"Oh, allow, sir!" exclaimed the barber, bowing very low, and spreading out his hands,—"to be sure, I allow every man to judge for himself, sir. It would be extremely inconsistent in me, who claim the fullest freedom of opinion myself, to refuse others the liberty of thought, sir. I pray you, sir, forgive me if I have been a little too positive in my manner: I will assure you, sir, I am not a bigot,—indeed, I am not——" "Stay, stay, my friend!" cried the stranger, puzzled and bothered with the superlative politeness of him of the razor, "if you will finish your operation upon my chin, we will have half-an-hour's talk on these subjects afterwards. In the mean time, believe me, I am happy to find you are so truly tolerant of other men's opinions: if we all cultivated that spirit, this world would speedily be much happier than it is." "Excellent—excellent, sir!" exclaimed the honest and enthusiastic barber, resuming his shaving, but too much excited to leave his favourite theme—"you speak like a true gentleman, sir. I see we really agree, although we may seem to differ; for you have just maintained a sentiment which is purely in accordance with the principles I profess. Some great man once said, 'No man was ever born with a saddle on his back, nor was any other man brought into the world ready booted and spurred to ride him.' That was a very true and striking saying: do you recollect it, sir?" "I recollect it, and admire it much," answered the gentleman; "but I do not just now remember whose it is." "Nor I, sir," rejoined the garrulous barber; "but that is of little consequence, sir: truths are valuable solely for their own weight, and not for the sake of those who utter them." "There, again, we differ," observed the stranger. "I think that many truths are doubly valuable;—first, for their intrinsic excellence, and often, secondarily, for the sake of the great and the good men who utter them. For instance, the striking saying you have just quoted becomes, to my mind, as a passionate lover of his own country, increasedly valuable, when I remember that it is attributed to the illustrious patriot-martyr, Algernon Sydney." "Why, sir," resumed Kucky Sarson, who was the soul of ingenuity at an argument, "the man, and the truth he utters, are very often one, essentially. Some men's lives—nay, their very deaths,—are great truths in themselves,—like the life and death of the noble commonwealthsman you have just mentioned: in such cases the man becomes so closely and entirely identified with the truths he utters, that he and they may be said to be one." "You are now really becoming too refined for me, my friend," replied the gentleman, laughing. "But give me the pleasure of your company for a couple of hours at my inn, if you please, and I will do my best to discuss these points with you, good-humouredly and charitably, over a glass of wine."