I shall always remember the evening when, coming unexpectedly to the house, I saw him sitting by a window with the light from the setting sun upon his face and shabby coat. He was talking to James. And James has the knack of making people talk much. "He writes, does he?" said the ’Pothecary. (I think that the question must have applied to your servant.) "He would. Of course he would. Quite naturally. Just so. Of course. Some people can write. They have the trick. Some people can do anything. Anything. I must pass my final. They thought I was going to be a writer myself once. To write poetry, I suppose. ’He’s half a poet,’ they use to say, ’half a poet.’ "But I wasn’t worth the compliment. I couldn’t find the rhymes, you know. I could see it all—sometimes, you know; but I couldn’t find the rhymes. Once I nearly reached it, but only once—only nearly. You see, I—I haven’t even passed my final. Not yet. But I will. I must. I nearly did it last time—nearly. Nearly." His voice dropped low; so low that you could hardly hear it. And he looked out to sea again; but not with gladness. I think he saw some sort of hulk or derelict. *X* *THE MOTHER’S TRADE UNION* "My motter," said ’Ost ’Uggins decisively, "is ’Live an’ let live.’ We won’t deny but what the young woman ’as acted wrongful. She ’as broke an important commandment, as we all know, besides puttin’ my ’ole establishment to expense and inconvenience. Besides upsettin’ my good lady. Besides disgracin’ ’er fambily. "But at the same time I can’t forget that my mother’s father was ’isself a fondling. And we live in a Keristian age. And the one as is most to blame is the _man_, ’ooever ’e may be, the ugly ’ound. What’ll you take, Doctor?" "Ginger b——," began the doctor, having knowledge of the Mile End drink traffic. But he checked himself, yielding, I suppose, to the reflection that duty called for a more enthusiastic response to ’Ost ’Uggins’s hospitality. "I will have a glass of—of whatever you drink yourself," said the doctor. ’Ost ’Uggins favoured us with a heavy wink. His face and figure as he stood there behind the marble counter of his "saloon compartment" suggested coarseness and obesity and vulgarity and opulence and ignorance, and—and manhood. They used to say that pigs could fly, Oh, aye, oh! They used to say that pigs could fly A hundred years ago. It is certain that _this_ pig could fly. For "Live and let live" was his motto. The pig is an animal which is held in unwarrantable disdain by pious men.