and striding to and fro on his post, like one under a fit of impatience and anxiety. It was while the porter was pacing before the gate in this agitated manner, that Wayland, modestly, yet as a matter of course (not, however, without some mental misgiving), was about to pass him, and enter the portal arch. The porter, however, stopped his progress, bidding him, in a thundering voice, "Stand back!" and enforcing his injunction by heaving up his steel-shod mace, and dashing it on the ground before Wayland's horse's nose with such vehemence that the pavement flashed fire, and the archway rang to the clamour. Wayland, availing himself of Dickie's hints, began to state that he belonged to a band of performers to which his presence was indispensable, that he had been accidentally detained behind, and much to the same purpose. But the warder was inexorable, and kept muttering and murmuring something betwixt his teeth, which Wayland could make little of; and addressing betwixt whiles a refusal of admittance, couched in language which was but too intelligible. A specimen of his speech might run thus:--"What, how now, my masters?" (to himself)--"Here's a stir--here's a coil."--(Then to Wayland)--"You are a loitering knave, and shall have no entrance."--(Again to himself)--"Here's a throng--here's a thrusting.--I shall ne'er get through with it--Here's a--humph--ha."--(To Wayland)--"Back from the gate, or I'll break the pate of thee."--(Once more to himself)--"Here's a--no--I shall never get through it."
"Stand still," whispered Flibbertigibbet into
