“Niver!” said he, looking up for a moment, “niver!” And still he continued to sob. About this period of the interview, which before it was ended was a very long interview, we ourselves made a suggestion the imprudence of which we afterwards acknowledged to ourselves. We offered to go to his lodgings and see his wife and children. Though the man could not write a good magazine article, yet he might be a very fitting object for our own personal kindness. And the more we saw of the man, the more we liked him,--in spite of his incapacity. “The place is so poor,” he said, objecting to our offer. After what had passed between us, we felt that that could be no reason against our visit, and we began for a moment to fear that he was deceiving us. “Not yet,” he cried, “not quite yet. I will try once again;--once again. You will let me see you once more?” “And you will take the other sovereign,” we said,--trying him. He should have had the other sovereign if he would have taken it; but we confess that had he done so then we should have regarded him as an impostor. But he did not take it, and left us in utter ignorance as to his true character. After an interval of three days he came again, and there was exactly the same appearance. He wore the same tattered gloves. He had not pawned his coat. There was the same hat,--shabby when observed closely, but still carrying a decent appearance when not minutely examined. In his face there was no sign of want, and at moments there was a cheeriness about him which was almost refreshing. “I’ve got a something this time that I think ye must like,--unless you’re harder to plaise than Rhadhamanthus.” So saying, he tendered me another roll of paper, which I at once opened, intending to read the first page of it. The essay was entitled the “Church of England;--a Question for the People.” It was handed to me as having been written within the last three days; and, from its bulk, might have afforded fair work for a fortnight to a writer accustomed to treat of subjects of such weight. As we had expected, the first page was unintelligible, absurd, and farcical. We began to be angry with ourselves for having placed ourselves in such a connection with a man so utterly unable to do that which he pretended to do. “I think I’ve hit it off now,” said he, watching our face as we were reading.