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reached one of those peculiar Cornish lanes which are so deeply sunk
in the ground, and edged with such high solid walls, that the wayfarer
cannot in many places see the nature of the country through which he is
passing. The point at which he reached the lane was so overgrown with
gorse and brambles that it was necessary to search for a passage
through them. This not being readily found, he gave way to the
impetuosity of his disposition, stepped back a few paces, cleared the
obstacles with a light bound, and alighted on the edge of the bank,
which gave way under his weight, and he descended into the lane in a
shower of stones and dust, landing on his feet more by chance than by
dexterity.
A shout of indignation greeted the traveller, and, turning abruptly round,
he beheld a stout old gentleman stamping with rage, covered from head
to foot with dust, and sputtering out epithets of opprobrium on the
hapless wight who had thus unintentionally bespattered him.
"Ugh! hah! you young jackanapes--you blind dumbledory--ugh! What
mean you by galloping over the country thus like a wild ass--eh?"
A fit of coughing here interrupted the choleric old gentleman, in the
midst of which our hero, with much humility of demeanour, many
apologies, and protestations of innocence of intention to injure, picked
up the old gentleman's hat, assisted him to brush his clothes with a
bunch of ferns, and in various other ways sought to pacify him.

The old man grumbled a good deal at first, but was finally so far
mollified as to say less testily, while he put on his hat, "I warrant me,
young man, you are come on some wild-goose chase to this
out-o'-the-way region of the land in search of the picturesque--eh?--a
dauber on canvas?"
"No, sir," replied the youth, "I profess not to wield the pencil or brush,
although I admit to having made feeble efforts as an amateur. The
scalpel is more to my taste, and my object in coming here is to visit a
relative. I am on my way to St. Just; but, having wandered somewhat
out of my road, have been obliged to strike into bypaths, as you see."
"As I see, young man!--yes, and as I feel," replied the old gentleman,
with some remains of asperity.
"I have already expressed regret for the mischance that has befallen
you," said the youth in grey somewhat sternly, for his impulsive spirit
fired a little at the continued ill-humour of the old gentleman. "Perhaps
you will return good for evil by pointing out the way to St. Just. May I
venture to ask this favour of you?"
"You may venture, and you have ventured; and it is my belief, young
man, that you'll venture many a thing before this world has done with
you; however, as you are a stranger in these parts, and have expressed
due penitence for your misdeed, though I more than half doubt your
sincerity, I can do no less than point out the road to St. Just, whither I
will accompany you at least part of the way; and, young sir, as you
have taken pretty free liberty with me this morning, may I take the
liberty of asking you the name of your relative in St. Just? I am well
acquainted with most of the inhabitants of that town."
"Certainly," replied the youth. "The gentleman whom I am going to
visit is my uncle. His name is Donnithorne."
"What! Tom Donnithorne?" exclaimed the old gentleman, in a tone of
surprise, as he darted a keen glance from under his bushy eyebrows at
his companion. "Hah! then from that fact I gather that you are Oliver
Trembath, the young doctor whom he has been expecting the last day

or two. H'm--so old Tom Donnithorne is your uncle, is he?"
The youth in grey did not relish the free and easy, not to say
patronising, tone of his companion, and felt inclined to give a sharp
answer, but he restrained his feelings and replied,--"He is, and you are
correct in your supposition regarding myself. Do you happen to know
my uncle personally?"
"Know him personally!" cried the old gentleman with a sardonic laugh;
"Oh yes, I know him intimately--intimately; some people say he's a
very good fellow."
"I am glad to hear that, for to say truth--"
He paused abruptly.
"Ha! I suppose you were going to say that you have heard a different
account of him--eh?"
"Well, I was going to observe," replied Oliver, with a laugh, "that my
uncle is rather a wild man for his years--addicted to smuggling, I am
told, and somewhat given to the bottle; but it is well known that tattlers
give false reports, and I am delighted to hear that