It does sometimes occur in life that an unambitious man, who is in no degree given to enterprises, who would fain be safe, is driven by the cruelty of circumstances into a position in which he must choose a side, and in which, though he has no certain guide as to which side he should choose, he is aware that he will be disgraced if he should take the wrong side. This was felt as a hardship by many who were quite suddenly forced to make up their mind whether they would go to Melmotte's dinner, or join themselves to the faction of those who had determined to stay away although they had accepted invitations. Some there were not without a suspicion that the story against Melmotte had been got up simply as an electioneering trick,--so that Mr. Alf might carry the borough on the next day. As a dodge for an election this might be very well, but any who might be deterred by such a manoeuvre from meeting the Emperor and supporting the Prince would surely be marked men. And none of the wives, when they were consulted, seemed to care a straw whether Melmotte was a swindler or not. Would the Emperor and the Princes and Princesses be there? This was the only question which concerned them. They did not care whether Melmotte was arrested at the dinner or after the dinner, so long as they, with others, could show their diamonds in the presence of eastern and western royalty. But yet,--what a fiasco would it be, if at this very instant of time the host should be apprehended for common forgery! The great thing was to ascertain whether others were going. If a hundred or more out of the two hundred were to be absent how dreadful would be the position of those who were present! And how would the thing go if at the last moment the Emperor should be kept away? The Prime Minister had decided that the Emperor and the Prince should remain altogether in ignorance of the charges which were preferred against the man; but of that these doubters were unaware. There was but little time for a man to go about town and pick up the truth from those who were really informed; and questions were asked in an uncomfortable and restless manner. "Is your Grace going?" said Lionel Lupton to the Duchess of Stevenage,--having left the House and gone into the park between six and seven to pick up some hints among those who were known to have been invited. The Duchess was Lord Alfred's sister, and of course she was going. "I usually keep engagements when I make them, Mr. Lupton," said the Duchess. She had been assured by Lord Alfred not a quarter of an hour before that everything was as straight as a die. Lord Alfred had not then even heard of the rumour. But ultimately both Lionel Lupton and Beauchamp Beauclerk attended the dinner. They had received special tickets as supporters of Mr. Melmotte at the election,--out of the scanty number allotted to that gentleman himself,--and they thought themselves bound in honour to be there. But they, with their leader, and one other influential member of the party, were all who at last came as the political friends of the candidate for Westminster. The existing ministers were bound to attend to the Emperor and the Prince. But members of the Opposition, by their presence, would support the man and the politician, and both as a man and as a politician they were ashamed of him.

It sometimes happens that an unambitious man is driven into a position in which he must choose a side; and though he does not know which side to choose, he is aware that he will be disgraced if he should make the wrong choice. This was felt by many who were suddenly forced to make up their mind whether they would go to Melmotte's dinner, or stay away.
Some suspected that the story against Melmotte had been got up simply as an electioneering trick, so that Mr. Alf might win the borough on the next day. As a dodge for an election this might work, but any who were therefore deterred from supporting their Prince at the dinner would surely be marked men. And none of the wives cared a straw whether Melmotte was a swindler or not. Would the Emperor and the Princes and Princesses be there? This was the only question which concerned them. They did not care whether Melmotte was arrested at the dinner, so long as they could show their diamonds in the presence of royalty.
Yet what a fiasco would it be, if the host should be apprehended for common forgery! The great thing was to find out whether others were going. If half stayed away, how dreadful would be the position of those who were present! And what if at the last moment the Emperor should be kept away? The Prime Minister had decided that the Emperor and the Prince should remain in ignorance of the charges against Melmotte; but of that these doubters were unaware.
"Is your Grace going?" said Lionel Lupton to the Duchess of Stevenage, having gone into the park between six and seven to pick up some hints. The Duchess was Lord Alfred's sister, and of course she was going. She had been assured by Lord Alfred not a quarter of an hour before that everything was as straight as a die. Lord Alfred had not then even heard of the rumour. Ultimately both Lionel Lupton and Beauchamp Beauclerk attended the dinner. They had received special tickets as supporters of Mr. Melmotte at the election, and they thought themselves honour-bound to be there. But they, with their leader, and one other member of the party, were all who came as the political friends of the candidate for Westminster.


When Melmotte arrived at his own door with his wife and daughter he had heard nothing of the matter. That a man so vexed with affairs of money, so laden with cares, encompassed by such dangers, should be free from suspicion and fear it is impossible to imagine. That such burdens should be borne at all is a wonder to those whose shoulders have never been broadened for such work;--as is the strength of the blacksmith's arm to men who have never wielded a hammer. Surely his whole life must have been a life of terrors! But of any special peril to which he was at that moment subject, or of any embarrassment which might affect the work of the evening, he knew nothing. He placed his wife in the drawing-room and himself in the hall, and arranged his immediate satellites around him,--among whom were included the two Grendalls, young Nidderdale, and Mr. Cohenlupe,--with a feeling of gratified glory. Nidderdale down at the House had heard the rumour, but had determined that he would not as yet fly from his colours. Cohenlupe had also come up from the House, where no one had spoken to him. Though grievously frightened during the last fortnight, he had not dared to be on the wing as yet. And, indeed, to what clime could such a bird as he fly in safety? He had not only heard,--but also knew very much, and was not prepared to enjoy the feast. Since they had been in the hall Miles had spoken dreadful words to his father. "You've heard about it; haven't you?" whispered Miles. Lord Alfred, remembering his sister's question, became almost pale, but declared that he had heard nothing. "They're saying all manner of things in the City;--forgery and heaven knows what. The Lord Mayor is not coming." Lord Alfred made no reply. It was the philosophy of his life that misfortunes when they came should be allowed to settle themselves. But he was unhappy.

When Melmotte arrived at his own door with his wife and daughter he had heard nothing of the matter. That a man so vexed with affairs of money, so laden with cares and dangers, should be free from fear it is impossible to imagine. That such burdens should be borne at all is a wonder. Surely his whole life must have been a life of terrors! But of any special peril at that moment, he knew nothing. He placed his wife in the drawing-room and himself in the hall, and arranged his satellites around him - including the two Grendalls, young Nidderdale, and Mr. Cohenlupe - with a feeling of gratified glory.
Nidderdale had heard the rumour at the Houses of Parliament, but had determined that he would not as yet fly. Cohenlupe had also come up from the House, where no one had spoken to him. Though grievously frightened, he had not dared to be on the wing as yet. And, indeed, to what clime could such a bird as he fly in safety? He knew very much, and was not prepared to enjoy the feast.
In the hall Miles whispered to his father.
"You've heard about it; haven't you?" Lord Alfred turned pale, but declared that he had heard nothing. "They're saying all manner of things in the City; forgery and heaven knows what. The Lord Mayor is not coming."
Lord Alfred made no reply. But he was unhappy.


The grand arrivals were fairly punctual, and the very grand people all came. The unfortunate Emperor,--we must consider a man to be unfortunate who is compelled to go through such work as this,--with impassible and awful dignity, was marshalled into the room on the ground floor, whence he and other royalties were to be marshalled back into the banqueting hall. Melmotte, bowing to the ground, walked backwards before him, and was probably taken by the Emperor for some Court Master of the Ceremonies especially selected to walk backwards on this occasion. The Princes had all shaken hands with their host, and the Princesses had bowed graciously. Nothing of the rumour had as yet been whispered in royal palaces. Besides royalty the company allowed to enter the room downstairs was very select. The Prime Minister, one archbishop, two duchesses, and an ex-governor of India with whose features the Emperor was supposed to be peculiarly familiar, were alone there. The remainder of the company, under the superintendence of Lord Alfred, were received in the drawing-room above. Everything was going on well, and they who had come and had thought of not coming were proud of their wisdom.

The grand arrivals were punctual, and the very grand people all came. The Emperor, with impassive and awful dignity, was marshalled into the room on the ground floor, before being marshalled back into the banqueting hall. Melmotte, bowing to the ground, walked backwards before him, and was probably taken by the Emperor for some Court Master of Ceremonies. The Princes had all shaken hands with Melmotte, and the Princesses had bowed graciously. Nothing of the rumour had been whispered in royal palaces.
Besides royalty the company allowed to enter the room was very select: the Prime Minister, one archbishop, two duchesses, and an ex-governor of India. The remainder of the company were received in the drawing-room above. Everything was going well, and they who had decided to come were proud of their wisdom.


But when the company was seated at dinner the deficiencies were visible enough, and were unfortunate. Who does not know the effect made by the absence of one or two from a table intended for ten or twelve,--how grievous are the empty places, how destructive of the outward harmony and grace which the hostess has endeavoured to preserve are these interstices, how the lady in her wrath declares to herself that those guilty ones shall never have another opportunity of filling a seat at her table? Some twenty, most of whom had been asked to bring their wives, had slunk from their engagements, and the empty spaces were sufficient to declare a united purpose. A week since it had been understood that admission for the evening could not be had for love or money, and that a seat at the dinner-table was as a seat at some banquet of the gods! Now it looked as though the room were but half-filled. There were six absences from the City. Another six of Mr. Melmotte's own political party were away. The archbishops and the bishop were there, because bishops never hear worldly tidings till after other people;--but that very Master of the Buckhounds for whom so much pressure had been made did not come. Two or three peers were absent, and so also was that editor who had been chosen to fill Mr. Alf's place. One poet, two painters, and a philosopher had received timely notice at their clubs, and had gone home. The three independent members of the House of Commons for once agreed in their policy, and would not lend the encouragement of their presence to a man suspected of forgery. Nearly forty places were vacant when the business of the dinner commenced.

But when the company was seated at dinner the absences were unfortunately visible. A week ago, admission could not be had for love or money. Now it looked as though the room were but half-filled. There were six absences from the City; another six of Mr. Melmotte's own political party were away. The archbishops and the bishop were there, but two or three peers were absent, and so were a poet, two painters, and a philosopher, as well as three independent members of the House of Commons. Nearly forty places were vacant when the dinner commenced.


