ad already marked. Flanking the
great Cathedral on the north, was the row of small open stalls devoted
to the sale of books, or "objects of devotion," all so arranged that the
open portion might be cleared, and the stock-in-trade locked up if not
carried away. Each stall had its own sign, most of them sacred, such as
the Lamb and Flag, the Scallop Shell, or some patron saint, but
classical emblems were oddly intermixed, such as Minerva's aegis,
Pegasus, and the Lyre of Apollo. The sellers, some middle-aged men,
some lads, stretched out their arms with their wares to attract the
passengers in the street, and did not fail to beset Ambrose. The more
lively looked at his Lincoln-green and shouted verses of ballads at him,
fluttering broad sheets with verses on the lamentable fate of Jane
Shore, or Fair Rosamond, the same woodcut doing duty for both ladies,
without mercy to their beauty. The scholastic judged by his face and
step that he was a student, and they flourished at him black-bound
copies of Virgilius Maro, and of Tully's Offices, while others, hoping
that he was an incipient clerk, offered breviaries, missals or
portuaries, with the Use of Saint Paul's, or of Sarum, or mayhap Saint
Austin's Confessions. He made his way along, with his eye diligently
heedful of the signs, and at last recognised the Winged Staff or
caduceus of Hermes, over a stall where a couple of boys in blue caps and
gowns and yellow stockings were making a purchase of a small, grave-
looking, elderly but bright cheeked man, whose yellow hair and beard
were getting intermingled with grey. They were evidently those Saint
Paul's School boys whom Ambrose envied so much, and as they finished
their bargaining and ran away together, Ambrose advanced with a
salutation, asked if he did not see Master Lucas Hansen, and gave him
the note with the commendations of Tibble Steelman the armourer.

He was answered with a ready nod and "yea, yea," as the old man opened
the billet and cast his eyes over it; then scanning Ambrose from head to
foot, said with some amazement, "But you are of gentle blood, young
sir."

"I am," said Ambrose; "but gentle blood needs at times to work for
bread, and Tibble let me hope that I might find both livelihood for the
body and for the soul with you, sir."

"Is it so?" asked the printer, his face lighting up. "Art thou willing
to labour and toil, and give up hope of fee and honour, if so thou mayst
win the truth?"

Amb