Accordingly, a man about my own age was brought in, and introduced as Simon Slowden. I saw that he was no ordinary character as soon as he entered, and was by no means one who could be easily imposed upon. I afterwards found that Simon had spent his boyhood in London, had when a youth joined a travelling circus, and tramped the country for a few years. He had also travelled with several "shows," two or three travelling theatres, and had finally settled down with a lame leg at Temple Hall, where he made himself generally useful. His dialect was a mixture of the Cockney and a dozen others equally bad, until it was almost impossible to tell from that source the part of the country from which he hailed. He was, however, a good-hearted fellow, and for a wonder, considering his history, as honest as the day. "Now, Simon," said Tom Temple, "this gentleman is a scientist and wants to show some experiments, and he can't get any one to assist him, so I thought I'd ask you." "Well," said Simon, "I don't know as I think mich on these science gents. They're allays a-bringin' in some new-fangled thing or other, but generally there's nowt in 'em. Still, to 'blige the company, I'll do owt raisonable. I'm tough has a crocodile's tongue, and can stand a goodish bit o' jingo and nonsense. Here goes, yer honour." Voltaire eyed him doubtfully, and Simon coolly returned the stare. "You are not a-gwine to waccinate me, be 'ee?" said Simon at length. "No--why?" "'Cause I can't stand that, tough as I be. I lived wi' a doctor once, and says he to me, 'Simon, I want to speriment on ye,' says he. 'I'm tough 'nough,' says I. 'I want to waccinate you 'gainst cholera, hoopin' cough, and small-pox,' says he. 'What's that? give 'em to me?' says I. 'No,' says he, 'but to prevent you from a hevin' 'em.' 'That's yer sorts,' says I. Well, gentlemen, he waccinated me, and I said to un, 'Never no more, yer honour.'" "Why?" asked I. "'Cause I'd rather hev cholera, hoopin' cough, and small-pox all together than be waccinated. Jes like women, you never know where they'll break out." "Will you kindly sit down," said Voltaire, "while I go to my room for a book?" While he was gone I went to Simon, and spoke to him, and that gentleman got very communicative. "I'm not overmich in love wi' that chap," he says; "and sure's I'm a right-down Cockney, he hates you like pizen. Give 'im a wide berth, yer honour, and doan't hev nothin' to do wi' 'im." "Oh," I replied, "he can't hurt me." "Don't know, yer honour. You and he's got your peepers fixed in the same place, and scuse me; but if you give 'im a chance, he'll beat yer. He'd charm a serpiant vith thews peepers o' hisn." "Aren't you afraid yourself, then?" "He can't hurt me, for I'm too tough, and I'm noan sighin' for anybody, I ain't; and I hain't a got a good-lookin' jib, and--" But here Voltaire entered the room and spoke to Tom Temple. "Simon," said Tom a second after, "what colour are the chestnut mare's eyes?"