Melmotte had insisted that Lord Alfred should sit next to himself at the big table, and having had the objectionable bar removed, and his own chair shoved one step nearer to the centre, had carried his. point. With the anxiety natural to such an occasion, he glanced repeatedly round the hall, and of course became aware that many were absent. "How is it that there are so many places empty?" he said to his faithful Achates.

Melmotte had insisted that Lord Alfred should sit next to him at the big table, having had the objectionable bar removed, and his own chair shoved nearer to the centre. He glanced repeatedly round the hall, and of course became aware that many were absent.
"How is it that there are so many places empty?" he asked.


"Don't know," said Achates, shaking his head, steadfastly refusing to look round upon the hall.

"Don't know," said Lord Alfred, shaking his head, steadfastly refusing to look round upon the hall.


Melmotte waited awhile, then looked round again, and asked the question in another shape: "Hasn't there been some mistake about the numbers? There's room for ever so many more."

Melmotte looked round again. "Has there been some mistake about the numbers? There's room for ever so many more."


"Don't know," said Lord Alfred, who was unhappy in his mind, and repenting himself that he had ever seen Mr. Melmotte.

"Don't know," said Lord Alfred unhappily, wishing that he had never seen Mr. Melmotte.


"What the deuce do you mean?" whispered Melmotte. "You've been at it from the beginning and ought to know. When I wanted to ask Brehgert, you swore that you couldn't squeeze a place."

"What the deuce do you mean?" whispered Melmotte. "You ought to know."


"Can't say anything about it," said Lord Alfred, with his eyes fixed upon his plate.


"I'll be d---- if I don't find out," said Melmotte. "There's either some horrible blunder, or else there's been imposition. I don't see quite clearly. Where's Sir Gregory Gribe?"

"I'll be d___ if I don't find out," said Melmotte.


"And where's the Lord Mayor?" Melmotte, in spite of royalty, was now sitting with his face turned round upon the hall. "I know all their places, and I know where they were put. Have you seen the Lord Mayor?"

"Where's the Lord Mayor?" In spite of royalty, he was now sitting with his face turned round upon the hall. "Have you seen the Lord Mayor?"


"But he was to come. What's the meaning of it, Alfred?"


"Don't know anything about it." He shook his head but would not, for even a moment, look round upon the room.


"And where's Mr. Killegrew,--and Sir David Boss?" Mr. Killegrew and Sir David were gentlemen of high standing, and destined for important offices in the Conservative party. "There are ever so many people not here. Why, there's not above half of them down the room. What's up, Alfred? I must know."

"And where's Mr. Killegrew, and Sir David Boss? What's up, Alfred? I must know."


"I tell you I know nothing. I could not make them come." Lord Alfred's answers were made not only with a surly voice, but also with a surly heart. He was keenly alive to the failure, and alive also to the feeling that the failure would partly be attached to himself. At the present moment he was anxious to avoid observation, and it seemed to him that Melmotte, by the frequency and impetuosity of his questions, was drawing special attention to him. "If you go on making a row," he said, "I shall go away." Melmotte looked at him with all his eyes. "Just sit quiet and let the thing go on. You'll know all about it soon enough." This was hardly the way to give Mr. Melmotte peace of mind. For a few minutes he did sit quiet. Then he got up and moved down the hall behind the guests.

"I could not make them come." Lord Alfred's answers were surly. He was sure the failure would partly be attached to himself, and he felt that Melmotte, by his frequent questions, was drawing attention to him. "If you go on making a row," he said, "I shall go away. Just sit quiet. You'll know all about it soon enough."
This was hardly the way to give Mr. Melmotte peace of mind. For a few minutes he did sit quiet. Then he got up and moved down the hall behind the guests.


In the meantime, Imperial Majesty and Royalties of various denominations ate their dinner, without probably observing those Banquo's seats. As the Emperor talked Manchoo only, and as there was no one present who could even interpret Manchoo into English,--the imperial interpreter condescending only to interpret Manchoo into ordinary Chinese which had to be reinterpreted,--it was not within his Imperial Majesty's power to have much conversation with his neighbours. And as his neighbours on each side of him were all cousins and husbands, and brothers and wives, who saw each constantly under, let us presume, more comfortable circumstances, they had not very much to say to each other. Like most of us, they had their duties to do, and, like most of us, probably found their duties irksome. The brothers and sisters and cousins were used to it; but that awful Emperor, solid, solemn, and silent, must, if the spirit of an Eastern Emperor be at all like that of a Western man, have had a weary time of it. He sat there for more than two hours, awful, solid, solemn, and silent, not eating very much,--for this was not his manner of eating; nor drinking very much,--for this was not his manner of drinking; but wondering, no doubt, within his own awful bosom, at the changes which were coming when an Emperor of China was forced, by outward circumstances, to sit and hear this buzz of voices and this clatter of knives and forks. "And this," he must have said to himself, "is what they call royalty in the West!" If a prince of our own was forced, for the good of the country, to go among some far distant outlandish people, and there to be poked in the ribs, and slapped on the back all round, the change to him could hardly be so great.

In the meantime, various Royalties ate their dinner, without observing those empty Banquo's seats. As the Emperor spoke only Manchoo, and as there was no one present who could even interpret Manchoo into English - the imperial interpreter condescending only to interpret Manchoo into ordinary Chinese - his Imperial Majesty could not have much conversation with his neighbours. And his neighbours had not very much to say to each other. They probably found these duties irksome; and that solemn, silent Emperor must have had a weary time of it. He sat there for more than two hours, not eating nor drinking very much; but wondering at the changes which were coming when an Emperor of China was forced to sit and hear this buzz of voices and clatter of knives and forks. "And this," he must have said to himself, "is what they call royalty in the West!"


"Where's Sir Gregory?" said Melmotte, in a hoarse whisper, bending over the chair of a City friend. It was old Todd, the senior partner of Todd, Brehgert, and Goldsheiner. Mr. Todd was a very wealthy man, and had a considerable following in the City.

"Where's Sir Gregory Gribe?" said Melmotte, in a hoarse whisper, to a City friend - old Todd, of Todd, Brehgert, and Goldsheiner.


"Ain't he here?" said Todd,--knowing very well who had come from the City and who had declined.

"Ain't he here?" said Todd, knowing very well that he wasn't.


"No;--and the Lord Mayor's not come;--nor Postlethwaite, nor Bunter. What's the meaning of it?"

"No - and the Lord Mayor's not come; nor Postlethwaite, nor Bunter. What's the meaning of it?"


Todd looked first at one neighbour and then at another before he answered. "I'm here, that's all I can say, Mr. Melmotte; and I've had a very good dinner. They who haven't come, have lost a very good dinner."

Todd looked at his neighbours before he answered. "I'm here, that's all I can say, Mr. Melmotte; and I've had a very good dinner."


There was a weight upon Melmotte's mind of which he could not rid himself. He knew from the old man's manner, and he knew also from Lord Alfred's manner, that there was something which each of them could tell him if he would. But he was unable to make the men open their mouths. And yet it might be so important to him that he should know! "It's very odd," he said, "that gentlemen should promise to come and then stay away. There were hundreds anxious to be present whom I should have been glad to welcome, if I had known that there would be room. I think it is very odd."

There was a weight upon Melmotte's mind. He knew from old Todd's manner, and Lord Alfred's, that there was something they could tell him if they would. But they would not open their mouths.
"It's very odd," he said, "that gentlemen should promise to come and then stay away. There were hundreds anxious to be present. I think it is very odd."


"It is odd," said Mr. Todd, turning his attention to the plate before him.

"It is odd," said Mr. Todd, turning his attention to his plate.


Melmotte had lately seen much of Beauchamp Beauclerk, in reference to the coming election. Passing back up the table, he found the gentleman with a vacant seat on one side of him. There were many vacant seats in this part of the room, as the places for the Conservative gentlemen had been set apart together. There Mr. Melmotte seated himself for a minute, thinking that he might get the truth from his new ally. Prudence should have kept him silent. Let the cause of these desertions have been what it might, it ought to have been clear to him that he could apply no remedy to it now. But he was bewildered and dismayed, and his mind within him was changing at every moment. He was now striving to trust to his arrogance and declaring that nothing should cow him. And then again he was so cowed that he was ready to creep to any one for assistance. Personally, Mr. Beauclerk had disliked the man greatly. Among the vulgar, loud upstarts whom he had known, Melmotte was the vulgarest, the loudest, and the most arrogant. But he had taken the business of Melmotte's election in hand, and considered himself bound to stand by Melmotte till that was over; and he was now the guest of the man in his own house, and was therefore constrained to courtesy. His wife was sitting by him, and he at once introduced her to Mr. Melmotte. "You have a wonderful assemblage here, Mr. Melmotte," said the lady, looking up at the royal table.

Passing back up the table, Melmotte found Beauchamp Beauclerk with a vacant seat next to him. There were many vacant seats in this part of the room, and Mr. Melmotte seated himself for a minute, thinking that he might get the truth from his ally in the election. Prudence should have kept him silent. Whatever the cause of these desertions, he could apply no remedy to it now. But he was bewildered and dismayed; and though he declared that nothing should cow him, yet he was cowed.
Personally, Mr. Beauclerk disliked the man greatly, thinking him a loud and vulgar upstart. But he had taken the business of Melmotte's election in hand, and considered himself bound to stand by Melmotte till that was over; and he was now the man's guest, and was constrained to courtesy. His wife was sitting by him, and he introduced her to Mr. Melmotte.
"You have a wonderful assemblage here, Mr. Melmotte," said the lady.


"Yes, ma'am, yes. His Majesty the Emperor has been pleased to intimate that he has been much gratified."--Had the Emperor in truth said so, no one who looked at him could have believed his imperial word.--"Can you tell me, Mr. Beauclerk, why those other gentlemen are not here? It looks very odd; does it not?"

"Yes, ma'am, yes. His Majesty the Emperor has said that he has been much gratified. - Can you tell me, Mr. Beauclerk, why those other gentlemen are not here? It looks very odd; does it not?"


"Yes; Mr. Killegrew and Sir David Boss, and the whole lot. I made a particular point of their coming. I said I wouldn't have the dinner at all unless they were to be asked. They were going to make it a Government thing; but I said no. I insisted on the leaders of our own party; and now they're not here. I know the cards were sent;--and, by George, I have their answers, saying they'd come."

