replied, ‘Six miles.’ ‘That is just five miles and a half too far,’ said Sir Telegraph, and was proceeding to drive on, when, on turning round to make his parting bow to the stranger, he suddenly recognised him for an old acquaintance and fellow-collegian. ‘Sylvan Forester!’ exclaimed Sir Telegraph; ‘who should have dreamed of meeting you in this uncivilised part of the world?’ ‘I am afraid,’ said Mr. Forester, ‘this part of the world does not deserve the compliment implied in the epithet you have bestowed on it. Within no very great distance from this spot are divers towns, villages, and hamlets, in any one of which, if you have money, you may make pretty sure of being cheated, and if you have none, quite sure of being starved—strong evidences of a state of civilisation.’ ‘Aha!’ said Sir Telegraph, ‘your old way, now I recollect—always fond of railing at civilised life, and holding forth in praise of savages and what you called original men. But what, in truth, make you in Westmoreland?’ ‘I have purchased this old abbey,’ said Mr. Forester ‘(anciently called the abbey of Rednose, which I have altered to Redrose, as being more analogous to my notions of beauty, whatever the reverend Fellows of our old college might have thought of it), and have fitted it up for my habitation, with the view of carrying on in peace and seclusion some peculiar experiments on the nature and progress of man. Will you dine with me, and pass the night here? and I will introduce you to an original character.’ ‘With all my heart,’ said Sir Telegraph; ‘I can assure you, independently of the pleasure of meeting an old acquaintance, it is a great comfort to dine in a gentleman’s house, after living from inn to inn and being poisoned with bad wine for a month.’ Sir Telegraph descended from his box, and directed one of his grooms to open the carriage-door and emancipate the coachman, who was fast asleep inside. Sir Telegraph gave him the reins, and Mr. Forester sent one of his workmen to show him the way to the stables. [Illustration: ‘_Possibly_,’ _thought Sir Telegraph_, ‘_possibly I may have seen an uglier fellow_.’] ‘And pray,’ said Sir Telegraph, as the barouche disappeared among the trees, ‘what may be the object of your researches in this spot?’ ‘You know,’ said Mr. Forester, ‘it is a part of my tenets that the human species is gradually decreasing in size and strength, and I am digging in the old cemetery for bones and skulls to establish the truth of my theory.’ ‘Have you found any?’ said Sir Telegraph. ‘Many,’ said Mr. Forester. ‘About three weeks ago we dug up a very fine skeleton, no doubt of some venerable father, who must have been, in more senses than one, a pillar of the Church. I have had the skull polished and set in silver. You shall drink your wine out of it, if you please, to-day.’