For the first time, during this ride he talked to me of himself, and of his past life, but a past far separated from all association or connection with Rutledge. He recounted, for my entertainment, travels and adventures, that had the most exciting charm to my crude ear, at least. And indeed I doubt whether an older and more critical taste could have found anything but pleasure in his vigorous sketches of scenes and incidents that had impressed themselves upon his memory. He was, indeed, an excellent _raconteur_, and had, beyond any one I have ever known, the power of bringing up, in bodily shape and presence, the places and characters he chose to recall. Whether it was a sunrise among the Alps, or a scene in a French café, it was equally distinct and life-like; I saw the glittering of the sharp cloud piercing icy peaks, as, one by one, they caught the rosy sunlight; or, the men and women in their foreign dress and eager manner, lived and spoke before me, gesticulated, rattled off their voluble absurdities, and vanished from the scene, to give place to pictures of quiet English villages, with sunny meadows and long green lanes, grey churches and mossy gravestones, or quaint old Flemish towns, with their "cathedrals vast and dim," and tall, gloomy houses overhanging the narrow streets; or the rich warmth of some Italian landscape; or the vastness of the illimitable plains of Granada, that stretch away on all sides from the ruined Alhambra; Constantinople, with its mosques and minarets; the Holy City, with its mongrel population and half profaned associations, all were distinctly realized by me, as if I had in very deed been there. Mr. Rutledge rarely exercised his talents for description, and my enraptured attention seemed to surprise him. "You are an admirable listener," he said, laughingly; "no flattery could be subtler than that attitude of interest. I should grow positively garrulous if you were with me much. I must send you away! I hate a talking man; with such an eloquent face before me, I shall learn to talk hours at a time." "I won't look at you if you don't want me to, only don't stop talking. Ah! please!" I exclaimed, as he pointed to the rapidly sinking sun, and turned his horse's head toward home. "I cannot go home yet." "But it will be dark before we reach it, as it is," he said. "There's a moon!" "I shall never let you come again, if you are not 'good' about going home. Come!" His tone wasn't alarming, and I said: "I've just got in the spirit of it; and that's the best piece of road we've seen yet. I couldn't think of going back under another mile; indeed I couldn't."