"And Sir David Boss, and the whole lot. I insisted on their being invited, and I know the cards were sent; and, by George, I have their answers, saying they'd come."


"I suppose some of them are engaged," said Mr. Beauclerk.


"Engaged! What business has a man to accept one engagement and then take another? And, if so, why shouldn't he write and make his excuses? No, Mr. Beauclerk, that won't go down."


"I'm here, at any rate," said Beauclerk, making the very answer that had occurred to Mr. Todd.


"Oh, yes, you're here. You're all right. But what is it, Mr. Beauclerk? There's something up, and you must have heard." And so it was clear to Mr. Beauclerk that the man knew nothing about it himself. If there was anything wrong, Melmotte was not aware that the wrong had been discovered. "Is it anything about the election to-morrow?"

There's something up. What is it, Mr. Beauclerk? You must have heard.


"One never can tell what is actuating people," said Mr. Beauclerk.


"If you know anything about the matter I think you ought to tell me."

If you know anything about it I think you ought to tell me."


"I know nothing except that the ballot will be taken to-morrow. You and I have got nothing more to do in the matter except to wait the result."

"I know nothing except that the ballot will be taken tomorrow. You and I have got nothing more to do except await the result."


"Well; I suppose it's all right," said Melmotte, rising and going back to his seat. But he knew that things were not all right. Had his political friends only been absent, he might have attributed their absence to some political cause which would not have touched him deeply. But the treachery of the Lord Mayor and of Sir Gregory Gribe was a blow. For another hour after he had returned to his place, the Emperor sat solemn in his chair; and then, at some signal given by some one, he was withdrawn. The ladies had already left the room about half an hour. According to the programme arranged for the evening, the royal guests were to return to the smaller room for a cup of coffee, and were then to be paraded upstairs before the multitude who would by that time have arrived, and to remain there long enough to justify the invited ones in saying that they had spent the evening with the Emperor and the Princes and the Princesses. The plan was carried out perfectly. At half-past ten the Emperor was made to walk upstairs, and for half an hour sat awful and composed in an arm-chair that had been prepared for him. How one would wish to see the inside of the mind of the Emperor as it worked on that occasion!

"Well; I suppose it's all right," said Melmotte, rising and going back to his seat. But he knew that things were not all right.
The Emperor sat solemn in his chair for another hour; and then, at some signal, he was withdrawn. The ladies had already left the room. According to the programme arranged for the evening, the royal guests were to return to the smaller room for a cup of coffee, and were then to be paraded upstairs before the multitude who would by that time have arrived, and to remain there long enough to justify the invited ones in saying that they had spent the evening with the Emperor and the Princes and the Princesses.
The plan was carried out perfectly. At half-past ten the Emperor was made to walk upstairs, and for half an hour sat awful and composed in an arm-chair. How one would wish to see inside his mind!


Melmotte, when his guests ascended his stairs, went back into the banqueting-room and through to the hall, and wandered about till he found Miles Grendall. "Miles," he said, "tell me what the row is."

Melmotte went through to the hall, and found Miles Grendall.
"Miles," he said,


"There's something wrong, and you know all about it. Why didn't the people come?" Miles, looking guilty, did not even attempt to deny his knowledge. "Come; what is it? We might as well know all about it at once." Miles looked down on the ground, and grunted something. "Is it about the election?"

"there's something wrong, and you know all about it. Why didn't the people come? What is it? Is it about the election?"


"They got hold of something to-day in the City--about Pickering."

"They got hold of something today in the City - about Pickering."


"They did, did they? And what were they saying about Pickering? Come; you might as well out with it. You don't suppose that I care what lies they tell."

"And what were they saying about Pickering? Come; out with it. You don't suppose that I care what lies they tell."


"They say there's been something--forged. Title-deeds, I think they say."

"They say there's been something - forged. Title-deeds, I think."


"Title-deeds! that I have forged title-deeds. Well; that's beginning well. And his lordship has stayed away from my house after accepting my invitation because he has heard that story! All right, Miles; that will do." And the Great Financier went upstairs into his own drawing-room.

"Forged title-deeds! All right, Miles; that will do." And the Great Financier went upstairs into his own drawing-room.


The Conservative party at this particular period was putting its shoulder to the wheel,--not to push the coach up any hill, but to prevent its being hurried along at a pace which was not only dangerous, but manifestly destructive. The Conservative party now and then does put its shoulder to the wheel, ostensibly with the great national object above named; but also actuated by a natural desire to keep its own head well above water and be generally doing something, so that other parties may not suppose that it is moribund. There are, no doubt, members of it who really think that when some object has been achieved,--when, for instance, a good old Tory has been squeezed into Parliament for the borough of Porcorum, which for the last three parliaments has been represented by a Liberal,--the coach has been really stopped. To them, in their delightful faith, there comes at these triumphant moments a conviction that after all the people as a people have not been really in earnest in their efforts to take something from the greatness of the great, and to add something to the lowliness of the lowly. The handle of the windlass has been broken, the wheel is turning fast the reverse way, and the rope of Radical progress is running back. Who knows what may not be regained if the Conservative party will only put its shoulder to the wheel and take care that the handle of the windlass be not mended! Sticinthemud, which has ever been a doubtful little borough, has just been carried by a majority of fifteen! A long pull, a strong pull, and a pull altogether,--and the old day will come back again. Venerable patriarchs think of Lord Liverpool and other heroes, and dream dreams of Conservative bishops, Conservative lord-lieutenants, and of a Conservative ministry that shall remain in for a generation.

The Conservative party at this particular period was putting its shoulder to the wheel, as it now and then does, so that other parties may not suppose that it is moribund. A long pull, a strong pull, and a pull together - and the old days, before the Radical reforms, will come back again. Venerable patriarchs think of Lord Liverpool and other heroes, and dream of Conservative bishops and lord-lieutenants, and a Conservative ministry that shall remain in for a generation.


Such a time was now present. Porcorum and Sticinthemud had done their duty valiantly,--with much management. But Westminster! If this special seat for Westminster could be carried, the country then could hardly any longer have a doubt on the matter. If only Mr. Melmotte could be got in for Westminster, it would be manifest that the people were sound at heart, and that all the great changes which had been effected during the last forty years,--from the first reform in Parliament down to the Ballot,--had been managed by the cunning and treachery of a few ambitious men. Not, however, that the Ballot was just now regarded by the party as an unmitigated evil, though it was the last triumph of Radical wickedness. The Ballot was on the whole popular with the party. A short time since, no doubt it was regarded by the party as being one and the same as national ruin and national disgrace. But it had answered well at Porcorum, and with due manipulation had been found to be favourable at Sticinthemud. The Ballot might perhaps help the long pull and the strong pull,--and, in spite of the ruin and disgrace, was thought by some just now to be a highly Conservative measure. It was considered that the Ballot might assist Melmotte at Westminster very materially.

If this seat for Westminster could be won by Mr. Melmotte, it would show that the country was sound at heart, and that all the great changes of the last forty years - from the first reform in Parliament down to the Secret Ballot - had been managed by the cunning and treachery of a few ambitious men. Not that the Ballot was regarded by the party as an unmitigated evil, though it was the last triumph of Radical wickedness. The Ballot was on the whole popular with the party, and it might assist Melmotte at Westminster.


Any one reading the Conservative papers of the time, and hearing the Conservative speeches in the borough,--any one at least who lived so remote as not to have learned what these things really mean,--would have thought that England's welfare depended on Melmotte's return. In the enthusiasm of the moment, the attacks made on his character were answered by eulogy as loud as the censure was bitter. The chief crime laid to his charge was connected with the ruin of some great continental assurance company, as to which it was said that he had so managed it as to leave it utterly stranded, with an enormous fortune of his own. It was declared that every shilling which he had brought to England with him had consisted of plunder stolen from the shareholders in the company. Now the "Evening Pulpit," in its endeavour to make the facts of this transaction known, had placed what it called the domicile of this company in Paris, whereas it was ascertained that its official head-quarters had in truth been placed at Vienna. Was not such a blunder as this sufficient to show that no merchant of higher honour than Mr. Melmotte had ever adorned the Exchanges of modern capitals? And then two different newspapers of the time, both of them antagonistic to Melmotte, failed to be in accord on a material point. One declared that Mr. Melmotte was not in truth possessed of any wealth. The other said that he had derived his wealth from those unfortunate shareholders. Could anything betray so bad a cause as contradictions such as these? Could anything be so false, so weak, so malignant, so useless, so wicked, so self-condemned,--in fact, so "Liberal" as a course of action such as this? The belief naturally to be deduced from such statements, nay, the unavoidable conviction on the minds--of, at any rate, the Conservative newspapers--was that Mr. Melmotte had accumulated an immense fortune, and that he had never robbed any shareholder of a shilling.

Anyone reading the Conservative papers of the time would have thought that England's welfare depended on Melmotte's election. The praise was as loud as the censure of him had been bitter. The chief crime laid to his charge was connected with the ruin of some great continental assurance company, which it was said he had left utterly stranded, with an enormous fortune of his own. Now the Evening Pulpit, in reporting this, had said that the company's headquarters were in Paris, whereas in fact they were in Vienna. Did not this blunder show that Mr. Melmotte was a merchant of high honour?
And then two different newspapers, both antagonistic to Melmotte, failed to agree about his wealth. One declared that in truth he had none. The other said that he had derived his wealth from those unfortunate shareholders on the Continent. Could anything be so false, so weak, so wicked - in fact, so "Liberal" as this contradiction? The natural deduction from this, said the Conservative newspapers, was that Mr. Melmotte had an immense fortune, and that he had never robbed any shareholder of a shilling.


