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De man w'at sot in de cheer couldn't git up less'n de blacksmif let 'im, en de man w'at pick up de sludge 'ud hatter keep on knockin' wid it twel de blacksmif say quit; en den he gun 'im money plenty, en off he put.
"We'll no longer have track or trace to guide us, if this abominable sludge extend to the river; as I daresay it does. There we'll find the trail blind as an owl at noontide. As you see, the thing's nearly an inch thick all over the ground. 'Twould smother up the wheel-ruts of a loaded carreta." His words, clearly understood by both his young companions, cause them renewed uneasiness.
"It makes me think of Sludge the Medium," she said. He made no answer. She glanced at him suddenly. "Have you read Sludge the Medium?" "Eigh?" he said, coming back out of infinity. "What? I beg your pardon. Sludge, the Medium? I thought his name was it was Chaffery." He looked at her, clearly very anxious upon this question of fact. "But I mean Browning's 'Sludge. You know the poem."
There they remained till the snow had abated, and then they struggled on amid ice and "sludge" until checked by a glacier. They had doubled Cape Dudley Digges, and after a survey, decided to wait in the ice at "Providence Halt." After a week's rest they again continued their way, past the "Crimson Cliffs," and into more cheerful regions.
It was surprising, also, to see how powerful a resistance was occasioned by the "sludge" produced in sawing, or, as the sailors called it, the "sawdust," continuing in the cut, and appearing to act, like oil interposed between two plates of glass, in keeping the masses united.
Hence George, patrolling regularly every half-hour to the rooms so carefully looked after, extends his march to the hall-door, looks about him, and brings back the best report he can make of the worst of nights, the sleet still falling and even the stone footways lying ankle- deep in icy sludge.
To know what combination of excuse might justify a man in manslaughter or bigamy, is not to have a callous indifference to virtue; it is rather to have so ardent an admiration for virtue as to seek it in the remotest desert and the darkest incognito. This is emphatically the case with the question of truth and falsehood raised in "Sludge the Medium."
'Andrea del Sarto' is in its way the whole problem of the artist-ideal, the weak will and the inner failure, in all times and guises; and at the other end of the gamut, nobody will ever need again to set forth Bishop Blougram's attitude, or even that of Mr. Sludge the Medium.
If the Bishop, who orders his tomb at St Praxed's, serves to represent the sensuous glory and the moral void of one phase of the Italian Renaissance, so, and with equal fidelity, does Mr Sludge represent a phase of nineteenth century materialism and moral grossness, which cannot extinguish the cravings of the soul but would vulgarise and degrade them with coarse illusions.
Sludge might indeed find himself unexpectedly justified if we had only an exact record of how true were the tales told about Conservatives in an exclusive circle of Radicals, or the stories told about Radicals in a circle of indignant Conservatives.
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