for he knew nothing except Boxing and a little Grammar, showed less of that aristocratic impassivity, and silent fury, than for most part belongs to Travellers of his nation.  To him I owe my first practical knowledge of the English and their ways; perhaps also something of the partiality with which I have ever since regarded that singular people.  Towgood was not without an eye, could he have come at any light.  Invited doubtless by the presence of the Zahdarm Family, he had travelled hither, in the almost frantic hope of perfecting his studies; he, whose studies had as yet been those of infancy, hither to a University where so much as the notion of perfection, not to say the effort after it, no longer existed!  Often we would condole over the hard destiny of the Young in this era:  how, after all our toil, we were to be turned out into the world, with beards on our chins indeed, but with few other attributes of manhood; no existing thing that we were trained to Act on, nothing that we could so much as Believe.  ’How has our head on the outside a polished Hat,’ would Towgood exclaim, ’and in the inside Vacancy, or a froth of Vocables and Attorney-Logic!  At a small cost men are educated to make leather into shoes; but at a great cost, what am I educated to make?  By Heaven, Brother! what I have already eaten and worn, as I came thus far, would endow a considerable Hospital of Incurables.’—­’Man, indeed,’ I would answer, ’has a Digestive Faculty, which must be kept working, were it even partly by stealth.  But as for our Miseducation, make not bad worse; waste not the time yet ours, in trampling on thistles because they have yielded us no figs. Frisch zu, Bruder!  Here are Books, and we have brains to read them; here is a whole Earth and a whole Heaven, and we have eyes to look on them:  Frisch zu!’

“Often also our talk was gay; not without brilliancy, and even fire.  We looked out on Life, with its strange scaffolding, where all at once harlequins dance, and men are beheaded and quartered:  motley, not unterrific was the aspect; but we looked on it like brave youths.  For myself, these were perhaps my most genial hours.  Towards this young warm-hearted, strong-headed and wrong-headed Herr Towgood I was even near experiencing the now obsolete sentiment of Friendship.  Yes, foolish Heathen that I was, I felt that, under certain conditions, I could have loved this man, and taken him to my bosom, and been his brother once and always.  By degrees, however, I understood the new time, and its wants.  If man’s Soul is indeed, as in the Finnish Language, and Utilitarian Philosophy, a kind of Stomach, what else is the true meaning of Spiritual Union but an Eating together?  Thus we, instead of Friends, are Dinner-guests; and here as elsewhere have cast away chimeras.”

So ends, abruptly as is usual, and enigmatically, this little incipient romance.  What henceforth becomes of the brave Herr Towgood, or Toughgut?  He has dived under, in the Autobiographical Chaos, and swims we see not where.  Does any reader “in the interior parts of England” know of such a man?