presented by 120 in like manner. The bargain did not materialize.

I found Bell a very amusing companion in walks and excursions we took
to fairs and sales for the purchase of stock. He knew the histories
and peculiarities of all the farmers and country people whose land or
houses we passed, and his stories made the miles very short. I often
helped with driving sheep and cattle home, and their persistence in
taking all the wrong turnings or in doubling back was surprising; but
two drovers are much more efficient than one, and we got to know
exactly where they would need circumventing. When we visited a town I
always took him to an inn or restaurant and gave him a good dinner.
Visiting what was then a much-frequented dining-place--Mountford's, at
Worcester, near the cathedral--we sat next to a well-known hon. and
rev. scholar of eccentric habits. He would read abstractedly,
forgetting his food for several minutes, then suddenly would make a
noisy dash for knife and fork, resuming the meal with great energy for
a while, and as suddenly relinquish the implements and return to his
reading, and so on continuously. I noticed Bell watching with great
surprise, much shocked at such unusual table manners, and presently he
could not forbear very gently nudging my elbow to draw my attention to
the performance.

Mountford's was celebrated for succulent veal cutlets with fried bacon
and tomato sauce, also for Severn salmon and lamperns; visitors to the
cathedral and china works generally refreshed themselves there, and it
was amusing to watch their exhausted and grim looks when entering and
waiting, in comparison with their beaming smiles when confessing their
indulgences on leaving; for no bills were rendered, and guests were
trusted to remember the details consumed. You will always find the
best eating-houses near the cathedrals; vergers' recitals are apt to
be long-winded, and visitors require speedy refreshment after a
complete round.

It was a popular village belief that bad luck follows if a woman was
the first to enter a house on Christmas morning, and Bell always made
a point of being the first over my threshold, shouting loudly his
greetings up the staircase.

Bell's wife survived him, living on in the same cottage in which he
was born and had passed his life. She was a hard-working woman, and
came over to my house once a week for some years to bake the bread,
made from my own wheat ground at the village mill. It was so