PHILIP QUARLL. 285

tractability and good-nature, joined to its matchless beauty,
gained its master’s love, he thought himself doubly recompensed
for all his former losses. One day, his dear Beaufidelle (for
so he called that admirable creature) was officiating the charge
he had of his own accord taken, being gone for wood, as he

 

was wont to do when wanied, he found in his way a wild pome-
granate, the extraordinary size and weight of which caused it
to fall off the tree. He took it home, and then returned for
his faggot ; in which time Quarll, wishing the goodness of the
inside might answer its outward beauty, cut it open, and
finding it of a dull lusciousness, too flat for eating, imagined it
might be eaten with things of an acid and sharp taste. Having
boiled some water in a vessel, with a sort of herb of the nature
of cresses, and some of the pomegranate, he let them infuse
some time, now and then stirring it; but one very hot day,
happening to lay the vessel in the sun, made it turn sour.
Having now vinegar, he began to make pickles. The wild