There are times (as I suppose) when the most aesthetic of souls will forget the snow of lilies, and the down of a butterfly's wing, to revel in the grosser joys of, say, a beefsteak. One cannot rhapsodize upon the beauties of a sunset, or contemplate the pale witchery of the moon with any real degree of poetic fervor, or any degree of comfort, while hunger gnaws at one's vitals, for comfort is essential to your aesthete, and, after all, soul goes hand in hand with stomach. Thus, I swung along the road beneath the swaying green of trees, past the fragrant, blooming hedges, paying small heed to the beauties of wooded hill and grassy dale, my eyes constantly searching the road before me for some sign of the "Old Cock" tavern. And presently, sure enough, I espied it, an ugly, flat-fronted building, before which stood a dilapidated horse trough and a battered sign. Despite its uninviting exterior, I hurried forward, and mounting the three worn steps pushed open the door. I now found myself in a room of somewhat uninviting aspect, though upon the hearth a smouldering fire was being kicked into a blaze by a sulky-faced fellow, to whom I addressed myself: "Can I have some breakfast here?" said I. "Why, it's all according, master," he answered, in a surly tone. "According to what?" said I. "According to what you want, master." "Why, as to that—" I began. "Because," he went on, administering a particularly vicious kick to the fire, "if you was to ask me for a French hortolon—or even the 'ump of a cam-el—being a very truthful man, I should say—no." "But I want no such things," said I. "And 'ow am I to know that—'ow am I to know as you ain't set your 'eart on the 'ump of a cam-el?" "I tell you I want nothing of the sort," said I, "a chop would do—" "Chop!" sighed the man, scowling threateningly at the fire, "chop!" "Or steak," I hastened to add. "Now it's a steak!" said the man, shaking his head ruefully, and turning upon me a doleful eye, "a steak!" he repeated; "of course—it would be; I s'pose you'd turn up your nose at 'am and eggs—it's only to be expected." "On the contrary," said I, "ham and eggs will suit me very well; why couldn't you have mentioned them before?" "Why, you never axed me as I remember," growled the fellow. Slipping my knapsack from my shoulders, I sat down at a small table in a corner while the man, with a final kick at the fire, went to give my order. In a few minutes he reappeared with some billets of wood beneath his arm, and followed by a merry-eyed, rosy-cheeked lass, who proceeded, very deftly, to lay a snowy cloth and thereupon in due season, a dish of savory ham and golden-yolked eggs. "It's a lovely morning!" said I, lifting my eyes to her comely face. "It is indeed, sir," said she, setting down the cruet with a turn of her slender wrist.