for the Church to which he belongs, and out of which he is supported.  He forthwith gave out that he had left behind him all his Church of England prejudices, and, as a proof thereof, spoke against sacerdotal wedlock and the toleration of schismatics.  In an evil hour for myself he was introduced to me by a clergyman of my acquaintance, and from that time I have been pestered, as I was this morning, at least once a week.  I seldom enter into any discussion with him, but fix my eyes on the portrait over the mantelpiece, and endeavour to conjure up some comic idea or situation, whilst he goes on talking tomfoolery by the hour about Church authority, schismatics, and the unlawfulness of sacerdotal wedlock; occasionally he brings with him a strange kind of being, whose acquaintance he says he made in Italy; I believe he is some sharking priest who has come over to proselytise and plunder.  This being has some powers of conversation and some learning, but carries the countenance of an arch villain; Platitude is evidently his tool.’

‘Of what religion are you?’ said I to my host.

’That of the Vicar of Wakefield—­good, quiet, Church of England, which would live and let live, practises charity, and rails at no one; where the priest is the husband of one wife, takes care of his family and his parish—­such is the religion for me, though I confess I have hitherto thought too little of religious matters.  When, however, I have completed this plaguy work on which I am engaged, I hope to be able to devote more attention to them.’

After some further conversation, the subjects being, if I remember right, college education, priggism, church authority, tomfoolery, and the like, I rose and said to my host, ‘I must now leave you.’

‘Whither are you going?’

‘I do not know.’

’Stay here, then—­you shall be welcome as many days, months, and years as you please to stay.’

’Do you think I would hang upon another man?  No, not if he were Emperor of all the Chinas.  I will now make my preparations, and then bid you farewell.’

I retired to my apartment and collected the handful of things which I carried with me on my travels.

‘I will walk a little way with you,’ said my friend on my return.

He walked with me to the park gate; neither of us said anything by the way.  When we had come upon the road, I said, ’Farewell now; I will not permit you to give yourself any further trouble on my account.  Receive my best thanks for your kindness; before we part, however, I should wish to ask you a question.  Do you think you shall ever grow tired of authorship?’

‘I have my fears,’ said my friend, advancing his hand to one of the iron bars of the gate.

‘Don’t touch,’ said I, ’it is a bad habit.  I have but one word to add:  should you ever grow tired of authorship follow your first idea of getting into Parliament; you have words enough at command; perhaps you want manner and method; but, in that case, you must apply to a teacher, you must take lessons of a master of elocution.’