spur, good neighbours, a spur it is, no doubt, and hath belonged to some valorous Roman knight many ages ago," replied Hubby.
"Why, zowks, then, Bob was right," said the farmer; "and pray ye, Maister Hubby, accept a dozen o' pullets' eggs with it, for it is not worth having by itself."
Zerubbabel was of a very different opinion, but very thankfully received the eggs, notwithstanding; and his homely visitors bade him good afternoon.
And now did the deeply learned man retire into the very penetralia of reflection, and meditation, and thought, and consideration, and so forth; yet the "vasty cavern" of his mind displayed other and more profound concernments than admiration of the invaluable Roman spur. "Noose-larnt"—that was the singular word which riveted his thought. "Noose-larnt!"—what could it mean? That was the great question which the great Zerubbabel asked of himself—for he knew no higher authority on such high matters—at least one hundred times before he went to bed; but he slept—answerless! Again, on the succeeding day—ay, and on the day succeeding that day—Hubby Dickinson pondered on the same profound problem; and, on the third night, when he had extended his cogitations to the stroke of twelve, and his sole remaining candle was reduced to one inch of tallow, and four of black wick, curling through and through the struggling bit of flame, and spreading gloom rather than light over Hubby's little studium—then it was that Hubby Dickinson, feeling one thought go through him like a flash of lightning, suddenly sprang up, crying out, "Eureka—eureka!" and plucked an ancient volume from its shelf to satisfy himself of the correctness of his thought.
The searcher for enlightenment snuffed the candle with a speed and dexterity which few could equal,—performing the act with Nature's snuffers, his fingers,—feeling that the vastitude and urgency of the inquiry did not permit the delay of employing the aid of man's mechanic invention,—and then, and then—opening the ancient volume, and turning to the name he contemplated, and fixing his spectacles, once again, in the most advantageous position—the ardent and delighted antiquary read out aloud to himself the following passage from the said ancient tome:—
"Anaxagoras, the disciple of Anaximenes, was surnamed Nous, which signifieth intelligence, by reason of his excelling quickness of parts, and a certain, I know not what, of instant perception or discernment of nice difficulties in a twinkling. For whereas other wise men went round about to survey the questions to them proponed, on this side and that, and, after much nice calculation and naming of postulates, drew from the balance of probabilities what they affirmed to be a correct answer, this philosopher manifested a strength and clearness of judgment, and swiftness of reasoning, which might be said to partake of intuition,—a faculty which the gods themselves only possess in its perfection: and thus it came to pass that Anaxagoras was called, in the Hellenistic tongue, Nous, or intelligence."
That was the passage he read; and when he had read it he closed the heavy quarto with a noise like the report of a gun, and again cried out that "he had found it" with all his power of lungs. And then, feeling that he had done business enough for one night, in having made so transcendentally-sagacious a discovery, he put out the small remnant of candle, groped his way to his bedside, and, while he performed the prefatory work of unclothing, thus he soliloquised:—
"Yea, of a verity, this is the true interpretation of the mystery. This 'Noose-larnt' young man is some great natural genius,—some miracle of mother wit,—some second Anacharis the Scythian, who would very likely beat all the wise men of this time, although he never entered the pale of the schools,—nay, perhaps, hath never passed beyond the limits of the lordship of Hambleton-on-the-hill. I have no doubt of it; for none but such a genius could have determined, without witchcraft, that this curiously shapen piece of ancient armour pertained to the heel. It is strange that my friend, the parson of Hambleton,—who must have given the young man this expressive epithet, seeing that the rural people understand no Greek,—it is strange that he never told me of the existence of this youth. But I will essay to find him out, if I be spared till the morning light! O Hubby Dickinson! though few now call you Zerubbabel, yet you may have lived to this age for a high purpose, even to bring to light the name and singular endowments of this 'Noose-larnt' youth! Why, the discovery may even ennoble you beyond the composition of the grand Tallagium!" And then Hubby fell asleep, and dreamt delightfully; but the delight itself, of his dream awoke him, and again he began to soliloquise amid the darkness:—
"Why, it is as clear and luminous as the sun at noon to my mind," he said to himself: "nothing less than the possession of a high degree of the faculty of intuition could have enabled this youth to announce such a truth. Verily, there is no wonder the rude peasant people entertain suspicions that he hath a familiar, or is a wizard: and that they do entertain such ideas is evident from that strange exclamation, or rather optation, of Gaffer Davy—he wished when the youth's last noose was tied he might find benefit o'clergy. There, is an allusion to the ancient privilege of escape from the halter by a neck-verse, which I have illustrated in the Tallagium. Doubtless, the farmers and ploughmen believe this singular youth to be one who deals in the black art, and think his mal-practices may bring him to the gallows. Ah, it is the way in which the lights of the world have been treated in all ages! I will find out the abode of this miracle of nature, that I will!" he said, and again fell asleep.