brotherhood."

"But," I said aloud, "if not in books, sir, where else am I to obtain
information? Nowadays one can hazard nothing in print without authority,
and one may scarcely quote Shakespeare without citing chapter and verse.
This is the age of facts,--the age of facts, sir."

"Well," said the old gentleman, with a pleasant smile, "if we meet
again, perhaps, at least, I may direct your researches to the proper
source of intelligence." And with that he buttoned his greatcoat,
whistled to his dog, and departed.

It so happened that I did meet again with the old gentleman, exactly
four days after our brief conversation in Mr. D--'s bookshop. I was
riding leisurely towards Highgate, when, at the foot of its classic
hill, I recognised the stranger; he was mounted on a black pony, and
before him trotted his dog, which was black also.

If you meet the man whom you wish to know, on horseback, at the
commencement of a long hill, where, unless he has borrowed a friend's
favourite hack, he cannot, in decent humanity to the brute creation,
ride away from you, I apprehend that it is your own fault if you have
not gone far in your object before you have gained the top. In short, so
well did I succeed, that on reaching Highgate the old gentleman invited
me to rest at his house, which was a little apart from the village; and
an excellent house it was,--small, but commodious, with a large garden,
and commanding from the windows such a prospect as Lucretius would
recommend to philosophers: the spires and domes of London, on a clear
day, distinctly visible; here the Retreat of the Hermit, and there the
Mare Magnum of the world.