“The women, with sharp hooks, pick out the little knots and hard bits from the heart, and then souse the sorted stuff into boding water: and then they cut the bits with a turning thing toothed with knives; cut it and shred it; and now what was a fine, firm, full-weight heart, labouring in and through life, in the bosom of this wretched tipsiness below us, is soft and liquid as a dish of batter. Nevertheless, bating a chalky paleness in the fellow’s face, he seems to do as well without his heart as with it.” “But it can’t last, father; it can’t last. He must have something of a heart to live,” said the young flea. “Be patient a minute, and you shall learn. Now, one of the hags scoops the batter edgewise into a little frame and shakes it and—presto!—all is done: the heart of the dreamer is worked up into I know not how many sheets—but there seems a lumping lot—a lumping lot of the finest and whitest paper.” “Poor devil, I say again. He can’t live with that; he can’t go through life with a heart of paper.” “Don’t interrupt me. Whilst you spoke, everything changed. At this moment, the imp that vanished when he threw the heart to the hags, now carries it in a square bundle upon his head; laughing and skipping along London streets; and the man without a heart still following his tormenter. My son, the imp and the man are now going up Ludgate Hill”— “Do you know the place?” asked the younger flea. “Perfectly well; many years ago—for what a vulgar error it is to think fleas short-lived—many years ago, I walked on a Lord Mayor’s day.” “Walked!” cried the young flea. “Walked; that is, was carried in the miniver fur of the alderman of the Fishmongers’ Company; and upon my life, a very noble sight it was. Yes, my child, I think I ought to remember that show, for it was on that very day, in that very miniver, I first met your poor mother. Ha! that was a happy day—and we saw all the fun from the beginning to the end; for we contrived to get upon the alderman, and sitting close and keeping quiet—for that’s an art fleas have to learn, if they would see, and not in the end be seen—sitting close in the nape of the alder man’s neck, we were present at the banquet. I shall never forget the beautiful sight we had, when the alderman got upon his legs to make a speech. Well, we were carried home and put to bed with the alderman, and from that time”— “Never mind the alderman,” cried the pert young flea, “but get on from Ludgate-Hill.” “While I’ve talked, the imp and the man have gone round St. Paul’s, and are now crossing into Cheapside. Shall I ever forget how, when we came to Cheapside, the giants—well, I won’t think of that now. The imp with the load of paper on his head runs by Bow-Church, and the dreamer here stretches after him. My son, both imp and man,” said the flea solemnly, “both imp and man have now entered the Bank of England.” “The Bank of England!” repeated the young flea, impressed by the sudden seriousness of its parent.