collation which he was giving to his nephew, in honour of his return,
and, as he verily hoped, of his reformation. The stranger at first shook
his head, as if declining the courtesy; but mine host proceeded to
urge him with arguments founded on the credit of his house, and the
construction which the good people of Cumnor might put upon such an
unsocial humour.

"By my faith, sir," he said, "it touches my reputation that men should
be merry in my house; and we have ill tongues amongst us at Cumnor (as
where be there not?), who put an evil mark on men who pull their hat
over their brows, as if they were looking back to the days that are
gone, instead of enjoying the blithe sunshiny weather which God has sent
us in the sweet looks of our sovereign mistress, Queen Elizabeth, whom
Heaven long bless and preserve!"

"Why, mine host," answered the stranger, "there is no treason, sure, in
a man's enjoying his own thoughts, under the shadow of his own bonnet?
You have lived in the world twice as long as I have, and you must know
there are thoughts that will haunt us in spite of ourselves, and to
which it is in vain to say, Begone, and let me be merry."

"By my sooth," answered Giles Gosling, "if such troublesome thoughts
haunt your mind, and will not get them gone for plain English, we will
have one of Father Bacon's pupils from Oxford, to conjure them away with
logic and with Hebrew--or, what say you to laying them in a glorious red
sea of claret, my noble guest? Come, sir, excuse my freedom. I am an old
host, and must have my talk. This peevish humour of melancholy sits ill
upon you; it suits not with a sleek boot, a hat of trim block, a fresh
cloak, and a full purse. A pize on it! send it off to those who have
their legs swathed with a hay-wisp, their heads thatched with a felt