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Updated: May 13, 2025
I was staying at the house of an old friend, a wealthy Hebrew, while another of the guests was Arthur A'Becket. As will sometimes happen when you are in good spirits, the conversation took a religious turn. We drifted into it unconsciously, and our worthy host was telling us that he was in the habit of praying night and morning.
'By my fay, now! that's a fine thing! and a fine fellow! and a fleet foot! That lad 'll rise! He'll be a squire some day. Look at him. Bowels of a'Becket! 'tis a sight! I'd rather see that, now, than old Groschen 's supper-table groaning with Wurst again, and running a river of Rudesheimer! Tussle on! I'll lend a hand if there's occasion; but you shall have the honour, boy, an you can win it.
'By my fay, now! that's a fine thing! and a fine fellow! and a fleet foot! That lad 'll rise! He'll be a squire some day. Look at him. Bowels of a'Becket! 'tis a sight! I'd rather see that, now, than old Groschen 's supper-table groaning with Wurst again, and running a river of Rudesheimer! Tussle on! I'll lend a hand if there's occasion; but you shall have the honour, boy, an you can win it.
"Thank God!" cried A'Becket, "our friend Hawkins is not a Unitarian." I often wonder how I was able to get through the amount of business that pressed upon me and retain my health, but happily I did so. One great factor in my fortunate condition of health was, perhaps, that I had no ridiculous ambition.
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