beautiful order; while a brass plate, on which was engraved the
owner's name, blazed like gold when there was any sunshine to fall upon
it. At present the day was drizzling and chilly, while the huge volumes
of smoke from a whole forest of factory chimneys tended to impart a
deeper shade of dismalness to the dispiriting landscape. The old man
himself was plainly a character. No part of his dress seemed as if it
could ever have been new, and yet all was in such keeping and harmony
that every article in it appeared to have faded to a like degree of
decay by a common understanding. Not that the component parts of this
dress were such as could well have been contemporaries on their being
first launched into the world, for the whole of the old man's personal
outward clothing might almost have been mapped off into divisions--each
compartment representing a different era, as the zones on a terrestrial
globe enclose differing races of plants and animals. Thus, his feet
were shod with stout leather shoes, moderately clogged, and fastened,
not by the customary clasps, but by an enormous pair of shoe-buckles of
a century old at least. His lower limbs were enclosed in leathern
garments, which fastened below the knee, leaving visible his grey
worsted stockings. An immense waistcoat, the pattern of which was
constantly being interrupted by the discordant figuring of a large
variety of patches--inserted upside down, or sideways, or crossways, as
best suited--hung nearly to his knees; and over this he wore a coat, the
age and precise cut of which it would have puzzled the most learned in
such things to decide upon. It probably had been two coats once, and
possibly three may have contributed to its formation. It was clearly
put together for use and not for ornament--as was testified by its
extreme length, except in the sleeves, and by the patches of various
colours, which stood out upon the back and skirts in startling contrast
to the now almost colourless material of the originals. On his head the
old man wore a sort of conical cap of felt, which looked as though it
had done service more than once on the head of some modern
representative of Guy Fawkes of infamous memory. And yet there was
nothing beggarly about the appearance of the old knife-grinder. Not a
rag disfigured his person. All was whole and neat, though quaint and
faded. Altogether, he would have formed an admirable subject for an
artist's sketch-book; nor coul