that they have
hewed into pieces mine estate instead of myself.'

'Have you lost all, then?' Reuben asked, open-eyed.

'Why no--not all--by no means all!' he answered, with a merry laugh; 'I
have a gold Jacobus and a guinea or two in my purse. 'Twill serve for
a flask or so yet. There is my silver-hilted rapier, my rings, my gold
snuff-box, and my watch by Tompion at the sign of the Three Crowns.
It was never bought under a hundred, I'll warrant. Then there are such
relics of grandeur as you see upon my person, though they begin to
look as frail and worn as a waiting-woman's virtue. In this bag, too,
I retain the means for preserving that niceness and elegance of person
which made me, though I say it, as well groomed a man as ever set foot
in St. James's Park. Here are French scissors, eyebrow brush, toothpick
case, patch-box, powder-bag, comb, puff, and my pair of red-heeled
shoes. What could a man wish for more? These, with a dry throat, a
cheerful heart, and a ready hand, are my whole stock in trade.'

Reuben and I could not forbear from laughing at the curious inventory of
articles which Sir Gervas had saved from the wreck of his fortunes. He
upon seeing our mirth was so tickled at his own misfortunes, that he
laughed in a high treble key until the whole house resounded with his
merriment. 'By the Mass,' he cried at last, 'I have never had so much
honest amusement out of my prosperity as hath been caused in me by my
downfall. Fill up your glasses!'

'We have still some distance to travel this evening, and must not drink
more,' I observed, for prudence told me that it was dangerous work for
two sober country lads to keep pace with an experienced toper.

'So!' said he in surprise. 'I should have thought that would be a
"raison de plus," as the French say. But I wish your long-legged friend
would come back, even if he were intent upon slitting my weazand for my
attention to the widow. He is not a man to flinch from his liquor, I'll
warrant. Curse this Wiltshire dust that clings to my periwig!'

'Until my comrade returns, Sir Gervas,' said I, 'you might, since the
subject does not appear to be a painful one to you, let us know how
these evil times, which you bear with such philosophy, came upon you.'

'The old story!' he answered, flicking away a few grains of snuff with
his deeply-laced cambric handkerchief. 'The old, old story! My father, a
good, easy country baronet, finding the family purse somewhat full, must