shame to own it--an emblem of perfect forgiveness. I know nothing harder
than for a constitutionally timid man of weak proportions to forgive
the bullying superiority of brute force. It is about the greatest trial
human forgiveness can be subjected to; so that when Jopplyn, in a vulgar
spirit of reconciliation, proposed that we should go and dine with him
that day, I declined the invitation with a frigid politeness.

"I wish I could persuade you to change your plans," said he, "and let
Mrs. J. and myself see you at six."

"I believe I can answer for him that it is impossible," broke in the
skipper; while he added in a whisper, "They never _can_ afford any
delay; they have to put on the steam at high pressure from one end of
Europe to t' other."

What could he possibly mean by imputing such haste to my movements,
and who were "they" with whom he thus associated me? I would have given
worlds to ask, but the presence of Jopplyn prevented me, and so I
could simply assent with a sort of foolish laugh, and a muttered "Very
true,--quite correct."

"Indeed, how you manage to be here now, I can scarcely imagine,"
continued the skipper. "The last of yours that went through this took
a roll of bread and a cold chicken with him into the train, rather than
halt to eat his supper,--but I conclude _you_ know best."

What confounded mystification was passing through his marine intellects
I could not fathom. To what guild or brotherhood of impetuous travellers
had he ascribed me? Why should I not "take mine ease in mine inn"?
All this was very tantalizing and irritating, and pleading a pressing
engagement, I took leave of them both, and returned to the hotel.

I was in need of rest and a little composure. The incident of the
morning had jarred my nerves and disconcerted me much. But a few hours
ago, and life had seemed to me like a flowery meadow, through which,
without path or track, one might ramble at will; now it rather presented
the aspect of a vulgar kitchen-garden, fenced in, and divided, and
partitioned off, with only a few very stony alleys to walk in. "This
boasted civilization of ours," exclaimed I, "what is it but snobbery?
Our class distinctions, our artificial intercourses, our hypocritical
professions, our deference for externals,--are they not the flimsiest
pretences that ever were fashioned? Why has no man the courage to make
short work of these, and see the world as it really is? Why has not some
one gone forth,