rheumatism in his right shoulder and hand
and in both of his feet—rheumatism so
long neglected or so imperfectly treated as
to have become chronic and incurable.
Having no money to set up a shop, and no
friends to help him, he had betaken himself
to the road to live by what he could pick
up; not perhaps without reliance upon the
sweet little cherub already mentioned, or on
the Providence that takes account of men
as well as of sparrows.

Poor Jack called upon me a few weeks
ago with a basket of mushrooms that he
had gathered in the fields, having a standing
commission from me to give me the
first offer of these dainties whenever he can
find sufficient for a dish. The last time
I had seen him prior to this visit, was
about six weeks previously, when I had
come across him in a byway, sitting by the
side of a ditch, and very drunk indeed. I
reminded him (perhaps unnecessarily) of
the fact, but as I had bought his mushrooms
at a good price, he was not offended.

"Yes," said he, "I remember; I was
main drunk. I think I was never so drunk
in all my life before. It was with champagne."

"Champagne?" I repeated incredulously.

"Yes, champagne; and not bad stuff
neither, though it did make me uncommon
ill."

Jack went on to explain that there had
been a large pic-nic party upon the hill that
day, at which nearly two hundred people
were present, dispersed in groups under the
trees. As attendance upon pic-nics is part of
his regular business, he was, as he said, " to
the fore" on this occasion, to take his chance
either of being ruthlessly driven away, as
he sometimes is for his utter incongruity
with surrounding circumstances, or of being
employed, as he mostly is, in some way or
other, or of obtaining a share of the broken
victuals and remnants of the feast. Jack
had been plashing about all the morning in
the little river that winds and murmurs
under the hill- side, and had the large
basket, which is usually slung at his back,
filled with fresh forget-me-nots, which he
gathered on the banks of the stream.
Young ladies—romantic little dears!—love
the forget-me-not more for its name than
for its beauty, and Jack's venture among
the merry-makers with such an abundant
supply of a flower so suggestive to love-
makers proved to be a success. One young
gentleman gave him a shilling for a bunch,
which he forthwith presented to a young
lady, and such a desire for forget-me-nots
took possession of all the other ladies, young
and old, that the gentlemen in attendance,
as in gallantry and duty bound, made all
haste to gratify their wishes. The consequence
was that Jack's forget-me-nots were
speedily sold at highly remunerative prices,
and he found himself in possession of nearly
twelve shillings. " It was the best day's
work I ever did in my life," said Jack;
"nor was this all. Pic-nic people, though
they generally bring plenty of wine, ale, or
ginger-beer with them, always manage to
forget to bring water; and this party had
not a drop. One of the ladies asked me if
I could get some, and a gentleman sitting
next to her on the grass offered to give me
a bottle of champagne in exchange for six
bottles of cold pump water. They had the
water, and I had the wine. I had heard of
champagne, but I had never tasted a drop
in my life. They all laughed to see me
drinking it. Let them laugh as wins,
thought I, as I sat under a tree by myself,
and drank out of the bottle."

"You liked it, of course?"

"Liked it! It was glorious, and did me
a power of good; leastways, I think it
would have done if I had stuck to the one
bottle. But I amused the gentlemen, I
suppose, and made fun for them, so they
gave me more, and more again upon the
top of that, till my head began to spin and
swim, and I felt that I was going to be
very unwell. How I got away I don't remember,
but I was main ill, and after a
while I fell asleep where you saw me.
When I woke it was pitch dark, and I
heard the church clock at Darkham strike
three in the morning."

"Darkham," said I; " where's that?
You mean Dorking."

"No," replied Jack, very dictatorially,
and as if sure of his point. " Some people
say Dorking, others say Darking, I say
Darkham."

Jack had begun to interest me, for if I
have a favourite hobby it is philology, and
I had long had a suspicion that the modern
name of this pretty little town was not the
correct one.

"Did you ever hear any one else call it
Darkham?"

"Yes, my father and my mother, and
scores of people. There is Mickleham, and
Effingham, and Brockham, and Bookham,
and Darkham, all in a string, as I might
say."

"Have you any idea what Darkham
means? Bookham means the home among
the beech-trees, Brockham the home by