I lit my pipe, and took a turn at ROBINSON CRUSOE.
Before I had been at it five minutes, I came to this amazing bit--page one hundred and sixty-one--as follows: "Fear of Danger is ten thousand times more terrifying than Danger itself, when apparent to the Eyes; and we find the Burthen of Anxiety greater, by much, than the Evil which we are anxious about." The man who doesn't believe in ROBINSON CRUSOE, after THAT, is a man with a screw loose in his understanding, or a man lost in the mist of his own self-conceit! Argument is thrown away upon him; and pity is better reserved for some person with a livelier faith.
I was far on with my second pipe, and still lost in admiration of that wonderful book, when Penelope (who had been handing round the tea) came in with her report from the drawing-room.

She had left the Bouncers singing a duet--words beginning with a large "O," and music to correspond.

She had observed that my lady made mistakes in her game of whist for the first time in our experience of her.

She had seen the great traveller asleep in a corner.

She had overheard Mr.Franklin sharpening his wits on Mr.Godfrey, at the expense of Ladies' Charities in general; and she had noticed that Mr.Godfrey hit him back again rather more smartly than became a gentleman of his benevolent character.
She had detected Miss Rachel, apparently engaged in appeasing Mrs.
Threadgall by showing her some photographs, and really occupied in stealing looks at Mr.Franklin, which no intelligent lady's maid could misinterpret for a single instant.