"To make out the meaning of Mr. Wormwood's last work," continued Lord
Vincent. "My shortest way lay through that churchyard about a mile hence,
which is such a lion in this ugly part of the country, because it has
three thistles and a tree. Just as I got there, I saw a man suddenly rise
from the earth, where he appeared to have been lying; he stood still for
a moment, and then (evidently not perceiving me) raised his clasped hands
to Heaven, and muttered some words I was not able distinctly to hear. As
I approached nearer to him which I did with no very pleasant sensations,
a large black dog, which, till then, had remained couchant, sprung
towards me with a loud growl,

"'Sonat hic de nare canina
Litera,'

as Persius has it. I was too terrified to move--

"'Obstupui--steteruntque comae--'

and I should most infallibly have been converted into dog's meat, if our
mutual acquaintance had not started from his reverie, called his dog by
the very appropriate name of Terror, and then slouching his hat over his
face, passed rapidly by me, dog and all. I did not recover the fright for
an hour and a quarter. I walked--ye gods, how I did walk--no wonder, by
the by, that I mended my pace, for as Pliny says truly: 'Timor est
emendator asperrimus.'"

Mr. Wormwood had been very impatient during this recital, preparing an
attack upon Lord Vincent, when Mr. Davison entering suddenly, diverted
the assault.