Hence it was that Homo sufficed for Ursus.  Homo was for Ursus more than a companion, he was an analogue.  Ursus used to pat the wolf’s empty ribs, saying:  “I have found the second volume of myself!” Again he said, “When I am dead, any one wishing to know me need only study Homo.  I shall leave a true copy behind me.”

The English law, not very lenient to beasts of the forest, might have picked a quarrel with the wolf, and have put him to trouble for his assurance in going freely about the towns:  but Homo took advantage of the immunity granted by a statute of Edward iv. to servants:  “Every servant in attendance on his master is free to come and go.”  Besides, a certain relaxation of the law had resulted with regard to wolves, in consequence of its being the fashion of the ladies of the Court, under the later Stuarts, to have, instead of dogs, little wolves, called adives, about the size of cats, which were brought from Asia at great cost.

Ursus had communicated to Homo a portion of his talents:  such as to stand upright, to restrain his rage into sulkiness, to growl instead of howling, etc.; and on his part, the wolf had taught the man what he knew—­to do without a roof, without bread and fire, to prefer hunger in the woods to slavery in a palace.

The van, hut, and vehicle in one, which traversed so many different roads, without, however, leaving Great Britain, had four wheels, with shafts for the wolf and a splinter-bar for the man.  The splinter-bar came into use when the roads were bad.  The van was strong, although it was built of light boards like a dove-cot.  In front there was a glass door with a little balcony used for orations, which had something of the character of the platform tempered by an air of the pulpit.  At the back there was a door with a practicable panel.  By lowering the three steps which turned on a hinge below the door, access was gained to the hut, which at night was securely fastened with bolt and lock.  Rain and snow had fallen plentifully on it; it had been painted, but of what colour it was difficult to say, change of season being to vans what changes of reign are to courtiers.  In front, outside, was a board, a kind of frontispiece, on which the following inscription might once have been deciphered; it was in black letters on a white ground, but by degrees the characters had become confused and blurred:—­

“By friction gold loses every year a fourteen hundredth part of its bulk.  This is what is called the Wear.  Hence it follows that on fourteen hundred millions of gold in circulation throughout the world, one million is lost annually.  This million dissolves into dust, flies away, floats about, is reduced to atoms, charges, drugs, weighs down consciences, amalgamates with the souls of the rich whom it renders proud, and with those of the poor whom it renders brutish.”