The friends of Melmotte had moreover a basis of hope, and were enabled to sound premonitory notes of triumph, arising from causes quite external to their party. The "Breakfast Table" supported Melmotte, but the "Breakfast Table" was not a Conservative organ. This support was given, not to the great man's political opinions, as to which a well-known writer in that paper suggested that the great man had probably not as yet given very much attention to the party questions which divided the country,--but to his commercial position. It was generally acknowledged that few men living,--perhaps no man alive,--had so acute an insight into the great commercial questions of the age as Mr. Augustus Melmotte. In whatever part of the world he might have acquired his commercial experience,--for it had been said repeatedly that Melmotte was not an Englishman,--he now made London his home and Great Britain his country, and it would be for the welfare of the country that such a man should sit in the British Parliament. Such were the arguments used by the "Breakfast Table" in supporting Mr. Melmotte. This was, of course, an assistance;--and not the less so because it was asserted in other papers that the country would be absolutely disgraced by his presence in Parliament. The hotter the opposition the keener will be the support. Honest good men, men who really loved their country, fine gentlemen, who had received unsullied names from great ancestors, shed their money right and left, and grew hot in personally energetic struggles to have this man returned to Parliament as the head of the great Conservative mercantile interests of Great Britain!

Although it was not a Conservative paper, the Breakfast Table supported Melmotte because of his commercial position and understanding. Few men had so acute an insight into the great commercial questions of the age as Mr. Augustus Melmotte. No matter what his origin, it would be for the country's good that such a man should sit in the British Parliament. This was the opinion of the Breakfast Table.


There was one man who thoroughly believed that the thing at the present moment most essentially necessary to England's glory was the return of Mr. Melmotte for Westminster. This man was undoubtedly a very ignorant man. He knew nothing of any one political question which had vexed England for the last half century,--nothing whatever of the political history which had made England what it was at the beginning of that half century. Of such names as Hampden, Somers, and Pitt he had hardly ever heard. He had probably never read a book in his life. He knew nothing of the working of parliament, nothing of nationality,--had no preference whatever for one form of government over another, never having given his mind a moment's trouble on the subject. He had not even reflected how a despotic monarch or a federal republic might affect himself, and possibly did not comprehend the meaning of those terms. But yet he was fully confident that England did demand and ought to demand that Mr. Melmotte should be returned for Westminster. This man was Mr. Melmotte himself.

There was one man who thoroughly believed that the thing most necessary for England's glory was the return of Mr. Melmotte for Westminster. This man was undoubtedly a very ignorant man. He knew nothing of any of the political questions which had vexed England for the last half century, or of the country's political history, or of the working of Parliament. Yet he was fully confident that England ought to demand that Mr. Melmotte should be returned for Westminster. This man was Mr. Melmotte himself.


In this conjunction of his affairs Mr. Melmotte certainly lost his head. He had audacity almost sufficient for the very dangerous game which he was playing; but, as crisis heaped itself upon crisis, he became deficient in prudence. He did not hesitate to speak of himself as the man who ought to represent Westminster, and of those who opposed him as little malignant beings who had mean interests of their own to serve. He went about in his open carriage, with Lord Alfred at his left hand, with a look on his face which seemed to imply that Westminster was not good enough for him. He even hinted to certain political friends that at the next general election he should try the City. Six months since he had been a humble man to a Lord,--but now he scolded Earls and snubbed Dukes, and yet did it in a manner which showed how proud he was of connecting himself with their social pre-eminence, and how ignorant of the manner in which such pre-eminence affects English gentlemen generally. The more arrogant he became the more vulgar he was, till even Lord Alfred would almost be tempted to rush away to impecuniosity and freedom. Perhaps there were some with whom this conduct had a salutary effect. No doubt arrogance will produce submission; and there are men who take other men at the price those other men put upon themselves. Such persons could not refrain from thinking Melmotte to be mighty because he swaggered; and gave their hinder parts to be kicked merely because he put up his toe. We all know men of this calibre,--and how they seem to grow in number. But the net result of his personal demeanour was injurious; and it was debated among some of the warmest of his supporters whether a hint should not be given him. "Couldn't Lord Alfred say a word to him?" said the Honourable Beauchamp Beauclerk, who, himself in Parliament, a leading man in his party, thoroughly well acquainted with the borough, wealthy and connected by blood with half the great Conservative families in the kingdom, had been moving heaven and earth on behalf of the great financial king, and working like a slave for his success.

At this point Mr. Melmotte certainly lost his head. He had enough boldness for the very dangerous game which he was playing; but, as crisis heaped itself upon crisis, he lacked prudence. He spoke of those who opposed him as little malignant beings, and went about in his open carriage with a disdainful air. He scolded Earls and snubbed Dukes, and yet did it in a manner which showed how proud he was of connecting himself with their pre-eminence. The more arrogant he became the more vulgar he was.
The result was damaging. "Couldn't Lord Alfred say a word to him?" said the Honourable Beauchamp Beauclerk, who, himself in Parliament, had been moving heaven and earth on behalf of the great financial king.


"Alfred's more than half afraid of him," said Lionel Lupton, a young aristocrat, also in Parliament, who had been inoculated with the idea that the interests of the party demanded Melmotte in Parliament, but who would have given up his Scotch shooting rather than have undergone Melmotte's company for a day.

"Alfred's more than half afraid of him," said Lionel Lupton, a young aristocrat, also in Parliament.


"Something really must be done, Mr. Beauclerk," said Mr. Jones, who was the leading member of a very wealthy firm of builders in the borough, who had become a Conservative politician, who had thoughts of the House for himself, but who never forgot his own position. "He is making a great many personal enemies."

"Something really must be done, Mr. Beauclerk," said Mr. Jones, who led a very wealthy firm of builders in the borough. "He is making a great many personal enemies."


"He's the finest old turkey cock out," said Lionel Lupton.


Then it was decided that Mr. Beauclerk should speak a word to Lord Alfred. The rich man and the poor man were cousins, and had always been intimate. "Alfred," said the chosen mentor at the club one afternoon, "I wonder whether you couldn't say something to Melmotte about his manner." Lord Alfred turned sharp round and looked into his companion's face. "They tell me he is giving offence. Of course he doesn't mean it. Couldn't he draw it a little milder?"

It was decided that Mr. Beauclerk should speak a word to Lord Alfred.
"Alfred," said he at the club one afternoon, "I wonder whether you couldn't say something to Melmotte about his manner." Lord Alfred turned sharply round and looked into his companion's face. "They tell me he is giving offence. Couldn't he draw it a little milder?"


Lord Alfred made his reply almost in a whisper. "If you ask me, I don't think he could. If you got him down and trampled on him, you might make him mild. I don't think there's any other way."

Lord Alfred made his reply almost in a whisper. "If you ask me, I don't think he could."


This, coming from Lord Alfred, who was absolutely dependent on the man, was very strong. Lord Alfred had been much afflicted that morning. He had spent some hours with his friend, either going about the borough in the open carriage, or standing just behind him at meetings, or sitting close to him in committee-rooms,--and had been nauseated with Melmotte. When spoken to about his friend he could not restrain himself. Lord Alfred had been born and bred a gentleman, and found the position in which he was now earning his bread to be almost insupportable. It had gone against the grain with him at first, when he was called Alfred; but now that he was told "just to open the door," and "just to give that message," he almost meditated revenge. Lord Nidderdale, who was quick at observation, had seen something of this in Grosvenor Square, and declared that Lord Alfred had invested part of his recent savings in a cutting whip. Mr. Beauclerk, when he had got his answer, whistled and withdrew. But he was true to his party. Melmotte was not the first vulgar man whom the Conservatives had taken by the hand, and patted on the back, and told that he was a god.

Lord Alfred had been much afflicted that morning. He had spent some hours with Melmotte, going about the borough in the open carriage, and standing just behind him at meetings - and had been nauseated with him. He found his position to be almost insupportable. When he was told to "just open the door," and "just give that message," he meditated revenge. Mr. Beauclerk whistled and withdrew.


The Emperor of China was now in England, and was to be entertained one night at the India Office. The Secretary of State for the second great Asiatic Empire was to entertain the ruler of the first. This was on Saturday the 6th of July, and Melmotte's dinner was to take place on the following Monday. Very great interest was made by the London world generally to obtain admission to the India Office,--the making of such interest consisting in the most abject begging for tickets of admission, addressed to the Secretary of State, to all the under secretaries, to assistant secretaries, secretaries of departments, chief clerks, and to head-messengers and their wives. If a petitioner could not be admitted as a guest into the splendour of the reception rooms, might not he,--or she,--be allowed to stand in some passage whence the Emperor's back might perhaps be seen,--so that, if possible, the petitioner's name might be printed in the list of guests which would be published on the next morning? Now Mr. Melmotte with his family was, of course, supplied with tickets. He, who was to spend a fortune in giving the Emperor a dinner, was of course entitled to be present at other places to which the Emperor would be brought to be shown. Melmotte had already seen the Emperor at a breakfast in Windsor Park, and at a ball in royal halls. But hitherto he had not been presented to the Emperor. Presentations have to be restricted,--if only on the score of time; and it had been thought that as Mr. Melmotte would of course have some communication with the hardworked Emperor at his own house, that would suffice. But he had felt himself to be ill-used and was offended. He spoke with bitterness to some of his supporters of the Royal Family generally, because he had not been brought to the front rank either at the breakfast or at the ball,--and now, at the India Office, was determined to have his due. But he was not on the list of those whom the Secretary of State intended on this occasion to present to the Brother of the Sun.

The Emperor of China was now in England, and was to be entertained at the India Office on Saturday the 6th of July, and Melmotte's dinner was to take place on the following Monday. The London world was very keen to obtain admission to the India Office, begging for tickets allocated to the under secretaries, assistant secretaries, chief clerks, and head-messengers and their wives.
Now Mr. Melmotte with his family was, of course, supplied with tickets. He had already seen the Emperor at a breakfast in Windsor Park, and at a ball in royal halls. But he had not been presented to the Emperor. He had felt himself to be ill-used, and was offended. He spoke with bitterness of the Royal Family, because he had not been brought to the front rank - and now, at the India Office, was determined to have his due. But he was not on the list of those who would be presented to the Brother of the Sun.


