2o8 LIFE OF MYTTON. 



that he appeared on his arrival in Calais, and he had a 

 leg in a state nearly approaching mortification. In 

 fact, his surgeon told me he would owe his life — at 

 all events, the preservation of his leg — solely to the 

 kindness of a fellow-prisoner, who prevented his 

 drinking spirits ; and such, no doubt, was the case. 



I am not able to say how long he remained in the 

 Bench, but on his exit John Mytton — iinus ex om- 

 nibus — appears again ; but to what account shall we 

 place the act I am about to mention ; for it appears to 

 me to want a name .'' It is not, however, without a 

 plea. The heart of man has been elegantly compared 

 to a creeping-plant, which withers unless it have sorne- 

 thing around which it can entwine ; but towards what 

 a frail trellage did that of this man yearn for its sup- 

 port ! Walking one day over Westminster Bridge, 

 the following dialogue occurred between himself and 

 a female of a class which the reader will not be at 

 a loss to name, but on whom he had never before 

 set his eyes. 



Mr. Mytton. " How do ye do ? " 



The Female. " Very well, I thank ye ; how do 

 you do ? " 



Mr. Mytton. " Where are you going ? " 



The Female. " I don't know." 



