CHAPTER EIGHT.
WHICH IS WITHIN A HAIR'S-BREADTH OF PROVING HIGHLY INTERESTING.
Leaving Captain Crowe and his nephew for the present, though they, and even the misanthrope, will reappear in due season, we are now obliged to attend the progress of the knight, who proceeded in a southerly direction, insensible of the storm that blew, as well as of the darkness, which was horrible.

For some time, Crabshaw ejaculated curses in silence; till at length his anger gave way to his fear, which waxed so strong upon him, that he could no longer resist the desire of alleviating it, by entering into a conversation with his master.

By way of introduction, he gave Gilbert the spur, directing him towards the flank of Bronzomarte, which he encountered with such a shock, that the knight was almost dismounted.
When Sir Launcelot, with some warmth, asked the reason of this attack, the squire replied in these words: "The devil, God bless us! mun be playing his pranks with Gilbert too, as sure as I'm a living soul--I'se wager a teaster, the foul fiend has left the seaman, and got into Gilbert, that he has--when a has passed through an ass and a horse, I'se marvel what beast a will get into next." "Probably into a mule," said the knight; "in that case, you will be in some danger--but I can, at any time, dispossess you with a horse-whip."-- "Ay, ay," answered Timothy, "your honour has a mortal good hand at giving a flap with a fox's tail, as the saying is--'t is a wonderment you did not try your hand on that there wiseacre that stole your honour's harness, and wants to be an arrant with a murrain to 'un.

Lord help his fool's head, it becomes him as a sow doth a cart saddle." "There is no guilt in infirmity," said the knight; "I punish the vicious only." "I would your honour would punish Gilbert then," cried the squire, "for 't is the most vicious tuoad that ever I laid a leg over--but as to that same seafaring man, what may his distemper be ?" "Madness," answered Sir Launcelot.

"Bodikins," exclaimed the squire, "I doubt as how other volks are leame of the same leg--but it an't vor such small gentry as he to be mad; they mun leave that to their betters." "You seem to hint at me, Crabshaw.