"My dear fellow, I beg your pardon, I shall think no more about her," said Talbot, rising up, as he observed that I looked very fierce. "I wish you a good morning. I leave Reading to-morrow. I will call on you, and say Good-bye, if I can;" and I saw no more of friend Talbot, whose mind was all courage, but whose body was so renegade. PART THREE, CHAPTER TWELVE. I FALL IN WITH TIMOTHY. About a month after this, I heard a sailor with one leg, and a handful of ballads, singing in a most lachrymal tone,-- "Why, what is that to you if my eyes I'm a wiping? A tear is a pleasure, d'ye see, in its way-- "Bless your honour, shy a copper to Poor Jack, who's lost his leg in the sarvice. Thanky, your honour," and he continued,-- "It's nonsense for trifles, I own, to be piping, But they who can't pity--why I pities they. Says the captain, says he, I shall never forget it, Of courage, you know, boys, the true from the sham. "Back your main-topsail, your worship, for half a minute, and just assist a poor dismantled craft, who has been riddled in the wars.--`'Tis a furious lion.' Long life to your honour.--`In battle so let it--' "'Tis a furious lion, in battle so let it; But duty appeased--but duty appeased-- "Buy a song, young woman, to sing to your sweetheart, while you sit on his knee in the dog-watch-- "But duty appeased, 'tis the heart of a lamb." I believe there are few people who do not take a strong interest in the English sailor, particularly in one who has been maimed in the defence of his country. I always have; and as I heard the poor disabled fellow bawling out his ditty, certainly not with a very remarkable voice or execution, I pulled out the drawer behind the counter, and took out some halfpence to give him. When I caught his eye I beckoned to him, and he entered the shop. "Here, my good fellow," said I, "although a man of peace myself, yet I feel for those who suffer in the wars;" and I put the money to him. "May your honour never know a banyan day," replied the sailor; "and a sickly season for you, into the bargain." "Nay, friend, that is not a kind wish to others," replied I. The sailor fixed his eyes earnestly upon me, as if in astonishment, for, until I had answered, he had not looked at me particularly. "What are you looking at?" said I. "Good heavens!" exclaimed he. "It is--yet it cannot be!" "Cannot be! what, friend?" He ran out of the door, and read the name over the shop, and then came in, and sank upon a chair outside of the counter. "Japhet--I have found you at last!" exclaimed he, faintly. "Good heaven! who are you?" He threw off his hat, with false ringlets fastened to the inside of it, and I beheld _Timothy_. In a moment I sprang over the counter, and was in his arms. "Is it possible," exclaimed I, after a short silence on both sides, "that I find you a disabled sailor?" "Is it possible, Japhet," replied Timothy, "that I find you a broad-brimmed Quaker?"