making religious verses, and once we were compelled to hear the Sunday-
school children sing a hymn which he had composed. The two lines of
poetry were undoubtedly his. Furthermore, although he had been a
chapel-goer all his life, he muddled, invariably, passages from the
Bible. They had no definite meaning for him, and there was nothing,
consequently, to prevent his tacking the end of one verse to the
beginning of another. Mr. Snale, too, continually "failed to see."
Where he got the phrase I do not know, but he liked it, and was always
repeating it. However, I had no external evidence that it was he who
was my enemy, and I held my peace. I was supported at the public
meeting by a speaker from the body of the hall whom I had never seen
before. He spoke remarkably well, was evidently educated, and I was
rather curious about him.

It was my custom on Saturdays to go out for the whole of the day by the
river, seawards, to prepare for the Sunday. I was coming home rather
tired, when I met this same man against a stile. He bade me good-
evening, and then proceeded to thank me for my speech, saying many
complimentary things about it. I asked who it was to whom I had the
honour of talking, and he told me he was Edward Gibbon Mardon. "It was
Edward Gibson Mardon once, sir," he said, smilingly. "Gibson was the
name of a rich old aunt who was expected to do something for me, but I
disliked her, and never went near her. I did not see why I should be
ticketed with her label, and as Edward Gibson was very much like Edward
Gibbon, the immortal author of the Decline and Fall, I dropped the 's'
and stuck in a 'b.' I am nothing but a compositor on the Sentinel, and
Saturday afternoon, after the paper is out, is a holiday for me, unless
there is any reporting to do, for I have to turn my attention to that
occasionally."