And see th’ illuminations.”
FANCY PORTRAIT:—MR. HOBLER.
MILLER REDIVIVUS.
“He is become already a very promising miller.”—Bell’s Life in London.
I WAS walking very leisurely one evening down Cripplegate, when I overtook—who could help overtaking him?—a lame elderly gentleman, who, by the nature of his gait, appeared to represent the Ward. Like certain lots at auctions, he seemed always going, but never gone: it was that kind of march that, from its slowness, is emphatically called halting. Gout, in fact, had got him into a sad hobble, and, like terror, made his flesh creep.
There was, notwithstanding, a lurking humorousness in his face, in spite of pace, that reminded you of Quick or Liston in Old Rapid. You saw that he was not slow, at least, at a quirk or quip,—not backward at repartee,—not behind-hand with his jest, in short, that he was a great wit though he could not jump.