‘I don’t know him.’
‘Perhaps not - rather too young for that, but were you of my age, you might have cause to know him, coming from where you do. He kept school there, I was his first scholar; he flogged Greek into me till I loved him - and he loved me: he came to see me last year, and sat in that chair; I honour Parr - he knows much, and is a sound man.’
‘Does he know the truth?’
‘Know the truth! he knows what’s good, from an oyster to an ostrich - he’s not only sound, but round.’
‘Suppose we drink his health?’
‘Thank you, boy: here’s Parr’s health, and Whiter’s.’
‘Who is Whiter?’
‘Don’t you know Whiter? I thought everybody knew Reverend Whiter the philologist, though I suppose you scarcely know what that means. A man fond of tongues and languages, quite out of your way - he understands some twenty; what do you say to that?’
‘Is he a sound man?’
‘Why, as to that, I scarcely know what to say: he has got queer notions in his head - wrote a book to prove that all words came originally from the earth - who knows? Words have roots, and roots live in the earth; but, upon the whole, I should not call him altogether a sound man, though he can talk Greek nearly as fast as Parr.’
‘Is he a round man?’
‘Ay, boy, rounder than Parr; I’ll sing you a song, if you like, which will let you into his character:-
And a gentle wife to rest with, and in my arms to fold,
An Arabic book to study, a Norfolk cob to ride,
And a house to live in shaded with trees, and near to a river side;
With such good things around me, and blessed with good health withal,
Though I should live for a hundred years, for death I would not call.
Here’s to Whiter’s health - so you know nothing about the fight?’
‘No, sir; the truth is, that of late I have been very much occupied with various matters, otherwise I should, perhaps, have been able to afford you some information - boxing is a noble art.’
‘Can you box?’
‘A little.’
‘I tell you what, my boy; I honour you, and provided your education had been a little less limited, I should have been glad to see you here in company with Parr and Whiter; both can box. Boxing is, as you say, a noble art - a truly English art; may I never see the day when Englishmen shall feel ashamed of it, or blacklegs and blackguards bring it into disgrace. I am a magistrate, and, of course, cannot patronise the thing very openly, yet I sometimes see a prize fight: I saw the Game Chicken beat Gulley.’
‘Did you ever see Big Ben?’
‘No; why do you ask?’ But here we heard a noise, like that of a gig driving up to the door, which was immediately succeeded by a violent knocking and ringing, and after a little time the servant who had
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