the finish of
my sentence. I was going to say, I never went in for Beauty, but once.
That, I think, gives the sentence a pretty turn."

"Well, now, I think these dreams and this talking in your sleep indicate
that you require a change; what do you say to Bournemouth?"

"You think I shall sleep better there?"

"I think it will do you good."

"Then we'll go to Bournemouth," cried I, "for I understand it's a very
dreamy place."

"But I should like to know what becomes of this action of Mr. Bumpkin,
and how all his people get on? You may depend upon it that Sergeant will
enlist those other men."

"I do not know," I remarked, "what is in the future."

"But surely you know what you intend. You can make your characters do
anything."

"Indeed not," I said. "They will have their own way whether I write
their history or any one else."

"That Sergeant Goodtale will have every one of them, my dear; you mark my
words. He's the most artful man I ever heard of."

Of course I could offer no contradiction to this statement as I was not
in the secrets of the future. How the matter will work out depends upon
a variety of circumstances over which I have not the least control. For
instance, if Bill were to take the shilling, I believe Dick would follow:
and if the Sergeant were to sing a good song he might catch the rest.
But who can tell?

CHAPTER XXI.

Joe electrifies the company and surprises the reader.

"Suppose we have another song," said Sergeant Goodtale.

"And spoase we has some moore o' that there stuff," answered Joe.

"Aye," said Harry, "we will too. I'll spend my shilling like a man."

Saying which he rang the bell and ordered a glass for himself and one for
Joe.

"Now, then," said the latter, "I can't sing, but I'll gie thee summut as
I larned."

"Hooray!" said Harry, "summut as he larned!"

"Bravo!" said the Boardman, "summut as he larned?"

"Here's at un," said Joe.

And then with a mighty provincialism he repeated without a break:--

DR. BRIMSTONE'S SERMON,
AS PUT INTO VERSE BY GAFFER DITCHER.

I bin to Church, I ha', my boy,
And now conwarted be;
The last time I wur ever there
War eighteen farty-three!

And 'ow I knows it is as this,
I didn't goo to pray,
Nor 'ear the Word, but went becorse
It wur my weddin day!

Zounds! wot a blessed sarmon twur
I 'eeard the Sabbath morn;
'Ow I a woful sinner wur
Or ever I