"Stir not, rascal," returned the divine, "stir not so much as the
quietest leaf above you, or my bamboo rebounds on your body, like
hail in a thunder-storm. Confess, speedily, villain; are you a
simple thief, or would you have manufactured me into a subject for
the benefit of science? Ay, miscreant caitiff, you would have made
me a subject for science, would you? You are a school-master
abroad, are you? You are marching with a detachment of the march
of mind, are you? You are a member of the Steam Intellect Society,
are you? You swear by the learned friend, do you?"

"Oh, no! reverend sir," answered the criminal, "I am innocent of
all these offences, whatever they are, reverend sir. The only
friend I had in the world is lying dead beside me, reverend sir."

The reverend gentleman paused a moment, and leaned on his bamboo.
The culprit, bruised as he was, sprang on his legs, and went off in
double quick time. The Doctor gave him chase, and had nearly
brought him within arm's length, when the fellow turned at right
angles, and sprang clean over a deep dry ditch. The divine,
following with equal ardour, and less dexterity, went down over
head and ears into a thicket of nettles. Emerging with much
discomposure, he proceeded to the village, and roused the
constable; but the constable found, on reaching the scene of
action, that the dead man was gone, as well as his living
accomplice.

"Oh, the monster!" exclaimed the Reverend Doctor Folliott, "he has
made a subject for science of the only friend he had in the world."
"Ay, my dear," he resumed, the next morning at breakfast, "if my
old reading, and my early gymnastics (for, as the great Hermann