"Gad, sir," said he, "I walked off--I admit the Teneriffe to have been potent--and I thought of one thing, and another thing, and I believe I thought of all the things in the world, except the way which I was going. They say, you know, some men have every sense but common sense--my case to a hair. Common sense is like flour; the other sort of sense is like sugar and gilding, and all the rest of those things--beautiful to adorn a cake and embellish the _pâtisserie_, but, without the flour, mere ornaments; now, without the ornaments, the flour will make bread. I never had the flour--never shall have. So you perceive that the sugar and the flummery being my staple, on I went and went, until I began to think I had missed my way, and just then I found myself stopped by a gate opening into--or, rather, shutting me out of--a remarkably well-stocked farm-yard--ricks, stacks, stables, barns--everything comfortable and convenient; with half a million cocks and hens, walking about like ladies and gentlemen, all as happy as happy could be. Over the gate I stepped, waded my way through the straw, and, leaning over the hatch of one of his outhouses, who should I see but the farmer himself. As I advanced, he touched his hat, and civilly asked whether I had had much sport? "'Not much,' said I, recollecting that the whole contents of my bag now amounted to one elderly rabbit, with a Cape tail; 'I am on my way to Wrigglesworth, and out of it, too, as I think. How far have I to go?' "'Seven miles, I count,' said the farmer. 'You are coming right away from it, sir. Wrigglesworth lies over there, on your left.' "'Thank you,' said I, 'thank you. If you will just give me a sort of concise direction,--I am a dab at topography. Merely give me the points, and I'll go across a country I never saw in my life before.' "'Well, sir,' said the kind fellow, 'if so be as that is the case, I'll tell you. When you get out of the gate down there, turn to your left, and keep on straight till you come to Pussy's Nob; then away to the right, over Sumpter's Green, and you'll soon see the Crooked Billet. Don't go near that, but turn short round by Wheatley's Copse; keep on, till you come to the stile on your left; go over that, through Timsbury's Lane, and that will bring you out by the Three Mackerel, and there they'll be sure to put you in the right road.' "'Thank you,' said I to the farmer, 'I will follow your instructions most implicitly; but I suppose I shall have no chance of getting a shot, now, in that direction--even at a pheasant-roosting--eh?' "'No, sir,' said the farmer, 'can't say as how I think you will get many more shots this evening.'