playing a complicated kind of Patience with a ragged pack of cards of his own, — a game that I never saw before or since, and in which he recorded his winnings by sticking his jackknife into the table, — when he was not engaged in either of these pursuits, he would ask me to read to him, — “Foreign language, dear boy!” While I complied, he, not comprehending a single word, would stand before the fire surveying me with the air of an Exhibitor, and I would see him, between the fingers of the hand with which I shaded my face, appealing in dumb show to the furniture to take notice of my proficiency.

The imaginary student pursued by the misshapen creature he had impiously made, was not more wretched than I, pursued by the creature who had made me, and recoiling from him with a stronger repulsion,