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Behold, sir, the villain counterfeited well; the W is exact, even in the small hair-stroke the tt's are crossed at the same distance, and the ll's are of the height of mine: a most villanous, but most excellent counterfeit!" "Which?" inquired the Protector: "which mean ye is the counterfeit the writing or the writer? Without there! Call in Robin Hays.
"Get a large sheet of paper, man, and make a new pen, with a sharp neb, and fine hair-stroke. Do not slit the quill up too high, it's a wastrife course in your trade, Andrew they that do not mind corn- pickles, never come to forpits.
After due deliberation he admitted that there was a very striking similarity, only it seemed to him that the other's brevier was a shade thinner in the hair-stroke than his own, and the small caps. would go a thought more to the pound; while as to the semicolons and marks of interrogation, they looked as if they came out of a different font altogether.
Enter her room, and, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, you will surprise her busily engaged, her mind divided between meditation and the writing of several long and carefully worded epistles traced with a firm hand, every hair-stroke of every letter in which is correctly formed.
"If Black Sea, Red Sea, White Sea, ran One tide of ink to Ispahan, If all the geese in Lincoln fens Produced spontaneous well-made pens, If Holland old and Holland new One wondrous sheet of paper grew, And could I sing but half the grace Of half a freckle in thy face, Each syllable I wrote would reach From Inverness to Bognor's beach, Each hair-stroke be a river Rhine, Each verse an equinoctial line!"
"If Black Sea, Red Sea, White Sea, ran One tide of ink to Ispahan, If all the geese in Lincoln fens Produced spontaneous well-made pens, If Holland old and Holland new One wondrous sheet of paper grew, And could I sing but half the grace Of half a freckle in thy face, Each syllable I wrote would reach From Inverness to Bognor's beach, Each hair-stroke be a river Rhine, Each verse an equinoctial line!"
But Archivarius Lindhorst handed him the English sheet, and said: "Be judge yourself!" Anselmus felt as if struck by a thunderbolt, to see his handwriting look so: it was miserable, beyond measure. There was no rounding in the turns, no hair-stroke where it should be; no proportion between the capital and single letters; nay, villainous school-boy pot-hooks often spoiled the best lines.
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