e fine gentleman.

Therewith my father rose, and putting his hand into his waistcoat, more
suo, delivered his famous Sermon Upon The Connection Between Faith And
Purpose.

Famous it was in our domestic circle, but as yet it has not gone beyond;
and since the reader, I am sure, does not turn to the Caxton Memoirs
with the expectation of finding sermons, so to that circle let its fame
be circumscribed. All I shall say about it is that it was a very fine
sermon, and that it proved indisputably--to me at least--the salubrious
effects of a saffron bag applied to the great centre of the nervous
system. But the wise Ali saith that "a fool doth not know what maketh
him look little, neither will he hearken to him that adviseth him." I
cannot assert that my father's friends were fools, but they certainly
came under this definition of Folly.

CHAPTER IV.

For therewith arose, not conviction, but discussion; Trevanion was
logical, Beaudesert sentimental. My father held firm to the saffron bag.
When James the First dedicated to the Duke of Buckingham his meditation
on the Lord's Prayer, he gave a very sensible reason for selecting his
Grace for that honor; "For," saith the king, "it is made upon a very
short and plain prayer, and, therefore, the fitter for a courtier, for
courtiers are for the most part thought neither to have lust nor leisure
to say long prayers, liking best courte messe et long disner." I suppose
it was for a similar reason that my father persisted in dedicating to
the member of parliament and the fine gentleman "this short and plaine"
morality of his,--to wit, the saffron bag. He was evidently persuaded,
if he could once get them to apply that, it was all that was needful;
that they had neither lust nor leisure for longer instructions. And
this saffron bag,--it came down with such a whack, at every round in
the argument! You would have thought my father one of the old plebeian
combatants in the popular ordeal, who, forbidden to use sword and lance,
fought with a sand-bag tied to a flail: a very stunning weapon it
was when filled only with sand; but a bag filled with saffron, it was
irresistible! Though my father had two to one against him, they
could not stand such a deuce of a weapon. And after tats and pishes
innumerable from Mr. Trevanion, and sundry bland grimaces from Sir
Sedley Beaudesert, they fairly gave in, though they would not own they
were beaten.

"Enough," said the member, "I see that yo