CHAPTER VIII: SCIENCE AND CHARITY



Chi sta nel mondo un par d'ore contento,
Ne gli vien tolta, ovver contaminata,
Quella sua pace in veruno momento,
Puo dir che Giove drittamente il guata.
FORTEGUERRI.

The Reverend Doctor Folliott took his departure about ten o'clock,
to walk home to his vicarage. There was no moon, but the night was
bright and clear, and afforded him as much light as he needed. He
paused a moment by the Roman camp to listen to the nightingale;
repeated to himself a passage of Sophocles; proceeded through the
park gate, and entered the narrow lane that led to the village. He
walked on in a very pleasant mood of the state called reverie; in
which fish and wine, Greek and political economy, the Sleeping
Venus he had left behind, and poor dear Mrs. Folliott, to whose
fond arms he was returning, passed, as in a camera obscura, over
the tablets of his imagination. Presently the image of Mr.
Eavesdrop, with a printed sketch of the Reverend Doctor F.,
presented itself before him, and he began mechanically to flourish
his bamboo. The movement was prompted by his good genius, for the
uplifted bamboo received the blow of a ponderous cudgel, which was
intended for his head. The reverend gentleman recoiled two or
three paces, and saw before him a couple of ruffians, who were