, and receive our thanks; 'twould be a
favour, though not much to grant: we neither ask for Stonehenge nor for
Tempe.'

My friend looked somewhat perplexed; after a moment, however, he said,
with a firm but gentlemanly air, 'Sir, I am sorry that I cannot comply
with your request.'

'Not comply!' said the man, his brow becoming dark as midnight; and with
a hoarse and savage tone, 'Not comply! why not?'

'It is impossible, sir; utterly impossible!'

'Why so?'

'I am not compelled to give my reasons to you, sir, nor to any man.'

'Let me beg of you to alter your decision,' said the man, in a tone of
profound respect.

'Utterly impossible, sir; I am a magistrate.'

'Magistrate! then fare ye well, for a green-coated buffer and a
Harmanbeck.'

'Sir!' said the magistrate, springing up with a face fiery with wrath.

But, with a surly nod to me, the man left the apartment; and in a moment
more the heavy footsteps of himself and his companion were heard
descending the staircase.

'Who is that man?' said my friend, turning towards me.

'A sporting gentleman, well known in the place from which I come.'

'He appeared to know you.'

'I have occasionally put on the gloves with him.'

'What is his name?'

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

DOUBTS--WISE KING OF JERUSALEM--LET ME SEE--A THOUSAND YEARS--NOTHING
NEW--THE CROWD--THE HYMN--FAITH--CHARLES WESLEY--THERE HE
STOOD--FAREWELL, BROTHER--DEATH--WIND ON THE HEATH

There was one question which I was continually asking myself at this
period, and which has more than once met the eyes of the reader who has
followed me through the last chapter: 'What is truth?' I had involved
myself imperceptibly in a dreary labyrinth of doubt, and, whichever way I
turned, no reasonable prospect of extricating myself appeared. The means
by which I had brought myself into this situation may be very briefly
told; I had inquired into many matters, in order that I might become
wise, and I had read and pondered over the words of the wise, so called,
till I had made myself master of the sum of human wisdom; namely, that
everything is enigmatical and that man is an enigma to himself; hence the
cry of 'What is truth?' I had ceased to believe in the truth of that in
which I had hitherto trusted, and yet could find nothing in which I could
put any fixed or deliberate belief--I was, indeed, in a labyrinth! In
what did I not doubt? With respect to crime and virtue I was in doubt; I
doubted that