tales he had heard of the Duchess Jacquetta's dread magician.

And yet, though the friar was an atrocious knave and a ludicrous
impostor, on the whole he was by no means unpopular, especially in the
metropolis, for he was naturally a jolly, social fellow; he often
ventured boldly forth into the different hostelries and reunions of
the populace, and enjoyed the admiration he there excited, and
pocketed the groats he there collected. He had no pride,--none in the
least, this Friar Bungey!--and was as affable as a magician could be
to the meanest mechanic who crossed his broad horn palm. A vulgar man
is never unpopular with the vulgar. Moreover, the friar, who was a
very cunning person, wished to keep well with the mob: he was fond of
his own impudent, cheating, burly carcass, and had the prudence to
foresee that a time might come when his royal patrons might forsake
him, and a mob might be a terrible monster to meet in his path;
therefore he always affected to love the poor, often told their
fortunes gratis, now and then gave them something to drink, and was
esteemed a man exceedingly good-natured, because he did not always
have the devil at his back.

Now Friar Bungey had naturally enough evinced from the first a great
distaste and jealousy of Adam Warner; but occasionally profiting by
the science of the latter, he suffered his resentment to sleep latent
till it was roused into fury by learning the express favour shown to
Adam by the king, and the marvellous results expected from his
contrivance. His envy, then, forbade all tolerance and mercy; the
world was not large enough to contain two such giants,--Bungey and
Warner, the genius and the quack. To the best of our experience, the
quacks have the same creed to our own day. He vowed deep vengeance
upon his associate, and spared no arts to foment the popular hatred