Summers, and suns, stupid old watering-places, and pretty young women, `are n't what they were a while back.' If men and things go on degenerating in this way, our grandchildren will have a dull time of it." The Cobbler eyed the young man, and nodded approvingly.

He had sense enough to comprehend the ironical philosophy of the reply; and our Cobbler loved talk out of the common way.

"You speaks truly and cleverly, sir.

But if old folks do always say that things are worse than they were, ben't there always summat in what is always said?
I'm for the old times; my neighbour, Joe Spruce, is for the new, and says we are all a-progressing.

But he 's a pink; I 'm a blue." "You are a blue ?" said the boy Lionel; "I don't understand." "Young 'un, I'm a Tory,--that's blue; and Spruce is a Rad,--that's pink! And, what is more to the purpose, he is a tailor, and I'm a cobbler." "Aha!" said the elder, with much interest; "more to the purpose is it?
How so ?" The Cobbler put the forefinger of the right hand on the forefinger of the left; it is the gesture of a man about to ratiocinate or demonstrate, as Quintilian, in his remarks on the oratory of fingers, probably observes; or if he has failed to do so, it is a blot in his essay.
"You see, sir," quoth the Cobbler, "that a man's business has a deal to do with his manner of thinking.