seeing, no doubt." Then turning to a grave cobbler in leathern apron,
who was regarding with saturnine interest the motley figures ranged in
front of the curtain as the Drumatis Persona, he said, "You seem
attracted, sir; you have probably already witnessed the performance."
"Yes," returned the Cobbler; "this is the third day, and to-morrow's the
last. I are n't missed once yet, and I sha' n't miss; but it are n't
what it was a while back."

"'That is sad; but then the same thing is said of everything by everybody
who has reached your respectable age, friend. Summers, and suns, stupid
old watering-places, and pretty young women, `are n't what they were a
while back.' If men and things go on degenerating in this way, our
grandchildren will have a dull time of it."

The Cobbler eyed the young man, and nodded approvingly. He had sense
enough to comprehend the ironical philosophy of the reply; and our
Cobbler loved talk out of the common way. "You speaks truly and
cleverly, sir. But if old folks do always say that things are worse than
they were, ben't there always summat in what is always said? I'm for the
old times; my neighbour, Joe Spruce, is for the new, and says we are all
a-progressing. But he 's a pink; I 'm a blue."

"You are a blue?" said the boy Lionel; "I don't understand."

"Young 'un, I'm a Tory,--that's blue; and Spruce is a Rad,--that's pink!
And, what is more to the purpose, he is a tailor, and I'm a cobbler."

"Aha!" said the elder, with much interest; "more to the purpose is it?
How so?"