ridewell, or the workhouse.
He used to say, '_The workhouse was a fine place for a poor man_--_the
food good enough_, _and enough of it_;' yet he kept a dainty table
himself. His dogs, too, fared better than we poor. He was vastly tender
and good to all his horses and dogs, I _will_ say that for him; and to
all brute beasts: he would not suffer them to be either starved or
struck--but he had no compassion for his fellow-creatures."

"I am sensible you do him wrong."

"That _he_ is the best judge of by this time. He has sent many a poor
man to the house of correction; and now 'tis well if he has not got a
place there himself. Ha, ha, ha!"

The man was walking away, when Henry called to him--"Pray can you tell me
if the bishop's son be at the palace?"

"Oh, yes! you'll find master there treading in the old man's shoes, as
proud as Lucifer."

"Has he any children?"

"No, thank God! There's been enow of the name; and after the son is
gone, I hope we shall have no more of the breed."

"Is Mrs. Norwynne, the son's wife, at the palace?"

"What, master! did not you know what's become of her?"

"Any accident?--"

"Ha, ha, ha! yes. I can't help laughing--why, master, she made a
mistake, and went to another man's bed--and so her husband and she were
parted--and she has married the other man."

"Indeed!" cried Henry, amazed.

"Ay, indeed; but if it had been my wife or yours, the bishop would have
made her do penance in a white sheet; but as it was a lady, why, it was
all very well--and any one of us, that had been known to talk about it,
would have been sent to Bridewell straight. But we _did_ talk,
notwithstanding."

The malicious joy with which the peasant told this story made Henry
believe (more than all the complaints the man uttered) that there had
been want of charity and Christian deportment in the whole conduct of the
bishop's family. He almost wished himself back on his savage island,
where brotherly love could not be less than it appeared to be in this
civilised country.

CHAPTER XLV.

As Henry and his son, after parting from the poor labourer, approached
the late bishop's palace, all the charms of its magnificence, its
situation, which, but a few hours before, had captivated the elder
Henry's mind, were vanished; and, from the mournful ceremony he had since
been witness of, he now viewed this noble edifice but as a heap of
rubbish piled together to fascinate weak understandings, and to