not untrue. "I
think nothing should now be done till the wardenship be vacant."

"And be again filled," said Towers, "as it certainly would, before
anyone heard of the vacancy; and the same objection would again exist.
It's an old story, that of the vested rights of the incumbent; but
suppose the incumbent has only a vested wrong, and that the poor of
the town have a vested right, if they only knew how to get at it: is
not that something the case here?"

Bold couldn't deny it, but thought it was one of those cases which
required a good deal of management before any real good could be done.
It was a pity that he had not considered this before he crept into the
lion's mouth, in the shape of an attorney's office.

"It will cost you a good deal, I fear," said Towers.

"A few hundreds," said Bold--"perhaps three hundred; I can't help
that, and am prepared for it."

"That's philosophical. It's quite refreshing to hear a man talking of
his hundreds in so purely indifferent a manner. But I'm sorry you are
giving the matter up. It injures a man to commence a thing of this
kind, and not carry it through. Have you seen that?" and he threw
a small pamphlet across the table, which was all but damp from the
press.

Bold had not seen it nor heard of it; but he was well acquainted with
the author of it,--a gentleman whose pamphlets, condemnatory of all
things in these modern days, had been a good deal talked about of
late.

Dr Pessimist Anticant was a Scotchman, who had passed a great portion
of his early days in Germany; he had studied there with much effect,
and had learnt to look with German subtilty into the root of things,
and to examine for himself their intrinsic worth and worthlessness.
No man ever resolved more bravely than he to accept as good nothing
that was evil; to banish from him as evil nothing that was good. 'Tis
a pity that he should not have recognised the fact, that in this world
no good is unalloyed, and that there is but little evil that has not
in it some seed of what is goodly.

Returning from Germany, he had astonished the reading public by the
vigour of his thoughts, put forth in the quaintest language. He
cannot write English, said the critics. No matter, said the public;
we can read what he does write, and that without yawning. And so Dr
Pessimist Anticant became popular. Popularity spoilt him for all
further real use, as it has done many another. While, with some
diffidence, he confin