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alone； until other settlers came to join him； or； whether the
traditional title is a comprehensive name for a retreat cut off from
honest company and put out of the pale of hope； perhaps nobody
knows。 Certainly； Jo don’t know。
“For I don’t；” says Jo； “I don’t know nothink。”
It must be a strange state to be like Jo！ To shuffle through the
streets； unfamiliar with the shapes； and in utter darkness as to the
meaning； of those mysterious symbols； so abundant over the
shops； and at the corners of streets； and on the doors； and in the
windows！ To see people read； and to see people write； and to see
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the postmen deliver letters； and not to have the least idea of all
that language—to be； to every scrap of it； stone blind and dumb！ It
must be very puzzling to see the good company going to the
churches on Sundays； with their books in their hands； and to think
（for perhaps Jo does think； at odd times） what does it all mean； and
if it means anything to anybody； how comes it that it means
nothing to me？ To be hustled； and jostled； and moved on； and
really to feel that it would appear to be perfectly true that I have
no business； here； or there； or anywhere； and yet to be perplexed
by the consideration that I am here； somehow； too； and everybody
overlooked me until I became the creature that I am！ It must be a
strange state； not merely to be told that I am scarcely human （as in
the case of my offering myself for a witness）； but to feel it of my
own knowledge all my life！ To see the horses； dogs； and cattle； go
by me； and to know that in ignorance I belong to them； and not to
the superior beings in my shape； whose delicacy I offend！ Jo’s
ideas of a Criminal Trial； or a Judge； or a Bishop； or a
Government； or that inestimable jewel to him （if he only knew it）
the Constitution； should be strange！ His whole material and
immaterial life is wonderfully strange； his death； the strangest
thing of all。
Jo comes out of Tom…all…Alone’s； meeting the tardy morning
which is always late in getting down there； and munches his dirty
bit of bread as he comes along。 His way lying through many
streets； and the houses not yet being open； he sits down to
breakfast on the doorstep of the Society for the Propagation of the
Gospel in Foreign Parts； and gives it a brush when he has finished；
as an acknowledgment of the accommodation。 He admires the size
of the edifice； and wonders what it’s all about。 He has no idea；
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poor wretch； of the spiritual destitution of a coral reef in the
Pacific； or what it costs to look up the precious souls among the
cocoa…nuts and bread…fruit。
He goes to his crossing； and begins to lay it out for the day。 The
town awakes； the great tee…totum is set up for its daily spin and
whirl； all that unaccountable reading and writing； which has been
suspended for a few hours； recommences。 Jo； and the other lower
animals； get on in the unintelligible mess as they can。 It is market…
day。 The blinded oxen； over…goaded； over…driven； never…guided；
run into wrong places and are beaten out； and plunge； red…eyed
and foaming； at stone walls； and often sorely hurt the innocent；
and often sorely hurt themselves。 Very like Jo and his order； very；
very like！
A band of music comes and plays。 Jo listens to it。 So does a
dog—a drover’s dog； waiting for his master outside a butcher’s
shop； and evidently thinking about those sheep he has had upon
his mind for some hours； and is happily rid of。 He seems perplexed
respecting three or four； can’t remember where he left them； looks
up and down the street； as half expecting to see them astray；
suddenly pricks up his ears and remembers all about it。 A
thoroughly vagabond dog； accustomed to low company and public…
houses； a terrific dog to sheep； ready at a whistle to scamper over
their backs； and tear out mouthfuls of their wool； but an educated；
improved； developed dog； who has been taught his duties and
knows how to discharge them。 He and Jo listen to the music；
probably with much the same amount of animal satisfaction；
likewise； as to awakened association； aspiration； or regret；
melancholy or joyful reference to things beyond the senses； they
are probably upon a par。 But； otherwise； how far above the human
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listener is the brute！
Turn that dog’s descendants wild； like Jo； and in a very few
years they will so degenerate that they will lose even their bark—
but not their bite。
The day changes as it wears itself away； and becomes dark and
drizzly。 Jo fights it out； at his crossing； among the mud and
wheels； the horses； whips； and umbrellas； and gets but a scanty
sum to pay for the unsavoury shelter of Tom…all…Alone’s。 Twilight
comes on； gas begins to start up in the shops； the lamplighter； with
his ladder； runs along the margin of the pavement。 A wretched
evening is beginning to close in。
In his chambers； Mr Tulkinghorn sits meditating an application
to the nearest magistrate tomorrow morning for a warrant。
Gridley； a disappointed suitor； has been here today； and has been
alarming。 We are not to be put in bodily fear； and that ill…
conditioned fellow shall be held to bail again。 From the ceiling；
foreshortened Allegory； in the person of one impossible Roman
upside down； points with the arm of Samson （out of joint； and an
odd one）； obtrusively toward the window。 Why should Mr
Tulkinghorn； for such no reason； look out of window？ Is the hand
not always pointing there？ So he does not look out of window。
And if he did； what would it be to see a woman going by？ There
are women enough in the world； Mr Tulkinghorn thinks—too
many； they are at the bottom of all that goes wrong in it； though；
for the matter of that； they create business for lawyers。 What
would it be to see a woman going by； even though she were going
secretly？ They are all secret。 Mr Tulkinghorn knows that； very
well。
But they are not all like the woman who now leaves him and his
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house behind； between whose plain dress； and her refined
manner； there is something exceedingly inconsistent。 She should
be a