He had dined freely. At this period of his career he had taken to dining freely,--which was in itself imprudent, as he had need at all hours of his best intelligence. Let it not be understood that he was tipsy. He was a man whom wine did not often affect after that fashion. But it made him, who was arrogant before, tower in his arrogance till he was almost sure to totter. It was probably at some moment after dinner that Lord Alfred decided upon buying the cutting whip of which he had spoken. Melmotte went with his wife and daughter to the India Office, and soon left them far in the background with a request,--we may say an order,--to Lord Alfred to take care of them. It may be observed here that Marie Melmotte was almost as great a curiosity as the Emperor himself, and was much noticed as the girl who had attempted to run away to New York, but had gone without her lover. Melmotte entertained some foolish idea that as the India Office was in Westminster, he had a peculiar right to demand an introduction on this occasion because of his candidature. He did succeed in getting hold of an unfortunate under secretary of state, a studious and invaluable young peer, known as Earl De Griffin. He was a shy man, of enormous wealth, of mediocre intellect, and no great physical ability, who never amused himself; but worked hard night and day, and read everything that anybody could write, and more than any other person could read, about India. Had Mr. Melmotte wanted to know the exact dietary of the peasants in Orissa, or the revenue of the Punjaub, or the amount of crime in Bombay, Lord De Griffin would have informed him without a pause. But in this matter of managing the Emperor, the under secretary had nothing to do, and would have been the last man to be engaged in such a service. He was, however, second in command at the India Office, and of his official rank Melmotte was unfortunately made aware. "My Lord," said he, by no means hiding his demand in a whisper, "I am desirous of being presented to his Imperial Majesty." Lord De Griffin looked at him in despair, not knowing the great man,--being one of the few men in that room who did not know him.

At this period of his career he had taken to dining freely, which was imprudent, as he needed his best intelligence. Wine did not often make him tipsy; but it made him tower in his arrogance till he was almost sure to totter. He went with his wife and daughter and Lord Alfred to the event at the India Office, with some foolish idea that as the India Office was in Westminster, he had a right to demand an introduction because of his candidature. He did succeed in getting hold of an unfortunate under secretary of state, a studious and invaluable young peer, known as Earl De Griffin. He was a shy man, who worked hard night and day, and was second in command at the India Office.
"My Lord," said Melmotte loudly, "I desire to be presented to his Imperial Majesty." Lord De Griffin looked at him in despair, not knowing the great man.


"This is Mr. Melmotte," said Lord Alfred, who had deserted the ladies and still stuck to his master. "Lord De Griffin, let me introduce you to Mr. Melmotte."

"This is Mr. Melmotte," said Lord Alfred.


"Oh--oh--oh," said Lord De Griffin, just putting out his hand. "I am delighted;--ah, yes," and pretending to see somebody, he made a weak and quite ineffectual attempt to escape.

"Oh," said Lord De Griffin. "I am delighted; ah, yes," and he made a weak and ineffectual attempt to escape.


Melmotte stood directly in his way, and with unabashed audacity repeated his demand. "I am desirous of being presented to his Imperial Majesty. Will you do me the honour of making my request known to Mr. Wilson?" Mr. Wilson was the Secretary of State, who was as busy as a Secretary of State is sure to be on such an occasion.

Melmotte stood in his way, and repeated his demand.


"I hardly know," said Lord De Griffin. "I'm afraid it's all arranged. I don't know anything about it myself."

"I'm afraid it's all arranged." said Lord De Griffin. "I don't know anything about it myself.


"He's up there, Mr. Melmotte; and I couldn't get at him. Really you must excuse me. I'm very sorry. If I see him I'll tell him." And the poor under secretary again endeavoured to escape.


Mr. Melmotte put up his hand and stopped him. "I'm not going to stand this kind of thing," he said. The old Marquis of Auld Reekie was close at hand, the father of Lord Nidderdale, and therefore the proposed father-in-law of Melmotte's daughter, and he poked his thumb heavily into Lord Alfred's ribs. "It is generally understood, I believe," continued Melmotte, "that the Emperor is to do me the honour of dining at my poor house on Monday. He don't dine there unless I'm made acquainted with him before he comes. I mean what I say. I ain't going to entertain even an Emperor unless I'm good enough to be presented to him. Perhaps you'd better let Mr. Wilson know, as a good many people intend to come."

"I'm not going to stand this kind of thing," said Melmotte. The old Marquis of Auld Reekie was close at hand, Lord Nidderdale's father; and he poked his thumb into Lord Alfred's ribs. "It is generally understood, I believe," continued Melmotte, "that the Emperor is to dine at my house on Monday. He don't dine there unless I'm made acquainted with him before he comes. I mean what I say. I ain't going to entertain even an Emperor unless I'm good enough to be presented to him."


"Here's a row," said the old Marquis. "I wish he'd be as good as his word."


"He has taken a little wine," whispered Lord Alfred. "Melmotte," he said, still whispering; "upon my word it isn't the thing. They're only Indian chaps and Eastern swells who are presented here,--not a fellow among 'em all who hasn't been in India or China, or isn't a Secretary of State, or something of that kind."

"He has taken a little wine," whispered Lord Alfred. "Melmotte," he said, still whispering; "upon my word it isn't the thing. They're only Indian chaps and Eastern swells who are presented here."


"Then they should have done it at Windsor, or at the ball," said Melmotte, pulling down his waistcoat. "By George, Alfred! I'm in earnest, and somebody had better look to it. If I'm not presented to his Imperial Majesty to-night, by G----, there shall be no dinner in Grosvenor Square on Monday. I'm master enough of my own house, I suppose, to be able to manage that."

"Then they should have done it at Windsor," said Melmotte. "By George, Alfred! I'm in earnest, and somebody had better look to it. If I'm not presented to his Imperial Majesty tonight, by G__, there shall be no dinner in Grosvenor Square on Monday."


Here was a row, as the Marquis had said! Lord De Griffin was frightened, and Lord Alfred felt that something ought to be done. "There's no knowing how far the pig-headed brute may go in his obstinacy," Lord Alfred said to Mr. Lupton, who was there. It no doubt might have been wise to have allowed the merchant prince to return home with the resolution that his dinner should be abandoned. He would have repented probably before the next morning; and had he continued obdurate it would not have been difficult to explain to Celestial Majesty that something preferable had been found for that particular evening even to a banquet at the house of British commerce. The Government would probably have gained the seat for Westminster, as Melmotte would at once have become very unpopular with the great body of his supporters. But Lord De Griffin was not the man to see this. He did make his way up to Mr. Wilson, and explained to the Amphytrion of the night the demand which was made on his hospitality. A thoroughly well-established and experienced political Minister of State always feels that if he can make a friend or appease an enemy without paying a heavy price he will be doing a good stroke of business. "Bring him up," said Mr. Wilson. "He's going to do something out in the East, isn't he?" "Nothing in India," said Lord De Griffin. "The submarine telegraph is quite impossible." Mr. Wilson, instructing some satellite to find out in what way he might properly connect Mr. Melmotte with China, sent Lord De Griffin away with his commission.

Lord De Griffin was frightened, and Lord Alfred felt that something ought to be done. It might have been wise to have allowed Melmotte to return home with the resolution that his dinner should be abandoned; he would probably have repented before the next morning. But Lord De Griffin went to the Secretary of State, Mr. Wilson, and explained the issue.
"Bring him up," said Mr. Wilson. "He's going to do something out in the East, isn't he?"
Lord de Griffin returned to Melmotte


"My dear Alfred, just allow me to manage these things myself," Mr. Melmotte was saying when the under secretary returned. "I know my own position and how to keep it. There shall be no dinner. I'll be d---- if any of the lot shall dine in Grosvenor Square on Monday." Lord Alfred was so astounded that he was thinking of making his way to the Prime Minister, a man whom he abhorred and didn't know, and of acquainting him with the terrible calamity which was threatened. But the arrival of the under secretary saved him the trouble.


"If you will come with me," whispered Lord De Griffin, "it shall be managed. It isn't just the thing, but as you wish it, it shall be done."

whispered, "If you will come with me, it shall be managed. It isn't just the thing, but as you wish it, it shall be done."


"I do wish it," said Melmotte aloud. He was one of those men whom success never mollified, whose enjoyment of a point gained always demanded some hoarse note of triumph from his own trumpet.

"I do wish it," said Melmotte aloud. He was one of those men for whom success always demanded some hoarse note of triumph from his own trumpet.


"If you will be so kind as to follow me," said Lord De Griffin. And so the thing was done. Melmotte, as he was taken up to the imperial footstool, was resolved upon making a little speech, forgetful at the moment of interpreters,--of the double interpreters whom the Majesty of China required; but the awful, quiescent solemnity of the celestial one quelled even him, and he shuffled by without saying a word even of his own banquet.

And so the thing was done. Melmotte, as he was taken up to the imperial footstool, was resolved upon making a little speech; but the awful, silent solemnity of the celestial one quelled even him, and he shuffled by without saying a word.


But he had gained his point, and, as he was taken home to poor Mr. Longestaffe's house in Bruton Street, was intolerable. Lord Alfred tried to escape after putting Madame Melmotte and her daughter into the carriage, but Melmotte insisted on his presence. "You might as well come, Alfred;--there are two or three things I must settle before I go to bed."

But he had gained his point, and afterwards became intolerable. Lord Alfred tried to escape after putting Madame Melmotte and her daughter into the carriage, but Melmotte insisted: "Come with me, Alfred; there are two or three things I must settle before I go to bed."


"I'm about knocked up," said the unfortunate man.


"Knocked up, nonsense! Think what I've been through. I've been all day at the hardest work a man can do." Had he as usual got in first, leaving his man-of-all-work to follow, the man-of-all-work would have escaped. Melmotte, fearing such defection, put his hand on Lord Alfred's shoulder, and the poor fellow was beaten. As they were taken home a continual sound of cock-crowing was audible, but as the words were not distinguished they required no painful attention; but when the soda water and brandy and cigars made their appearance in Mr. Longestaffe's own back room, then the trumpet was sounded with a full blast. "I mean to let the fellows know what's what," said Melmotte, walking about the room. Lord Alfred had thrown himself into an arm-chair, and was consoling himself as best he might with tobacco. "Give and take is a very good motto. If I scratch their back, I mean them to scratch mine. They won't find many people to spend ten thousand pounds in entertaining a guest of the country's as a private enterprise. I don't know of any other man of business who could do it, or would do it. It's not much any of them can do for me. Thank God, I don't want 'em. But if consideration is to be shown to anybody, I intend to be considered. The Prince treated me very scurvily, Alfred, and I shall take an opportunity of telling him so on Monday. I suppose a man may be allowed to speak to his own guests."

