Such, then, was our JOANNA--JOANNA MERESIA SPRATT, to give her that
full name by which posterity is to know her--an ardent, bubbling,
bacon-loving girl-nature, with hands reaching from earth to the stars,
that blinked egregiously at the sight of her innocent beauty, and hid
themselves in winding clouds for very love of her.

CHAPTER III.

Sir JOHN SPRATT had fashions that were peculiarly his own. Vain it
were to inquire how, from the long-perished SPRATTS that went before
him, he drew that form of human mind which was his. Laws that are
hidden from our prying eyes ordain that a man shall be the visible
exemplar of vanished ages, offering here and there a hook of
remembrance, on which a philosopher may hang a theory for the world's
admiring gaze. Far back in the misty past, of which the fabulists
bear record, there have swum SPRATTS within this human ocean, and of
these the ultimate and proudest was he with whose life-story we are
concerned. It was his habit to carry with him on all journeys a bulky
note-book, the store in which he laid by for occasions of use the
thoughts that thronged upon him, now feverishly, as with the exultant
leap of a rough-coated canine companion, released from the thraldom
of chain and kennel, and eager to seek the Serpentine haunts of
water-nymphs, and of sticks that fell with a splash, and are brought
back time and again whilst the shaken spray bedews the onlookers; now
with the staid and solemn progression that is beloved of the equine
drawers of four-wheeled chariots, protesting with many growls against
a load of occupants.

He had met JOANNA. They had conversed. "An empty table, is it not?"
said she. "Nowhere!" said he, and they proceeded. His "Nowhere!" had