her to deign to ratify the engagement, what so reasonable on the part of a Cinque Port chieftain as to congratulate his liege mistress, her illustrious mother?  These are thoughts and these are deeds >which give emotional warmth and colour to the ejecter members of a population wretchedly befogged.  They are our sunlight, and our brighter theme of conversation.  They are necessary to the climate and the Saxon mind; and it would be foolish to put them away, as it is foolish not to do our utmost to be intimate with terrestrial splendours while we have them—­as it may be said of wardens, mayors, and bailiffs-at command.  Tinman was quite of this opinion.  They are there to relieve our dulness.  We have them in the place of heavenly; and he would have argued that we have a right to bother them too.  He had a notion, up in the clouds, of a Sailors’ Convalescent Hospital at Crikswich to seduce a prince with, hand him the trowel, make him “lay the stone,” and then poor prince! refresh him at table.  But that was a matter for by and by.

His purchase of herrings completed, Mr. Tinman walked across the mound of shingle to the house on the beach.  He was rather a fresh-faced man, of the Saxon colouring, and at a distance looking good-humoured.  That he should have been able to make such an appearance while doing daily battle with his wine, was a proof of great physical vigour.  His pace was leisurely, as it must needs be over pebbles, where half a step is subtracted from each whole one in passing; and, besides, he was aware of a general breath at his departure that betokened a censorious assembly.  Why should he not market for himself?  He threw dignity into his retreating figure in response to the internal interrogation.  The moment >was one when conscious rectitude =pliers man should have a tail for its just display.  Philosophers have drawn attention to the power of the human face to express pure virtue, but no sooner has it passed on than the spirit erect within would seem helpless.  The breadth of our shoulders is apparently presented for our critics to write on.  Poor duty is done by the simple sense of moral worth, to supplant that absence of feature in the plain flat back.  We are below the animals in this.  How charged with language behind him is a dog!  Everybody has noticed it.  Let a dog turn away from a hostile circle, and his crisp and wary tail not merely defends him, it menaces; it is a weapon.  Man has no choice but to surge and boil, or stiffen preposterously.  Knowing the popular sentiment about his marketing—­for men can see behind their backs, though they may have nothing to speak with—­Tinman resembled those persons of principle who decline to pay for a “Bless your honour!” from a voluble beggar-woman, and obtain the reverse of it after they have gone by.  He was sufficiently sensitive to feel that his back was chalked as on a slate.  The only remark following him was, “There he goes!”