t others shining round him--even myself. It is no
wonder Marsfield became such a singularly agreeable abode for all
who dwelt there, even for the men-servants and the maid-servants,
and the birds and the beasts, and the stranger within its gates--and
for me a kind of earthly paradise.

* * * * *

And now, gentle reader, I want very badly to talk about myself a
little, if you don't mind--just for half a dozen pages or so, which
you can skip if you like. Whether you do so or not, it will not hurt
you--and it will do me a great deal of good.

I feel uncommonly sad, and very lonely indeed, now that Barty is
gone; and with him my beloved comrade Leah.

[Illustration: "'I'M A PHILISTINE, AND AM NOT ASHAMED'"]

The only people left to me that I'm really fond of--except my dear
widowed sister, Ida Scatcherd--are all so young. They're Josselins, of
course--one and all--and they're all that's kind and droll and
charming, and I adore them. But they can't quite realize what this sort
of bereavement means to a man of just my age, who has still got some
years of life before him, probably--and is yet an old man.

The Right Honorable Sir Robert Maurice, Bart., M. P., etc., etc.,
etc. That's me. I take up a whole line of manuscript. I might be a
noble lord if I chose, and take up two!

I'm a liberal conservative, an opportunist, a pessi-optimist, an
in-medio-tutissimist, and attend divine service at the Temple
Church.

I'm a Philistine, and not ashamed; so was Moliere--so was Cervantes.
So, if you like, was the late Martin Farquhar Tupper--and those who
read him; we're of all sorts in Philistia, the great and the small,
the good and the bad.

I'm in the sixties--sound of wind and limb--only two false
teeth--one at each side, bicuspids, merely for show. I'm rather
bald, but it suits my style; a little fat, perhaps--a pound and a
half over sixteen stone! but I'm an inch and a half over six feet,
and very big-boned. Altogether, diablement bien conserve! I sleep
well, the sleep of the just; I have a good appetite and a good
digestion, and a good conceit of myself still, thank Heaven--though
nothing like what it used to be! One can survive the loss of one's
self-respect; but of one's vanity, never.

What a prosperous and happy life mine has been, to be sure, up to a
few short months ago--hardly ever an ache or a pain!--my only real
griefs, my dear mother's death ten years back, and my father's in