water?" his only response was conveyed in
the words above quoted. "Yes, sir; O yes,
sir; you are quite right, sir." When this
man left the house, the impression on my
mind was that he was insane; and I
intimated as much to Robert, my man-servant;
but he only smiled, and remarked, "He may
be, sir, for all I know."

My toilet completed, I sallied forth to
mingle with the world. It occurred to me
that I would, in the first instance, call at the
shops of the tradespeople with whom I had
dealt (through the agency of my servants),
and express to them some few words of
compliment. I, of course, took it for granted
that they knew my name, and that I was
one of their customers.

The butcher's shop was the first that I
was passing, and I looked in. "Good morning,
sir," said I, crossing the portal.

The butcher, whose size was about double
that of mine, eyed me with some concern;
and, before replying to my salutation, removed
from the block his cleaver, knife, and steel,
which he had just been using; and then, in a
somewhat confused manner, he made his
exit through a back door, leaving me in sole
possession of the shop. I waited a reasonable
time; but finding that he did not return, I
took my departure, perfectly convinced that
the butcher was mad.

My next visit was to the baker's—a very
respectable man with a very intelligent
countenance. I observed that he, too, was
rather uneasy when I spoke to him, and to
my astonishment, when I casually took up a
half-pound weight which was on the counter,
he rushed—literally rushed—into the street,
and stood on the opposite side thereof. There
was but one conclusion at which I could
arrive—namely, that the baker was as mad
as the butcher.

The grocer, into whose shop I next went,
behaved far better than either the butcher or
the baker; for he talked to me for at least
five minutes. At the expiration of that time,
however, he asked me, very politely, if not
abjectly, to excuse him for a few minutes;
and, putting on his hat, he took a hasty
departure into the street, and turned the
corner. It is, perhaps, needless for me to
state that I did not see any more of my
grocer, of whose sanity I then entertained
but a very indifferent opinion.

Opposite to the grocer's shop was that of
the bookseller and stationer, who had
supplied me with pens and ink, and other little
matters. On entering, I found the shop
empty; but I saw the bookseller and his wife
—partners in alarm—staring at me through
a small glass window. I smiled blandly at
them, bowed, and evinced by my manner,
that I wished to be served. But in vain.
The more I smiled, the more solemn became
the expression of their countenances.
Becoming impatient, I scowled, whereupon the
bookseller and his wife retired altogether.

Wondering what on earth the people meant,
I directed my steps towards the livery-stable
keeper's, where I intended to hire a horse,
for the purpose of taking a canter in some
of the quiet lanes in the vicinity. The
livery-stable keeper, in the politest manner imaginable
—but keeping at a considerable distance
from me—said he did not think that he had
a horse that would suit me, but that he would
go and see. He did go. But he did not
come back again. I then went up the yard,
and called out, "Ostler!" several times at
the top of my voice (rather a loud one) but,
as I received no answer, I deemed it useless
to remain any longer, and made my way to
the hotel opposite, where I asked for a pint
of Canterbury ale. I was served by a very
pretty and engaging young lady, to whom I
desired to pay a modest and dignified
compliment. But, alas! no sooner had she
placed the ale before me than she rapidly
vanished, and shut the coffee-room door after
her.

When I had drunk the ale, I rang the bell.
It was not answered. I then made a noise
on the floor with my heavy walking-stick.
To no purpose. I opened the door of the
coffee-room, and looked into the passage.
There was no one there. I called aloud,
Waiter! There was no reply. I could hear
no one; not a sound; the house was
seemingly empty. I left a sixpence and a piece
of honeysuckle near the empty tankard, and
walked away in utter disgust.

My watch required regulating; but I could
not get into the watchmaker's shop, for he
had bolted his door when he saw me
approaching. It was the same at the
circulating library, to which institution I was
anxious to subscribe, for during the winter
I had grown to like this little watering-place,
and resolved on spending the summer
there.

What could be the meaning of the
trades-people's conduct? was a question I put to
myself, over and over again, on my way to
the pier, for I now intended hiring a boat for
a sail. But the fact was, I could not get a
boat. Every one of the men to whom I
spoke made some excuse or other for not taking
me on the water. One said, that the wind
would soon shift, and we should not be able
to get back that night; another told me that
his mast was sprung; a third that the paint
was not dry inside, and that I would spoil
my clothes. And, what was even more
provoking still, I found myself surrounded by at
least a score of these amphibious animals,
who listened to all I said with much eagerness,
though upon each face there was a
broad grin which struck me as very
meaningless.

I retraced my steps to my cottage—men,
women, and children avoiding me as I passed
through the few streets of the little town—
and summoned my man-servant Robert, to
whom I mentioned what had taken place,