"You will never sell them," I said, "if you do not offer them at more likely places. See, there is a shop with fruit and vegetables: try there." "Why," he answered with a grin, "how do you think I could make a living if I sold them? The market value of these berries is about one farthing, and it takes sixteen farthings to pay for my feather (bed) not reckoning scrand (food), and a glass or two of skimish (drink). In fact," said he, "my day's work is done, and I am quite satisfied with the result." Saying which he tumbled the blackberries into the gutter and placed the can--which he used for making tea--into a large self-made inside pocket. On getting a better view of them, I remarked that no person could buy such berries, for they were about the worst assortment I had ever seen in my life. "It would not pay to make them very enticing," said he, "or they would find a too ready sale." "But what do you do when the season is over?" I asked, "for you cannot pick blackberries all the year round." "Oh," he answered, "I have other ways of making a living. If I can get a good audience in a public house, I can often make a day's living in a quarter of an hour, with several drinks in the bargain." "What, by singing or dancing?" I asked. "No," said he, "but by reciting. Listen to this." With that he began to recite a long poem, line after line, until I began to hope his memory would fail him. What a memory it was! Hundreds of lines without a break. When he came to the most dramatic parts he paused for action, and I knew that he was heedless of the approach of night, and had forgotten that Bedford was still afar off. There was now no stopping of him; poem after poem he recited, and he introduced his subjects with little speeches that were so different from his ordinary conversation, that it was apparent that he had committed them also to memory for the benefit of a fit audience. If he was so zealous after a weary day's walk, and without stimulants, what would he be under the influence of several glasses of strong ale? I shuddered to think of it. We were now about a mile from Bedford, and my companion had for the last hour been reciting; as for myself I was travelling alone, for I had forgotten him. Sometimes to my confusion he would startle me by a sudden question, but seeing that he made no pause for an answer, I soon understood that no answer was required of me, for that he was still reciting.