"Nonsense!" Melmotte put his hand on Lord Alfred's shoulder, and the poor fellow was beaten. Walking about Mr. Longstaffe's back room with a brandy and a cigar, Melmotte again sounded his own trumpet.
"I mean to let the fellows know what's what," he said. "They won't find many people to spend ten thousand pounds in entertaining a guest of the country. I don't know of any other man of business who could do it. But I intend to be respected. The Prince treated me very scurvily, Alfred, and I shall take an opportunity of telling him so on Monday. I suppose a man may speak to his own guests."


"You might turn the election against you if you said anything the Prince didn't like."

"You might turn the election against you if you said anything the Prince didn't like," said Lord Alfred.


"D---- the election, sir. I stand before the electors of Westminster as a man of business, not as a courtier,--as a man who understands commercial enterprise, not as one of the Prince's toadies. Some of you fellows in England don't realise the matter yet; but I can tell you that I think myself quite as great a man as any Prince." Lord Alfred looked at him, with strong reminiscences of the old ducal home, and shuddered. "I'll teach them a lesson before long. Didn't I teach 'em a lesson to-night,--eh? They tell me that Lord De Griffin has sixty thousand a-year to spend. What's sixty thousand a year? Didn't I make him go on my business? And didn't I make 'em do as I chose? You want to tell me this and that, but I can tell you that I know more of men and women than some of you fellows do, who think you know a great deal."

"D___ the election, sir. I stand before the electors of Westminster as a man of business, not as one of the Prince's toadies. I can tell you that I think myself quite as great a man as any Prince. I'll teach them a lesson before long. Didn't I teach 'em a lesson tonight, eh? Didn't I make 'em do as I chose?"


This went on through the whole of a long cigar; and afterwards, as Lord Alfred slowly paced his way back to his lodgings in Mount Street, he thought deeply whether there might not be means of escaping from his present servitude. "Beast! Brute! Pig!" he said to himself over and over again as he slowly went to Mount Street.

This went on through the whole of a cigar; and afterwards, as Lord Alfred slowly walked back to his lodgings, he thought deeply whether there might not be a means of escaping from his servitude.
"Beast! Brute! Pig!" he said to himself over and over again as he returned to Mount Street.


The world is ashamed of being virtuous ----My uncle _Toby_ knew little of the world; and therefore when he felt he was in love with widow _Wadman_, he had no conception that the thing was any more to be made a mystery of, than if Mrs. _Wadman_ had given him a cut with a gap'd knife across his finger: Had it been otherwise----yet as he ever look'd upon _Trim_ as a humble friend; and saw fresh reasons every day of his life, to treat him as such----it would have made no variation in the manner in which he informed him of the affair.

My uncle Toby knew little of the world; and therefore when he felt he was in love with widow Wadman, he had no idea that the thing was to be made a mystery of. Even had it been otherwise, as he looked upon Trim as a humble friend, it would have made no difference to the manner in which he informed him of it.


"I am in love, corporal!" quoth my uncle _Toby_.

'I am in love, corporal!' quoth my uncle Toby.


----What an unconscionable jointure, my dear, do we pay out of this small estate of ours, quoth my grandmother to my grandfather.

'What an excessive jointure, my dear, we pay out of this small estate of ours,' quoth my grandmother to my grandfather.


My father, replied my grandfather, had no more nose, my dear, saving the mark, than there is upon the back of my hand.

'My father,' replied my grandfather, 'had no more nose, my dear, than there is upon the back of my hand.'


--Now, you must know, that my great-grandmother outlived my grandfather twelve years; so that my father had the jointure to pay, a hundred and fifty pounds half-yearly--(on _Michaelmas_ and _Lady-day_), --during all that time.

Now, you must know that my great-grandmother outlived my grandfather twelve years; so that my father had the jointure to pay, a hundred and fifty pounds half-yearly, during all that time.


No man discharged pecuniary obligations with a better grace than my father. ------And as far as a hundred pounds went, he would fling it upon the table, guinea by guinea, with that spirited jerk of an honest welcome, which generous souls, and generous souls only, are able to fling down money: but as soon as ever he enter'd upon the odd fifty--he generally gave a loud _Hem!_ rubb'd the side of his nose leisurely with the flat part of his fore finger----inserted his hand cautiously betwixt his head and the cawl of his wig--look'd at both sides of every guinea as he parted with it----and seldom could get to the end of the fifty pounds, without pulling out his handkerchief, and wiping his temples.

No man paid his bills with a better grace than my father. As far as a hundred pounds went, he would fling it upon the table with a generous spirit; but faced with half that amount, he gave a loud 'Hem!', rubbed his nose, scratched his head, looked at both sides of every guinea as he parted with it - and could seldom get to the end of the fifty pounds, without pulling out his handkerchief, and wiping his temples.


Defend me, gracious Heaven! from those persecuting spirits who make no allowances for these workings within us. --Never --O never may I lay down in their tents, who cannot relax the engine, and feel pity for the force of education, and the prevalence of opinions long derived from ancestors!

Defend me, gracious Heaven! from those persecuting spirits who make no allowances for these workings within us, and for opinions derived from our ancestors!


For three generations at least this _tenet_ in favour of long noses had gradually been taking root in our family. ------TRADITION was all along on its side, and INTEREST was every half-year stepping in to strengthen it; so that the whimsicality of my father's brain was far from having the whole honour of this, as it had of almost all his other strange notions. --For in a great measure he might be said to have suck'd this in with his mother's milk. He did his part however. ----If education planted the mistake (in case it was one) my father watered it, and ripened it to perfection.

For three generations at least this opinion in favour of long noses had gradually been taking root in our family; so my father's whimsical brain was far from having devised this, as it had almost all his other strange notions. He might be said to have sucked this in with his mother's milk. However, if education planted the mistake, my father watered it, and ripened it to perfection.


He would often declare, in speaking his thoughts upon the subject, that he did not conceive how the greatest family in _England_ could stand it out against an uninterrupted succession of six or seven short noses. --And for the contrary reason, he would generally add, That it must be one of the greatest problems in civil life, where the same number of long and jolly noses, following one another in a direct line, did not raise and hoist it up into the best vacancies in the kingdom. ------He would often boast that the _Shandy_ family rank'd very high in King _Harry_ the VIIIth's time, but owed its rise to no state engine--he would say--but to that only; ----but that, like other families, he would add----it had felt the turn of the wheel, and had never recovered the blow of my great-grandfather's nose. ----It was an ace of clubs indeed, he would cry, shaking his head--and as vile a one for an unfortunate family as ever turn'd up trumps.

He would often declare that he did not see how the greatest family in England could stand it out against an uninterrupted succession of six or seven short noses. And conversely, he would add, it must be a great problem when the same number of long and jolly noses, following one another in a line, did not raise the family up into the best vacancies in the kingdom.
He would often boast that the Shandy family ranked very high in King Harry the VIIIth's time, owing to its noses; - but that it had never recovered from the blow of my great-grandfather's nose. 'It was an ace of clubs indeed,' he would cry, shaking his head, 'and as vile a one for an unfortunate family as ever turned up trumps.'


------Fair and softly, gentle reader! ------where is thy fancy carrying thee? ----If there is truth in man, by my great-grandfather's nose, I mean the external organ of smelling, or that part of man which stands prominent in his face----and which painters say, in good jolly noses and well-proportioned faces, should comprehend a full third----that is, measured downwards from the setting on of the hair.----

-Softly, gentle reader! where is thy fancy carrying thee? By my great-grandfather's nose, I mean the external organ of smelling - and which painters say, should take up a full third of the face measured downwards from the hairline.


----What a life of it has an author, at this pass!


The first thing which entered my father's head, after affairs were a little settled in the family, and _Susannah_ had got possession of my mother's green sattin night-gown, --was to sit down coolly, after the example of _Xenophon_, and write a TRISTRA-pdia, or system of education for me; collecting first for that purpose his own scattered thoughts, counsels, and notions; and binding them together, so as to form an INSTITUTE for the government of my childhood and adolescence. I was my father's last stake--he had lost my brother _Bobby_ entirely, --he had lost, by his own computation, full three-fourths of me--that is, he had been unfortunate in his three first great casts for me--my geniture, nose, and name, --there was but this one left; and accordingly my father gave himself up to it with as much devotion as ever my uncle _Toby_ had done to his doctrine of projectils. --The difference between them was, that my uncle _Toby_ drew his whole knowledge of projectils from _Nicholas Tartaglia_ --My father spun his, every thread of it, out of his own brain, --or reeled and cross-twisted what all other spinners and spinsters had spun before him, that 'twas pretty near the same torture to him.

The first thing which entered my father's head, after affairs were a little settled in the family, and Susannah had got possession of my mother's green satin night-gown - was to sit down coolly, after Xenophon's example, and write a Tristra-paedia, or system of education for me; collecting his scattered thoughts, and binding them together, so as to form an Institute for the government of my childhood and adolescence.
I was my father's last stake - he had lost my brother Bobby entirely; he had lost, he reckoned, full three-fourths of me - that is, he had been unfortunate in his three first great casts of the dice for me - my begetting, my nose, and my name - but there was this one left.
Accordingly my father gave himself up to it with as much devotion as ever my uncle Toby gave to his study of projectiles. The difference was, that my uncle Toby drew his knowledge of projectiles from Nicholas Tartaglia. My father spun his knowledge, every thread of it, out of his own brain - or reeled and twisted what all other spinners had spun before him, which was pretty near the same thing.


In about three years, or something more, my father had got advanced almost into the middle of his work. --Like all other writers, he met with disappointments. --He imagined he should be able to bring whatever he had to say, into so small a compass, that when it was finished and bound, it might be rolled up in my mother's hussive. --Matter grows under our hands. --Let no man say, --"Come --I'll write a duodecimo."

