unity," with which the good Doctor daily anointed the creaking wheels
of Whitbury society, John Briggs and his master would have long ago
"broken out of gear," and parted company in mutual wrath and fury.
And now, indeed, the critical moment seemed come at last; for the lad
began afresh to declare his deliberate intention of going to London to
seek his fortune, in spite of parents and all the world.

"To live on here, and never to rise, perhaps, above the post of
correspondent to a country newspaper!--To publish a volume of poems
by subscription and have to go round, hat in hand, begging
five shillings' worth of patronage from every stupid country
squire--intolerable! I must go! Shakespeare was never Shakespeare till
he fled from miserable Stratford, to become at once the friend of
Sidney and Southampton."

"But John Briggs will be John Briggs still, if he went to the moon,"
shouted Tom Thurnall, who had just come up to the window. "I advise
you to change that name of yours, Jack, to Sidney, or Percy, or Walker
if you like; anything but the illustrious surname of Briggs the
poisoner!"

"What do you mean, sir!" thundered John, while the Doctor himself
jumped up; for Tom was red with rage.

"What is this, Tom!"

"What's that?" screamed Tom, bursting, in spite of his passion into
roars of laughter. "What's that?"--and he held out a phial "Smell it!
taste it! Oh, if I had but a gallon of it to pour down your throat!
That's what you brought Mark Armsworth last night, instead of his