idea of looking for a constituency. I really believe--and at this
distance of time I may use strong language in a historical sense--that
Captain Lake was the greatest liar I ever encountered with. He seemed to
do it without a purpose--by instinct, or on principle--and would
contradict himself solemnly twice or thrice in a week, without seeming to
perceive it. I dare say he lied always, and about everything. But it was
in matters of some moment that one perceived it.

What object could he gain, for instance, by the fib he had just told me?
On second thoughts this night he coolly apprised me that he _had_ some
idea of sounding the electors. So, my meal ended, we went into the
tapestry room where, the night being sharp, a pleasant bit of fire burned
in the grate, and Wealdon greeted me.

My journey, though by rail, and as easy as that of the Persian gentleman
who skimmed the air, seated on a piece of carpet, predisposed me to
sleep. Such volumes of fine and various country air, and such an eight
hours' procession of all sorts of natural pictures are not traversed
without effect. Sitting in my well-stuffed chair, my elbows on the
cushioned arms, the conversation of Lake and the Town Clerk now and then
grew faint, and their faces faded away, and little 'fyttes' and fragments
of those light and pleasant dreams, like fairy tales, which visit such
stolen naps, superseded with their picturesque and musical illusions the
realities and recollections of life.

Once or twice a nod a little too deep or sudden called me up. But Lake
was busy about the Dollington constituency, and the Town Clerk's bluff
face was serious and thoughtful. It was the old question about Rogers,
the brewer, and whether Lord Adleston and Sir William could not get him;
or else it had gone on to the great railway contractor, Dobbs, and the