ard, if picked up at all. It
is an unaccountable prejudice that makes the parasite unpopular. For
who is it that relieves life of much of its asperities,--who is it that
provides so unceasingly that our capon should be well roasted and our
temper unruffled,--who, like him, to secure all the available advantages
of the road, and, when disasters _will_ occur, to make them food for
laughter?

How patient, how self-sacrificing, how deferential to caprices and
indulgent to whims is the man whose daily dinner you pay for! If you
would see humanity in holiday attire, look out for one like _him_.
How blandly does he forgive the rascalities of _your_ servants and the
robberies of _your_ tradesmen! No fretfulness about trifles
disfigures the calm serenity of his features. He knows that if the
travelling-carriage be thought heavy, it is only two leaders the more
are required; if the wine be corked, it is but ordering another bottle.
Look at life from his point of view, and it is surprising how little
there is to complain of. It would be too much to say that there was
not occasionally a little acting in all this catholic benevolence and
universal satisfaction, but no more, perhaps, than the fervor of a
lawyer for his client,--that _nisi prius_ enthusiasm marked five guineas
on the brief.

The Captain understood his part like an artist; and through all the
condescending forgiveness he bestowed on the shortcomings of inns and
innkeepers, he suffered, ever half imperceptibly, to peer out the habits
of a man accustomed to the best of everything, who always had been
sedulously served and admirably cared for. His indulgence was thus
generosity, not ignorance, and all irritability in such a presence would
stand rebuked at once.

Sir William declared he had never seen his equal,--such temper, such
tact, such resources in difficulty, such patience under all trials.
May pronounced him charming. He could obtain something eatable in the
veriest desolation, he could extract a laugh out of disasters that
seemed to defy drollery; and, lastly, Mrs. Morris herself averred "that
he was unlike every old Indian she had ever seen, for he seemed not to
know what selfishness meant,--but so, indeed, 'poor Penthony' had
always described him." And here she would wipe her eyes and turn away in
silence.

As they rolled along the road, many a little scheme was devised for
detaining him at Rome, many a little plot laid for making him pass
the carnival wit