d
into the thickest recesses of a neighbouring wood. On, on, he wandered,
night and day; beneath the blazing sun, and the cold pale moon; through
the dry heat of noon, and the damp cold of night; in the gray light of
morn, and the red glare of eve. So heedless was he of time or object,
that being bound for Athens, he wandered as far out of his way as Bath.

'There was no city where Bath stands, then. There was no vestige of
human habitation, or sign of man's resort, to bear the name; but there
was the same noble country, the same broad expanse of hill and dale, the
same beautiful channel stealing on, far away, the same lofty mountains
which, like the troubles of life, viewed at a distance, and partially
obscured by the bright mist of its morning, lose their ruggedness and
asperity, and seem all ease and softness. Moved by the gentle beauty of
the scene, the prince sank upon the green turf, and bathed his swollen
feet in his tears.

'"Oh!" said the unhappy Bladud, clasping his hands, and mournfully
raising his eyes towards the sky, "would that my wanderings might
end here! Would that these grateful tears with which I now mourn hope
misplaced, and love despised, might flow in peace for ever!"

'The wish was heard. It was in the time of the heathen deities, who used
occasionally to take people at their words, with a promptness, in some
cases, extremely awkward. The ground opened beneath the prince's feet;
he sank into the chasm; and instantaneously it closed upon his head for
ever, save where his hot tears welled up through the earth, and where
they have continued to gush forth ever since.

'It is observable that, to this day, large numbers of elderly ladies and
gentlemen who have been disappointed in procuring partners, and almost
as many young ones who are anxious to obtain them, repair annually
to Bath to drink the waters, from which they derive much strength and
comfort. This is most complimentary to the virtue of Prince Bladud's
tears, and strongly corroborative of the veracity of this legend.'

Mr. Pickwick yawned several times when he had arrived at the end of this
little manuscript, carefully refolded, and replaced it in the inkstand
drawer, and then, with a countenance expressive of the utmost weariness,
lighted his chamber candle, and went upstairs to bed. He stopped at Mr.
Dowler's door, according to custom, and knocked to say good-night.

'Ah!' said Dowler, 'going to bed? I wish I was. Dismal night. Wind