“It’s not the way to reform ’em,” observes Ned Ward; and for once, I think, the satirical publican, who travelled in “ape and monkey climes,” is right—Vide Smollett: _Roderick Random_; Cunningham: _Handbook of London_; and, _Bridewell Hospital Reports_, 1720-1799. Written in the Deepdene Album. Thou record of the votive throng, That fondly seek this fairy shrine, And pay the tribute of a song Where worth and loveliness combine,— What boots that I, a vagrant wight From clime to clime still wandering on, Upon thy friendly page should write ——Who’ll think of me when I am gone? Go plow the wave, and sow the sand; Throw seed to every wind that blows; Along the highway strew thy hand, And fatten on the crop that grows. For even thus the man that roams On heedless hearts his feeling spends; Strange tenant of a thousand homes, And friendless, with ten thousand friends! Yet here, for once, I’ll leave a trace, To ask in aftertimes a thought; To say that here a resting-place My wayworn heart has fondly sought. So the poor pilgrim heedless strays, Unmoved, through many a region fair; But at some shrine his tribute pays, To tell that he has worshipped there. WASHINGTON IRVING. _June 24th, 1822._ Lovel the Widower. CHAPTER V. IN WHICH I AM STUNG BY A SERPENT. [Illustration] If, when I heard Baker call out Bessy Bellenden, and adjure Jove, he had run forward and seized Elizabeth by the waist, or offered her other personal indignity, I too should have run forward on my side and engaged him. Though I am a stout elderly man, short in stature and in wind, I know I am a match for _that_ rickety little captain on his high-heeled boots. A match for him? I believe Miss Bessy would have been a match for both of us. Her white arm was as hard and polished as ivory. Had she held it straight pointed against the rush of the dragoon, he would have fallen backwards before his intended prey: I have no doubt he would. It was the hen, in this case, was stronger than the libertine fox, and _au besoin_ would have pecked the little marauding vermin’s eyes out. Had, I say, Partlet been weak, and Reynard strong, I _would_ have come forward: I certainly would. Had he been a wolf now, instead of a fox, I am certain I should have run in upon him, grappled with him, torn his heart and tongue out of his black throat, and trampled the lawless brute to death.