Another of Master Simon’s councillors is the apothecary, a short, and rather fat man, with a pair of prominent eyes, that diverge like those of a lobster.  He is the village wise man; very sententious; and full of profound remarks on shallow subjects.  Master Simon often quotes his sayings, and mentions him as rather an extraordinary man; and even consults him occasionally in desperate cases of the dogs and horses.  Indeed he seems to have been overwhelmed by the apothecary’s philosophy, which is exactly one observation deep, consisting of indisputable maxims, such as may be gathered from the mottoes of tobacco boxes.  I had a specimen of his philosophy in my very first conversation with him; in the course of which he observed, with great solemnity and emphasis, that “man is a compound of wisdom and folly;” upon which Master Simon, who had hold of my arm, pressed very hard upon it, and whispered in my ear, “That’s a devilish shrewd remark!”

[Illustration:  The Apothecary]

[Illustration:  The Schoolmaster]

THE SCHOOLMASTER

There will no mosse stick to the stone of Sisiphus, no grasse hang on the heels of Mercury, no butter cleave on the bread of a traveller.  For as the eagle at every flight loseth a feather, which maketh her bauld in her age, so the traveller in every country loseth some fleece, which maketh him a beggar in his youth, by buying that for a pound which he cannot sell again for a penny—­repentance.

     LILLY’S EUPHUES.

Among the worthies of the village, that enjoy the peculiar confidence of Master Simon, is one who has struck my fancy so much that I have thought him worthy of a separate notice.  It is Slingsby, the schoolmaster, a thin, elderly man, rather threadbare and slovenly, somewhat indolent in manner, and with an easy, good-humoured look, not often met with in his craft.  I have been interested in his favour by a few anecdotes which I have picked up concerning him.

He is a native of the village, and was a contemporary and playmate of Ready-Money Jack in the days of their boyhood.  Indeed, they carried on a kind of league of mutual good offices.  Slingsby was rather puny, and withal somewhat of a coward, but very apt at his learning; Jack, on the contrary, was a bully-boy out of doors, but a sad laggard at his books.  Slingsby helped Jack, therefore, to all his lessons:  Jack fought all Slingsby’s battles; and they were inseparable friends.  This mutual kindness continued even after they left school, notwithstanding the dissimilarity of their characters.  Jack took to ploughing and reaping, and prepared himself to till his paternal acres; while the other loitered negligently on in the path of learning, until he penetrated even into the confines of Latin and mathematics.