kind since the creation of the world.
These accounts, however, appeared, to many persons at that day--as
they would to us at the present, but that we know them to be matter of
history--so monstrous and improbable, that a great number of those who
were resident at a distance, and who were credulous enough on other
points, were really unable to bring their minds to believe that such
things could be; and rejected the intelligence they received on all
hands, as wholly fabulous and absurd.

Mr Willet--not so much, perhaps, on account of his having argued and
settled the matter with himself, as by reason of his constitutional
obstinacy--was one of those who positively refused to entertain the
current topic for a moment. On this very evening, and perhaps at the
very time when Gashford kept his solitary watch, old John was so red in
the face with perpetually shaking his head in contradiction of his three
ancient cronies and pot companions, that he was quite a phenomenon to
behold, and lighted up the Maypole Porch wherein they sat together, like
a monstrous carbuncle in a fairy tale.

'Do you think, sir,' said Mr Willet, looking hard at Solomon Daisy--for
it was his custom in cases of personal altercation to fasten upon the
smallest man in the party--'do you think, sir, that I'm a born fool?'

'No, no, Johnny,' returned Solomon, looking round upon the little circle
of which he formed a part: 'We all know better than that. You're no
fool, Johnny. No, no!'

Mr Cobb and Mr Parkes shook their heads in unison, muttering, 'No, no,
Johnny, not you!' But as such compliments had usually the effect of
making Mr Willet rather more dogged than before, he surveyed them with a
look of deep disdain, and returned for answer:

'Then what do you mean by coming here, and telling me that this evening
you're a-going to walk up to London together--you three--you--and have
the evidence of your own senses? An't,' said Mr Willet, putting his pipe
in his mouth with an air of solemn disgust, 'an't the evidence of MY
senses enough for you?'

'But we haven't got it, Johnny,' pleaded Parkes, humbly.

'You haven't got it, sir?' repeated Mr Willet, eyeing him from top to
toe. 'You haven't got it, sir? You HAVE got it, sir. Don't I tell you
that His blessed Majesty King George the Third would no more stand a
rioting and rollicking in his streets, than he'd stand being crowed over
by his own Parliament?'

'Yes, Johnny, but that's your sense--not your se