any hour of the morning that it may happen to be when we make him go to bed. Thus by day my wife and I are able to pursue our ordinary avocations just as if Chavender were not here, and by night we are compelled, by the laws of hospitality, to indulge our passion for frivolous talk to most improper lengths.
Chavender is distinguishable from other men by (1) his power of catching fishes, (2) his capacity for tea-drinking. Teapots turn pale at Chavender. He empties them. That is what he does with them. He is their master. We have a little small teapot which is really a coffee-pot. This was sent up to Chavender's bedroom on his first morning here. He must have used it with frightful rigour, for nothing has been able to persuade it to venture again into his chamber. Now only the largest and strongest of these vessels ever goes there. When a teapot is confronted with Chavender it shrivels up and becomes nothing at all. Let it be accustomed to hold tea for ten, twice. Chavender fixes it with his eye, and the poor thing is bolting out of the room crying for a fresh supply. Only one man has driven a pen big enough for Chavender and the teapots, and he definitely gave up writing centuries ago. I have therefore borrowed his giant quill—the good fellow made no bones about