In about three years, my father had almost reached the middle of his work. Like all other writers, he met with disappointments. He imagined he should be able to fit whatever he had to say into so small a space that, when it was finished and bound, it might be rolled up in my mother's pocket-case. Matter grows under our hands.


My father gave himself up to it, however, with the most painful diligence, proceeding step by step in every line, with the same kind of caution and circumspection (though I cannot say upon quite so religious a principle) as was used by _John de la Casse_, the lord archbishop of _Benevento_, in compassing his _Galatea_; in which his Grace of _Benevento_ spent near forty years of his life; and when the thing came out, it was not of above half the size or the thickness of a _Rider's_ Almanack. --How the holy man managed the affair, unless he spent the greatest part of his time in combing his whiskers, or playing at _primero_ with his chaplain, --would pose any mortal not let into the true secret; --and therefore 'tis worth explaining to the world, was it only for the encouragement of those few in it, who write not so much to be fed--as to be famous.

My father gave himself up to it, however, with painful diligence, proceeding step by step with the same caution as was used by John de la Casse, the archbishop of Benevento, in writing his Galatea, on which he spent near forty years; and when the thing came out, it was only half the size of a Rider's Almanack. How he managed it, unless he spent most of his time combing his whiskers, or playing at cards with his chaplain, would puzzle anyone not let into the true secret; and therefore 'tis worth explaining to the world.


I own had _John de la Casse_, the archbishop of _Benevento_, for whose memory (notwithstanding his _Galatea_) I retain the highest veneration, --had he been, Sir, a slender clerk--of dull wit--slow parts--costive head, and so forth, --he and his _Galatea_ might have jogged on together to the age of _Methuselah_ for me, --the phnomenon had not been worth a parenthesis.--

I admit, if John de la Casse, for whose memory (despite his Galatea) I retain the highest respect,- if he had been, Sir, a slender clerk of dull wit, he and his Galatea might have jogged on together to the age of Methuselah, and have not been worth a mention.


But the reverse of this was the truth: _John de la Casse_ was a genius of fine parts and fertile fancy; and yet with all these advantages of nature, which should have pricked him forwards with his _Galatea_, he lay under an impuissance at the same time of advancing above a line and a half in the compass of a whole summer's day: this disability in his Grace arose from an opinion he was afflicted with, --which opinion was this, --_viz._ that whenever a Christian was writing a book (not for his private amusement, but) where his intent and purpose was, _bon fide_, to print and publish it to the world, his first thoughts were always the temptations of the evil one. --This was the state of ordinary writers: but when a personage of venerable character and high station, either in church or state, once turned author, --he maintained, that from the very moment he took pen in hand--all the devils in hell broke out of their holes to cajole him. --'Twas Term-time with them, --every thought, first and last, was captious; --how specious and good soever, --'twas all one; --in whatever form or colour it presented itself to the imagination, --'twas still a stroke of one or other of 'em levell'd at him, and was to be fenced off. --So that the life of a writer, whatever he might fancy to the contrary, was not so much a state of _composition_, as a state of _warfare_; and his probation in it, precisely that of any other man militant upon earth, --both depending alike, not half so much upon the degrees of his WIT--as his RESISTANCE.

But John de la Casse was a genius of fertile fancy; yet with the natural advantages which should have spurred him on with his Galatea, he was incapable of writing more than a line and a half in a whole summer's day. This disability arose from his opinion that, whenever a Christian was writing a book with the intent of publishing it to the world, his first thoughts were always the temptations of the evil one.
And, he maintained, when a person of high character and status turned author, from the very moment he took pen in hand - all the devils in hell broke out of their holes to cajole him. Every thought, however it came to him, was a stroke of one or other of these devils. So that the life of a writer was not so much a state of composition, as a state of warfare; and his success, like a soldier's, depended not so much upon his Wit as his Resistance.


My father was hugely pleased with this theory of _John de la Casse_, archbishop of _Benevento_; and (had it not cramped him a little in his creed) I believe would have given ten of the best acres in the _Shandy_ estate, to have been the broacher of it. --How far my father actually believed in the devil, will be seen, when I come to speak of my father's religious notions, in the progress of this work: 'tis enough to say here, as he could not have the honour of it, in the literal sense of the doctrine--he took up with the allegory of it; and would often say, especially when his pen was a little retrograde, there was as much good meaning, truth, and knowledge, couched under the veil of _John de la Casse's_ parabolical representation, --as was to be found in any one poetic fiction or mystic record of antiquity. --Prejudice of education, he would say, _is the devil_, --and the multitudes of them which we suck in with our mother's milk--_are the devil and all_. ----We are haunted with them, brother _Toby_, in all our lucubrations and researches; and was a man fool enough to submit tamely to what they obtruded upon him, --what would his book be? Nothing, --he would add, throwing his pen away with a vengeance, --nothing but a farrago of the clack of nurses, and of the nonsense of the old women (of both sexes) throughout the kingdom.

My father was hugely pleased with this theory of John de la Casse. - How far my father actually believed in the devil will be seen when I come to speak of his religious notions: 'tis enough to say here, that he took up the allegory of the doctrine, if not its literal sense; and would often say there was as much good truth in John de la Casse's description as was to be found in any poetic fiction or ancient record.
'Prejudice of education,' he would say, 'is the devil - and the multitudes of them which we suck in with our mother's milk are the devil and all. We are haunted with them, brother Toby, in all our researches; and if a man was fool enough to submit tamely to them, what would his book be? Nothing,' he would add, throwing his pen away, - 'nothing but a farrago of the clack of nurses, and of the nonsense of the old women (of both sexes) throughout the kingdom.'


This is the best account I am determined to give of the slow progress my father made in his _Tristra-pdia_; at which (as I said) he was three years, and something more, indefatigably at work, and, at last, had scarce completed, by his own reckoning, one half of his undertaking: the misfortune was, that I was all that time totally neglected and abandoned to my mother: and what was almost as bad, by the very delay, the first part of the work, upon which my father had spent the most of his pains, was rendered entirely useless, ----every day a page or two became of no consequence.----

This is the best account I can give of the slow progress my father made in his Tristra-paedia; at which (as I said) he was over three years at work, and had scarce completed one half. The misfortune was, that I was all that time totally neglected and abandoned to my mother: and what was almost as bad, by the very delay, the first part of the work was rendered entirely useless - every day a page or two became outdated.


----Certainly it was ordained as a scourge upon the pride of human wisdom, That the wisest of us all should thus outwit ourselves, and eternally forego our purposes, in the intemperate act of pursuing them.

- Certainly it was ordained as a scourge upon our pride, that the wisest of us should thus outwit ourselves, and eternally deny our purposes, in the intemperate act of pursuing them.


In short, my father was so long in all his acts of resistance, --or in other words, --he advanced so very slow with his work, and I began to live and get forwards at such a rate, that if an event had not happened, ----which, when we get to it, if it can be told with decency, shall not be concealed a moment from the reader ----I verily believe, I had put by my father, and left him drawing a sun-dial, for no better purpose than to be buried underground.

In short, my father advanced so very slow with his work, and I began to get forwards at such a rate, that, if an event had not happened - which, if it can be told with decency, shall not be concealed a moment from the reader - I believe I would have outgrown it.


"_Nihil me pnitet hujus nasi_," quoth _Pamphagus_; ----that is-- "My nose has been the making of me." ----------"_Nec est cur pniteat_," replies _Cocles_; that is, "How the duce should such a nose fail?"

'Nihil me poenitet hujus nasi,' quoth Pamphagus; that is, 'My nose has been the making of me.' 'Nec est cur poeniteat,' replies Cocles; that is, 'How the deuce should such a nose fail?'


The doctrine, you see, was laid down by _Erasmus_, as my father wished it, with the utmost plainness; but my father's disappointment was, in finding nothing more from so able a pen, but the bare fact itself; without any of that speculative subtilty or ambidexterity of argumentation upon it, which Heaven had bestow'd upon man on purpose to investigate truth, and fight for her on all sides. ----My father pish'd and pugh'd at first most terribly------'tis worth something to have a good name. As the dialogue was of _Erasmus_, my father soon came to himself, and read it over and over again with great application, studying every word and every syllable of it thro' and thro' in its most strict and literal interpretation--he could still make nothing of it, that way. Mayhap there is more meant, than is said in it, quoth my father. ----Learned men, brother _Toby_, don't write dialogues upon long noses for nothing. ------I'll study the mystick and the allegorick sense----here is some room to turn a man's self in, brother.

This was laid down by Erasmus with great plainness; but my father was disappointed to find no subtler argument from so able a pen.
My father pished and pughed at first most terribly. But as the dialogue was by Erasmus, he soon read it over again with great application, studying every word through and through.
He could still make nothing of it. 'Mayhap more is meant than is said in it,' quoth he. 'Learned men don't write dialogues upon long noses for nothing. I'll study the mystic and allegoric sense.'


My father read on. ------Now I find it needful to inform your reverences and worships, that besides the many nautical uses of long noses enumerated by _Erasmus_, the dialogist affirmeth that a long nose is not without its domestic conveniencies also; for that in a case of distress--and for want of a pair of bellows, it will do excellently well, _ad ixcitandum focum_ (to stir up the fire).

My father read on. Now I must inform your worships, that besides the many nautical uses of long noses listed by Erasmus, he writes that a long nose has its domestic conveniences also; for instance, in the want of a pair of bellows, it will do excellently well ad excitandum focum (to arouse the fire.)


Nature had been prodigal in her gifts to my father beyond measure, and had sown the seeds of verbal criticism as deep within him, as she had done the seeds of all other knowledge------so that he had got out his penknife, and was trying experiments upon the sentence, to see if he could not scratch some better sense into it. ----I've got within a single letter, brother _Toby_, cried my father, of _Erasmus_ his mystic meaning. --You are near enough, brother, replied my uncle, in all conscience. ------Pshaw! cried my father, scratching on ----I might as well be seven miles off. --I've done it--said my father, snapping his fingers --See, my dear brother _Toby_, how I have mended the sense. ----But you have marr'd a word, replied my uncle _Toby_. ----My father put on his spectacles----bit his lip------and tore out the leaf in a passion.

