steal out as the sweet lips are parted. She sleeps, she dreams already!
Where and what is the rude world of waking now? Are there not guardian
spirits? Deride the question if thou wilt, stern man, the reasoning and
self-reliant; but thou, O fair mother, who hast marked the strange
happiness on the face of a child that has wept itself to sleep, what
sayest thou to the soft tradition, which surely had its origin in the
heart of the earliest mother?




CHAPTER XV.

There is no man so friendless but what he can find a friend sincere
enough to tell him disagreeable truths.

Meanwhile the Comedian had made himself and Sir Isaac extremely
comfortable. No unabstemious man by habit was Gentleman Waife. He could
dine on a crust, and season it with mirth; and as for exciting drinks,
there was a childlike innocence in his humour never known to a brain that
has been washed in alcohol. But on this special occasion, Waife's heart
was made so bounteous by the novel sense of prosperity that it compelled
him to treat himself. He did honour to the grilled chicken to which he
had vainly tempted Sophy. He ordered half a pint of port to be mulled
into negus. He helped himself with a bow, as if himself were a guest,
and nodded each time he took off his glass, as much as to say, "Your
health, Mr. Waife!" He even offered a glass of the exhilarating draught
to Sir Isaac, who, exceedingly offended, retreated under the sofa, whence
he peered forth through his deciduous ringlets, with brows knit in grave
rebuke. Nor was it without deliberate caution--a whisker first, and then