‘You have a rare trio of newsmen. I would I knew your father, Clarke, he must, from what you say, be a stout bit of British oak. I spoke even now of your knowing little of the world, but indeed it may be that in your village you can see mankind without the varnish, and so come to learn more of the good of human nature. Varnish or none, the bad will ever peep through. Now this carpenter and seaman show themselves no doubt for what they are. A man might know my friends of the court for a lifetime, and never come upon their real selves, nor would it perhaps repay the search when you had come across it. Sink me, but I wax philosophical, which is the old refuge of the ruined man. Give me a tub, and I shall set up in the Piazza of Covent Garden, and be the Diogenes of London. I would not be wealthy again, Micah! How goes the old lilt?-- “Our money shall never indite us Or drag us to Goldsmith Hall, No pirates or wrecks can affright us. We that have no estates Fear no plunder or rates, Nor care to lock gates. He that lies on the ground cannot fall!” That last would make a good motto for an almshouse.’ ‘You will have Sir Stephen up,’ said I warningly, for he was carolling away at the pitch of his lungs. ‘Never fear! He and his ‘prentices were all at the broad-sword exercise in the hall as I came by. It is worth something to see the old fellow stamp, and swing his sword, and cry, “Ha!” on the down-cut. Mistress Ruth and friend Lockarby are in the tapestried room, she spinning and he reading aloud one of those entertaining volumes which she would have me read. Methinks she hath taken his conversion in hand, which may end in his converting her from a maid into a wife. And so you go to the Duke of Beaufort! Well, I would that I could travel with you, but Saxon will not hear of it, and my musqueteers must be my first care. God send you safe back! Where is my jasmine powder and the patch-box? Read me your letters if there be aught in them of interest. I have been splitting a flask with our gallant Colonel at his inn, and he hath told me enough of your home at Havant to make me wish to know more.’ ‘This one is somewhat grave,’ said I. ‘Nay, I am in the humour for grave things. Have at it, if it contain the whole Platonic philosophy.’ ‘’Tis from the venerable carpenter who hath for many years been my adviser and friend. He is one who is religious without being sectarian, philosophic without being a partisan, and loving without being weak.’ ‘A paragon, truly!’ exclaimed Sir Gervas, who was busy with his eyebrow brush. ‘This is what he saith,’ I continued, and proceeded to read the very letter which I now read to you.