My father had got out his penknife, and was trying experiments upon the sentence, to see if he could not scratch some better sense into it.
'I've got within a single letter, brother Toby,' cried he, scratching on, 'of Erasmus's mystic meaning. I've done it,' he said, snapping his fingers. 'See, my dear brother, how I have mended the sense.'
'But you have marred a word,' replied my uncle Toby. My father bit his lip - and tore the page out in a passion.


Now, because I have once or twice said, in my inconsiderate way of talking, That I was confident the following memoirs of my uncle _Toby's_ courtship of widow _Wadman_, whenever I got time to write them, would turn out one of the most complete systems, both of the elementary and practical part of love and love-making, that ever was addressed to the world----are you to imagine from thence, that I shall set out with a description of _what love is?_ whether part God and part Devil, as _Plotinus_ will have it----

Now, because I have once or twice said that I was confident the following memoirs of my uncle Toby's courtship of widow Wadman, whenever I got time to write them, would turn out one of the most complete accounts of the practice of love and love-making that ever was addressed to the world - do you imagine that I shall set out with a description of what love is? whether part God and part Devil, as Plotinus puts it-


----Or by a more critical equation, and supposing the whole of love to be as ten----to determine with _Ficinus_, "_How many parts of it--the one, --and how many the other_;" --or whether it is _all of it one great Devil_, from head to tail, as _Plato_ has taken upon him to pronounce; concerning which conceit of his, I shall not offer my opinion: --but my opinion of _Plato_ is this; that he appears, from this instance, to have been a man of much the same temper and way of reasoning with doctor _Baynyard_, who being a great enemy to blisters, as imagining that half a dozen of 'em at once, would draw a man as surely to his grave, as a herse and six--rashly concluded, that the Devil himself was nothing in the world, but one great bouncing _Canthari[di]s_.------

- Or supposing the whole of love to be as ten - as Ficinus does - 'How many parts of it are one, and how many the other' - or whether it is all one great Devil from head to tail, as Plato says: but Plato appears to have been a man of much the same temper as doctor Baynyard, who being a great enemy to blisters, imagined that half a dozen of 'em at once would draw a man to his grave, and rashly concluded that the Devil himself was nothing but one great bouncing blister beetle.


I have nothing to say to people who allow themselves this monstrous liberty in arguing, but what _Nazianzen_ cried out (_that is, polemically_) to _Philagrius_----

I have nothing to say to people who allow themselves this monstrous liberty in arguing, but what Nazianzen cried out to Philagrius-


"!" _O rare! 'tis fine reasoning, Sir, indeed!_-- " "--_and most nobly do you aim at truth, when you philosophize about it in your moods and passions._

'O fine reasoning, Sir! when you philosophize in your moods and passions.'


Nor is it to be imagined, for the same reason, I should stop to inquire, whether love is a disease, ----or embroil myself with _Rhasis_ and _Dioscorides_, whether the seat of it is in the brain or liver; --because this would lead me on, to an examination of the two very opposite manners, in which patients have been treated----the one, of _Atius_, who always begun with a cooling clyster of hempseed and bruised cucumbers; --and followed on with thin potations of water-lillies and purslane--to which he added a pinch of snuff of the herb _Hanea_; --and where _Atius_ durst venture it, --his topaz-ring.

Nor should I stop to inquire whether love is a disease, or embroil myself with Rhasis and Dioscorides, whether the seat of it is in the brain or liver; because this would lead me on to an examination of the two opposite manners in which patients have been treated - the one, of Aertius, who always began with a cooling dressing of hempseed and bruised cucumbers, followed with thin potations of water-lilies and purslane - to which he added a pinch of snuff of the herb Hanea.


----The other, that of _Gordonius_, who (in his cap. 15. _de Amore_) directs they should be thrashed, "_ad putorem usque_," ----till they stink again.

- The other, that of Gordonius (in Ch. 15 of De Amore), who directs they should be thrashed ad putorem usque - till they stink again.


These are disquisitions, which my father, who had laid in a great stock of knowledge of this kind, will be very busy with in the progress of my uncle _Toby's_ affairs: I must anticipate thus much, That from his theories of love, (with which, by the way, he contrived to crucify my uncle _Toby's_ mind, almost as much as his amours themselves)--he took a single step into practice; --and by means of a camphorated cerecloth, which he found means to impose upon the taylor for buckram, whilst he was making my uncle _Toby_ a new pair of breeches, he produced _Gordonius's_ effect upon my uncle _Toby_ without the disgrace.

My father, who had a great stock of knowledge of this kind, was very busy with the progress of my uncle Toby's affairs: from his theories of love, (with which, by the way, he contrived to crucify my uncle Toby's mind, almost as much as his amours themselves) - he put one into practice; and by means of a camphorated waxed cloth to allay lust, which he imposed upon the tailor whilst he was making my uncle Toby a new pair of breeches, he produced Gordonius's effect upon my uncle Toby without the disgrace.


What changes this produced, will be read in its proper place: all that is needful to be added to the anecdote, is this ----That whatever effect it had upon my uncle _Toby_, ----it had a vile effect upon the house; ----and if my uncle _Toby_ had not smoaked it down as he did, it might have had a vile effect upon my father too.

What changes this produced, will be read in its proper place: all that needs to be added is this - that whatever effect the camphorated cloth had upon my uncle Toby, it had a vile effect upon the house; and if my uncle Toby had not swathed it in smoke, it might have had a vile effect upon my father too.


We live in a world beset on all sides with mysteries and riddles--and so 'tis no matter----else it seems strange, that Nature, who makes everything so well to answer its destination, and seldom or never errs, unless for pastime, in giving such forms and aptitudes to whatever passes through her hands, that whether she designs for the plough, the caravan, the cart--or whatever other creature she models, be it but an asse's foal, you are sure to have the thing you wanted; and yet at the same time should so eternally bungle it as she does, in making so simple a thing as a married man.

We live in a world beset on all sides with mysteries and riddles - but it seems strange that Nature, who makes everything so well for its purpose, whether she designs for the plough or the cart - yet at the same time should so eternally bungle it as she does, in making so simple a thing as a married man.


Whether it is in the choice of the clay----or that it is frequently spoiled in the baking; by an excess of which a husband may turn out too crusty (you know) on one hand----or not enough so, through defect of heat, on the other----or whether this great Artificer is not so attentive to the little Platonic exigences _of that part_ of the species, for whose use she is fabricating _this_----or that her Ladyship sometimes scarce knows what sort of a husband will do ----I know not: we will discourse about it after supper.

Whether it is in the choice of the clay, or because it is spoiled in the baking, so that a husband may turn out too crusty on one hand - or not crusty enough, on the other; - or whether this great Artificer is not so attentive to the little details of that part of the species - or whether her Ladyship sometimes scarce knows what sort of a husband will do - I know not: we will discuss it after supper.


It is enough, that neither the observation itself, or the reasoning upon it, are at all to the purpose----but rather against it; since with regard to my uncle _Toby's_ fitness for the marriage state, nothing was ever better: she had formed him of the best and kindliest clay----had temper'd it with her own milk, and breathed into it the sweetest spirit----she had made him all gentle, generous, and humane----she had filled his heart with trust and confidence, and disposed every passage which led to it, for the communication of the tenderest offices----she had moreover considered the other causes for which matrimony was ordained----

However, with regard to my uncle Toby's fitness for the marriage state, nothing was ever better. Nature had formed him of the best and kindliest clay - had tempered it with her own milk, and breathed into it the sweetest spirit - she had made him gentle, generous, and humane - she had filled his heart with trust and confidence, and made it fit for the tenderest offices. - She had moreover considered the other causes for which matrimony was ordained-


The DONATION was not defeated by my uncle _Toby's_ wound.

The gift was not defeated by my uncle Toby's wound.


Now this last article was somewhat apocryphal; and the Devil, who is the great disturber of our faiths in this world, had raised scruples in Mrs. _Wadman's_ brain about it; and like a true devil as he was, had done his own work at the same time, by turning my uncle _Toby's_ Virtue thereupon into nothing but _empty bottles_, _tripes_, _trunk-hose_, and _pantofles_.

Now this wound was somewhat apocryphal; and the Devil had raised scruples in Mrs. Wadman's brain about it; and like the true devil he was, had done his own work at the same time, by turning my uncle Toby's Virtue thereupon into nothing but empty bottles, tripes, trunk-hose, and slippers.


"The two great causes, which conspire with each other to shorten life, says lord _Verulam_, are first----

The two great causes which shorten life, says lord Verulam, are:
First


"The internal spirit, which, like a gentle flame, wastes the body down to death: --And secondly, the external air, that parches the body up to ashes: --which two enemies attacking us on both sides of our bodies together, at length destroy our organs, and render them unfit to carry on the functions of life."

: the internal spirit, which, like a gentle flame, wastes the body down to death:
And secondly, the external air, that parches the body: these two enemies, attacking us together, at length destroy our organs, and make them unfit to carry on the functions of life.


This being the state of the case, the road to Longevity was plain; nothing more being required, says his lordship, but to repair the waste committed by the internal spirit, by making the substance of it more thick and dense, by a regular course of opiates on one side, and by refrigerating the heat of it on the other, by three grains and a half of salt-petre every morning before you got up.----

This being the case, the road to Longevity was plain; nothing more being required, (says his lordship), but to repair the waste committed by the internal spirit, by making it more thick and dense with a regular course of opiates, and also by cooling its heat with three grains and a half of salt-petre every morning before you got up.


Still this frame of ours was left exposed to the inimical assaults of the air without; --but this was fenced off again by a course of greasy unctions, which so fully saturated the pores of the skin, that no spicula could enter; ----nor could any one get out. ----This put a stop to all perspiration, sensible and insensible, which being the cause of so many scurvy distempers--a course of clysters was requisite to carry off redundant humours, --and render the system complete.

Still this frame of ours was left exposed to the assaults of the air - but this was fenced off by a course of greasy unctions, which so fully saturated the pores of the skin, that no particles could enter, nor get out. This put a stop to all perspiration, the cause of so many scurvy distempers - and a course of enemas was needed to make the system complete.