I looked round the room, and, seeing nothing which promised me much amusement, I sat down, and fell again into my former train of thought.

‘What is truth?’ said I.

‘Here it is,’ said the magistrate, returning at the end of a quarter of an hour, followed by the servant with a tray; ’here’s the true thing, or I am no judge, far less a justice.  It has been thirty years in my cellar last Christmas.  There,’ said he to the servant, ’put it down, and leave my young friend and me to ourselves.  Now, what do you think of it?’

‘It is very good,’ said I.

‘Did you ever taste better Madeira?’

‘I never before tasted Madeira.’

‘Then you ask for a wine without knowing what it is?’

‘I ask for it, sir, that I may know what it is.’

’Well, there is logic in that, as Parr would say; you have heard of Parr?’

‘Old Parr?’

’Yes, old Parr, but not that Parr; you mean the English, I the Greek Parr, as people call him.’

‘I don’t know him.’

’Perhaps not—­rather too young for that, but were you of my age, you might have cause to know him, coming from where you do.  He kept school there, I was his first scholar; he flogged Greek into me till I loved him—­and he loved me.  He came to see me last year, and sat in that chair; I honour Parr—­he knows much, and is a sound man.’

‘Does he know the truth?’

’Know the truth! he knows what’s good, from an oyster to an ostrich—­he’s not only sound but round.’

‘Suppose we drink his health?’

‘Thank you, boy:  here’s Parr’s health, and Whiter’s.’

‘Who is Whiter?’

’Don’t you know Whiter?  I thought everybody knew Reverend Whiter, the philologist, though I suppose you scarcely know what that means.  A man fond of tongues and languages, quite out of your way—­he understands some twenty; what do you say to that?’

‘Is he a sound man?’

’Why, as to that, I scarcely know what to say; he has got queer notions in his head—­wrote a book to prove that all words came originally from the earth—­who knows?  Words have roots, and roots live in the earth; but, upon the whole, I should not call him altogether a sound man, though he can talk Greek nearly as fast as Parr.’

‘Is he a round man?’

’Ay, boy, rounder than Parr; I’ll sing you a song, if you like, which will let you into his character:—­

   ’"Give me the haunch of a buck to eat, and to drink Madeira old,
   And a gentle wife to rest with, and in my arms to fold,
   An Arabic book to study, a Norfolk cob to ride,
   And a house to live in shaded with trees, and near to a river side;
   With such good things around me, and blessed with good health withal,
   Though I should live for a hundred years, for death I would not call.”

Here’s to Whiter’s health—­so you know nothing about the fight?’