'I don't know that I care. It is the change in the time that makes the variety in the work. And sometimes on fine nights, when the stars are blinking and winking, or the moon floating in the sky, with the clouds rushing along as if every now and then they were washing her face--I think things and feel things as I don't at other times. I think it is a mistake for people always to sleep of nights, I do.' 'I suppose you depend on some one to call you up at the turn of the tide?' I said inquiringly. 'No; I don't,' replied the old man, with a shake of his head. 'I tried that at first, but it didn't answer. I daresay Larkins might do it; but it was before he took to the business of knocking at doors; and the man I trusted to made mistakes or else forgot, and didn't wake me right, and I very nearly lost the place; and ever since I have trusted to myself.' 'Then how do you manage?' I said. 'That is just what I don't know, except that it seems to me it is managed for me. I only know that if it is high-water in the deadest hour of the night, I always do wake. It is just as if something said: "Look alive; time's up;" and sure enough it always is. I often wonder at it; but I have come to think that wondering is of no more use than wondering at the tides coming up so surely, and the new moons shining just as they are expected, and the stars all keeping their places so safely. O sir, some folks, no doubt, are very learned, but there's a deal more in the world than people can ever make out.' 'Do you know, my friend, that you are speaking the thoughts of one of the greatest of men?' I exclaimed, reflecting on Hamlet's words to Horatio. 'Am I? What did he say?' was the rejoinder. 'He said,' I exclaimed, '"there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy."' 'Well, he was right, whoever he was,' exclaimed the old man, with a sort of innocent satisfaction at his own corroboration of a great man's words. 'And what's more, I think the world would be a worse place than it is if we had nothing left to wonder at.' 'I heartily agree with you,' was my reply. 'And there's more to wonder at than even the stars and the tides,' continued the sweeper, 'and that's the ways of men, the good and the bad that's in the most of us. But then I do think we river-side people see more than others, what with the partings and meetings going on; and now and again the dead bodies that come to shore, and sometimes the miserable despairing people who would drown themselves if they weren't hindered. Well, it's these things that set me wondering and thinking, and that make the working hours pass quickly, especially at night.' 'You seem a bit of a philosopher,' I said admiringly. 'What's that?' cried the old man. 'It means lover of wisdom,' I replied; 'and he is happy who can justly lay claim to the title. My friend, we must have another talk another day.'