ies again--"halloa, Hawkins! Does your keeper let you
go without being attached to a string?"

"No, no," says my lord--"no, no; Jack's attached to _me_ now."

Thereupon dear old Grimthorpe, who loved a joke, laughed till his
elbows rested on his knees as he stooped down.

"Well," said he, "that's good, Hawkins, very good indeed."

On one occasion one of those country yokels who always met us at
Assize towns, and got as close up to our javelin-men as they could, so
that we could not only see them but indulge our other senses at the
same time, seeing us get out of our carriage, said to another yokel,
"I say, Bill, blarmed if the old bloke ain't brought his dawg
again--that there fox terrier--to go a-rattin'."

I did not know what "rattin'" meant at that time, and did not learn
it till we got to Warwick. I thought it was rude to call my lord a
"bloke," especially in his red robes; but did not quite know what
"bloke" meant, for I had seen so little of mankind.

One morning before we opened the Commission at Warwick--I may as well
come to it at once--my lord and I went for a walk along the road that
leads over the bridge by Warwick Castle towards Leamington. There is a
turning to a village which belonged to the old days, but does not
seem now to belong to anything, and looks something like a rural
watering-place, quiet and unexciting. We turned down this quiet road,
and came alongside a beautiful little garden covered with flowers of
all kinds.

I had occasion afterwards to learn whom they belonged to; but I
will tell you before we go further, so as to make the situation
intelligible. He was a countryman who used to make it his boast that
he never had a day's schooling in his life (so that he ought to have
been leader of the most ignorant classes), and this made him the
independent man he was towards his betters. Then my Lady Warwick used
to take notice of him, and this also gave him another lift in his own
estimation. He learnt to read in the long run, for he really had
a good deal of native talent for a man, and set himself up for a
politician and a something they call a philosopher, which any man can
be with a pint pot in front of him, I am told, especially at a village
alehouse.

He was a great orator at the Gridiron beershop in the lane which runs
round one part of my Lord Warwick's park, and it was said that old
Gale--such was his name--had picked up most of his education from his
own speeches. Gale was also