of Timour the Tartar. 'No,' said he; 'Alexander
and Napoleon are the great men of the world, their names are known
everywhere. Alexander has been dead upwards of two thousand years, but
the very English bumpkins sometimes christen their boys by the name of
Alexander--can there be a greater evidence of his greatness? As for
Napoleon, there are some parts of India in which his bust is worshipped.'
Wishing to make up a triumvirate I mentioned the name of Wellington, to
which Francis Ardry merely said, 'bah!' and resumed the subject of
dog-fighting.

Francis Ardry remained at the inn during that day and the next, and then
departed to the dog and lion fight; I never saw him afterwards, and
merely heard of him once after the lapse of some years, and what I then
heard was not exactly what I could have wished to hear. He did not make
much of the advantages which he possessed, a pity, for how great were
those advantages--person, intellect, eloquence, connection, riches! yet,
with all these advantages, one thing highly needful seems to have been
wanting in Francis. A desire, a craving, to perform something great and
good. Oh! what a vast deal may be done with intellect, courage, riches,
accompanied by the desire of doing something great and good! Why, a
person may carry the blessings of civilization and religion to barbarous,
yet at the same time to beautiful and romantic lands; and what a triumph
there is for him who does so! What a crown of glory! of far greater
value that those surrounding the brows of your mere conquerors. Yet who
has done so in these times? Not many; not three, not two, something
seems to have been always wanting: there is, however, one instance in
which the various requisites have been united, and the crown, the most
desirable in the world--at least which I consider to be the most
desirable--achieved, and only one, that of Brooke of Borneo. {168}

CHAPTER XXVIII

MR. PLATITUDE AND THE MAN IN BLACK--THE POSTILLION'S ADVENTURES--THE LONE
HOUSE--A GOODLY ASSEMBLAGE

It never rains, but it pours. I was destined to see at this inn more
acquaintances than one. On the day of Francis Ardry's departure, shortly
after he had taken leave of me, as I was standing in the corn-chamber at
a kind of writing-table or desk, fastened to the wall, with a book before
me, in which I was making out an account of the corn and hay lately
received and distributed, my friend the postillion came running in out