d it, I came
upon a road that crossed the railway at a level and led me into the
great Piacenzan way. Almost immediately appeared a village. It was a
hole called Secugnano, and there I entered a house where a bush
hanging above the door promised entertainment, and an old hobbling
woman gave me food and drink and a bed. The night had fallen, and upon
the roof above me I could hear the steady rain.

The next morning--Heaven preserve the world from evil!--it was still
raining.

LECTOR. It does not seem to me that this part of your book is very
entertaining.

AUCTOR. I know that; but what am I to do?

LECTOR. Why, what was the next point in the pilgrimage that was even
tolerably noteworthy?

AUCTOR. I suppose the Bridge of Boats.

LECTOR. And how far on was that?

AUCTOR. About fourteen miles, more or less... I passed through a town
with a name as long as my arm, and I suppose the Bridge of Boats must
have been nine miles on after that.

LECTOR. And it rained all the time, and there was mud?

AUCTOR. Precisely.

LECTOR. Well, then, let us skip it and tell stories.

AUCTOR. With all my heart. And since you are such a good judge of
literary poignancy, do you begin.

LECTOR. I will, and I draw my inspiration from your style.

Once upon a time there was a man who was born in Croydon, and whose
name was Charles Amieson Blake. He went to Rugby at twelve and left it
at seventeen. He fell in love twice and then went to Cambridge till he
was twenty-three. Having left Cambridge he fell in love more mildly,
and was put by his father into a government office, where he began at
_180_ pounds a year. At thirty-five he was earning 500 pounds a year,
and perquisites made 750 pounds a year. He met a pleasant lady and
fell in love quite a little compared with the other times. She had 250
pounds a year. That made _1000_ pounds a year. They married and had
three children--Richard, Amy, and Cornelia. He rose to a high
government position, was knighted, retired at sixty-three, and died at
sixty-seven. He is buried at Kensal Green...

AUCTOR. Thank you, Lector, that is a very good story. It is simple and
full of plain human touches. You know how to deal with the facts of
everyday life... It requires a master-hand. Tell me, Lector, had this
man any adventures?

LECTOR. None that I know of.

AUCTOR. Had he opinions?

LECTOR. Yes. I forgot to tell you he was a Unionist. He spoke two
foreign languages badly. He often went abroa