I was still inwardly fuming, when up came a pair of young fellows, who imagined I was the Cigarette ’s servant, on a comparison, I suppose, of my bare jersey with the other’s mackintosh, and asked me many questions about my place and my master’s character. I said he was a good enough fellow, but had this absurd voyage on the head. “O no, no,” said one, “you must not say that; it is not absurd; it is very courageous of him.” I believe these were a couple of angels sent to give me heart again. It was truly fortifying to reproduce all the old man’s insinuations, as if they were original to me in my character of a malcontent footman, and have them brushed away like so many flies by these admirable young men.

When I recounted this affair to the Cigarette , “they must have a curious idea of how English servants behave,” says he dryly, “for you treated me like a brute beast at the lock.”

I was a good deal mortified; but my temper had suffered, it is a fact.