No More Learning

There was a bridge, and we resolved to
cross it. It was roofed over, by way of protection from the weather, and
the archway, having but few windows, was thus very uncomfortably dark.
As we entered the passage, the contrast between the external glare and
the interior gloom struck heavily upon my spirits. Not so upon those
of the unhappy Dammit, who offered to bet the Devil his head that I was
hipped. He seemed to be in an unusual good humor. He was excessively
lively--so much so that I entertained I know not what of uneasy
suspicion. It is not impossible that he was affected with the
transcendentals. I am not well enough versed, however, in the diagnosis
of this disease to speak with decision upon the point; and unhappily
there were none of my friends of the "Dial" present. I suggest the idea,
nevertheless, because of a certain species of austere Merry-Andrewism
which seemed to beset my poor friend, and caused him to make quite a
Tom-Fool of himself. Nothing would serve him but wriggling and skipping
about under and over every thing that came in his way; now shouting
out, and now lisping out, all manner of odd little and big words, yet
preserving the gravest face in the world all the time. I really could
not make up my mind whether to kick or to pity him. At length, having
passed nearly across the bridge, we approached the termination of the
footway, when our progress was impeded by a turnstile of some height.
Through this I made my way quietly, pushing it around as usual. But this
turn would not serve the turn of Mr. Dammit.
He insisted upon leaping
the stile, and said he could cut a pigeon-wing over it in the air. Now
this, conscientiously speaking, I did not think he could do. The best
pigeon-winger over all kinds of style was my friend Mr. Carlyle, and as
I knew he could not do it, I would not believe that it could be done
by Toby Dammit. I therefore told him, in so many words, that he was a
braggadocio, and could not do what he said. For this I had reason to be
sorry afterward;--for he straightway offered to bet the Devil his head
that he could.

I was about to reply, notwithstanding my previous resolutions, with some
remonstrance against his impiety, when I heard, close at my elbow, a
slight cough, which sounded very much like the ejaculation "ahem! " I
started, and looked about me in surprise. My glance at length fell into
a nook of the frame--work of the bridge, and upon the figure of a little
lame old gentleman of venerable aspect. Nothing could be more reverend
than his whole appearance; for he not only had on a full suit of black,
but his shirt was perfectly clean and the collar turned very neatly down
over a white cravat, while his hair was parted in front like a girl's.
His hands were clasped pensively together over his stomach, and his two
eyes were carefully rolled up into the top of his head.

Upon observing him more closely, I perceived that he wore a black silk
apron over his small-clothes; and this was a thing which I thought very
odd. Before I had time to make any remark, however, upon so singular a
circumstance, he interrupted me with a second "ahem! "

To this observation I was not immediately prepared to reply. The fact
is, remarks of this laconic nature are nearly unanswerable. I have known
a Quarterly Review non-plussed by the word "Fudge!