e 'isms, I know none so bad as rheumatism." My own last sight of him
was some time before, when we dined together at an inn; he had been on
circuit, for he stuck to his duties like a chief part of his
existence; and I remember it as the only occasion on which he ever
soiled his lips with slang--a thing he loathed. We were both Roberts;
and as we took our places at table, he addressed me with a twinkle:
"We are just what you would call two bob."[42] He offered me port, I
remember, as the proper milk of youth; spoke of "twenty-shilling
notes"; and throughout the meal was full of old-world pleasantry and
quaintness, like an ancient boy on a holiday. But what I recall
chiefly was his confession that he had never read _Othello_ to an
end.[43] Shakespeare was his continual study. He loved nothing better
than to display his knowledge and memory by adducing parallel passages
from Shakespeare, passages where the same word was employed, or the
same idea differently treated. But _Othello_ had beaten him. "That
noble gentleman and that noble lady--h'm--too painful for me." The
same night the boardings were covered with posters, "Burlesque of
_Othello_," and the contrast blazed up in my mind like a bonfire. An
unforgettable look it gave me into that kind man's soul. His
acquaintance was indeed a liberal and pious education.[44] All the
humanities were taught in that bare dining-room beside his gouty
footstool. He was a piece of good advice; he was himself the instance
that pointed and adorned his various talk. Nor could a young man have
found elsewhere a place so set apart from envy, fear, discontent, or
any of the passions that debase; a life so honest and composed; a soul
like an ancient violin, so subdued to harmony, responding to a touch
in music--as in that dining-room, with Mr. Hunter chatting at the
eleventh hour, under the shadow of eternity, fearless and gentle.

The second class of old people are not anecdotic; they are rather
hearers than talkers, listening to the young with an amused and
critical attention. To have this sort of intercourse to perfection, I
think we must go to old ladies. Women are better hearers than men, to
begin with; they learn, I fear in anguish, to bear with the tedious
and infantile vanity of the other sex; and we will take more from a
woman than even from the oldest man in the way of biting comment.
Biting comment is the chief part, whether for profit or amusement, in
this business. The old lady t