human
You see, sir, quoth the Cobbler,
gpt
You are a keen observer, said he of the jean cap, admiringly;
human
Course it is; and the stars have summat to do with it; for if they order a man's calling, it stands to reason that they order a man's mind to fit it. Now, a tailor sits on his board with others, and is always a-talking with 'em, and a-reading the news; therefore he thinks, as his fellows do, smart and sharp, bang up to the day, but nothing 'riginal and all his own, like. But a cobbler, continued the man of leather, with a majestic air,
gpt
You enlighten me more and more, said our friend with the nose in the air, bowing respectfully,--
human
Well, a bit of one, said the Cobbler, with an iron smile.
gpt
And many 's the cobbler who is a poet,--or discovers marvellous things in a crystal, --whereas a tailor, sir (spoken with great contempt),
human
Poor little thing! said Lionel.
gpt
Poor little thing! said the Cobbler. And had you been there, my reader, ten to one but you would have said the same. And yet she was attired in white satin, with spangled flounces and a tinsel jacket; and she wore a wreath of flowers (to be sure, the flowers were not real) on her long fair curls, with gaudy bracelets (to be sure, the stones were mock) on her slender arms. Still there was something in her that all this finery could not vulgarize; and since it could not vulgarize, you pitied her for it. She had one of those charming faces that look straight into the hearts of us all, young and old. And though she seemed quite self- possessed, there was no effrontery in her air, but the ease of a little lady, with a simple child's unconsciousness that there was anything in her situation to induce you to sigh,
human
Poor thing!
gpt
You should see her act, young gents, said the Cobbler:
human
Who's he?
gpt
Waife, sir; mayhap you have heard speak of Waife?
human
I blush to say, no.
gpt
Why, he might have made his fortune at Common Garden; but that's a long story. Poor fellow! he's broke down now, anyhow. But she takes care of him, little darling: God bless thee!
human
By the brush and pallet of Raphael! cried the elder of the young men,
gpt
Her head, man!
human
In my sketch-book. You are a poet,--I a painter. You know the little girl?
gpt
Don't I! She and her grandfather lodge with me; her grandfather,-- that's Waife,--marvellous man! But they ill-uses him; and if it warn't for her, he'd starve. He fed them all once: he can feed them no longer; he'd starve. That's the world: they use up a genus, and when it falls on the road, push on; that's what Joe Spruce calls a-progressing. But there's the drum! they're a-going to act; won't you look in, gents?
human
Of course, cried Lionel,--
gpt
Murderer in either sense of the word!