foregoing reflections at Allonby.

Mr. Goodchild faltered, looked out of window, looked in again, and
said, as he had so often said before, 'There is the sea, and here
are the shrimps;--let us eat 'em'!'

But, the wise donkey was at that moment in the act of bolting: not
with the irresolution of his previous efforts which had been
wanting in sustained force of character, but with real vigour of
purpose: shaking the dust off his mane and hind-feet at Allonby,
and tearing away from it, as if he had nobly made up his mind that
he never would be taken alive. At sight of this inspiring
spectacle, which was visible from his sofa, Thomas Idle stretched
his neck and dwelt upon it rapturously.

'Francis Goodchild,' he then said, turning to his companion with a
solemn air, 'this is a delightful little Inn, excellently kept by
the most comfortable of landladies and the most attentive of
landlords, but--the donkey's right!'

The words, 'There is the sea, and here are the--' again trembled on
the lips of Goodchild, unaccompanied however by any sound.

'Let us instantly pack the portmanteaus,' said Thomas Idle, 'pay
the bill, and order a fly out, with instructions to the driver to
follow the donkey!'

Mr. Goodchild, who had only wanted encouragement to disclose the
real state of his feelings, and who had been pining beneath his
weary secret, now burst into tears, and confessed that he thought