There will no mosse stick to the stone of Sisiphus, no grasse hang on the heels of Mercury, no butter cleave² on the bread of a traveller. For as the eagle at every flight loseth a feather, which maketh her bauld in her age, so the traveller in every country loseth some fleece, which maketh him a beggar in his youth, by buying that for a pound which he cannot sell again for a penny—repentance.  
LILLY'S EUPHUES.
 
 
 
Among the worthies⁴ of the village, that enjoy the peculiar⁵ confidence of Master Simon, is one who has struck my fancy so much that I have thought him worthy⁶ of a separate notice. It is Slingsby, the schoolmaster, a thin, elderly man, rather threadbare and slovenly⁷, somewhat indolent in manner, and with an easy, good-humoured look, not often met with in his craft. I have been interested in his favour by a few anecdotes⁸ which I have picked up concerning him.
 
He is a native of the village, and was a contemporary and playmate of Ready-Money Jack⁹ in the days of their boyhood. Indeed, they carried on a kind of league of mutual¹⁰ good offices. Slingsby was rather puny¹¹, and withal somewhat of a coward, but very apt at his learning; Jack, on the contrary, was a bully-boy out of doors, but a sad laggard¹² at his books. Slingsby helped Jack, therefore, to all his lessons: Jack fought all Slingsby's battles; and they were inseparable friends. This mutual kindness continued even after they left school, notwithstanding the dissimilarity of their characters. Jack took to ploughing and reaping, and prepared himself to till his paternal¹³ acres; while the other loitered negligently¹⁴ on in the path of learning, until he penetrated¹⁵ even into the confines of Latin and mathematics.
 
In an unlucky hour, however, he took to reading voyages and travels, and was smitten¹⁶ with a desire to see the world. This desire increased upon him as he grew up; so, early one bright, sunny morning, he put all his effects in a knapsack, slung¹⁷ it on his back, took staff in hand, and called in his way to take leave of his early schoolmate. Jack was just going out with the plough: the friends shook hands over the farm-house gate; Jack drove his team afield, and Slingsby whistled "Over the hills, and far away," and sallied forth¹⁸ gaily¹⁹ to "seek his fortune."
 
Years and years passed by, and young Tom Slingsby was forgotten: when, one mellow²⁰ Sunday afternoon in autumn, a thin man, somewhat advanced in life, with a coat out at elbows, a pair of old nankeen gaiters, and a few things tied in a handkerchief, and slung on the end of a stick, was seen loitering through the village. He appeared to regard several houses attentively²¹, to peer into the windows that were open, to eye the villagers wistfully as they returned from church, and then to pass some time in the churchyard, reading the tombstones.
 
At length he found his way to the farm-house of Ready-Money Jack, but paused ere he attempted the wicket; contemplating²³ the picture of substantial independence before him. In the porch of the house sat Ready-Money Jack, in his Sunday dress, with his hat upon his head, his pipe in his mouth, and his tankard before him, the monarch²⁴ of all he surveyed. Beside him lay his fat house-dog. The varied²⁵ sounds of poultry²⁶ were heard from the well-stocked farm-yard; the bees hummed from their hives in the garden; the cattle lowed in the rich meadow: while the crammed²⁷ barns and ample stacks bore proof of an abundant harvest.
 
The stranger opened the gate and advanced dubiously²⁸ towards the house. The mastiff growled²⁹ at the sight of the suspicious-looking intruder, but was immediately silenced by his master, who, taking his pipe from his mouth, awaited with inquiring aspect the address of this equivocal personage. The stranger eyed old Jack for a moment, so portly in his dimensions, and decked out in gorgeous apparel; then cast a glance upon his own threadbare and starveling condition, and the scanty³⁰ bundle which he held in his hand; then giving his shrunk waistcoat a twitch³¹ to make it meet his receding³² waistband; and casting another look, half sad, half humorous at the sturdy yeoman, "I suppose," said he, "Mr. Tibbets, you have forgot old times and old playmates?"
 
The latter gazed at him with scrutinizing³³ look, but acknowledged that he had no recollection of him.
 
 
Slingsby and Ready-Money Jack
"Like enough, like enough," said the stranger; "everybody seems to have forgotten poor Slingsby?"
 
"Why, no sure! it can't be Tom Slingsby?"
 
"Yes, but it is, though!" replied the strange............