alc and calc; about blende and horn-blende;
about mica-slate and pudding-stone; about cyanite and lepidolite; about
hematite and tremolite; about antimony and calcedony; about manganese
and whatever you please.

There was myself. I spoke of myself;--of myself, of myself, of
myself;--of Nosology, of my pamphlet, and of myself. I turned up my
nose, and I spoke of myself.

"Marvellous clever man!" said the Prince.

"Superb!" said his guests:--and next morning her Grace of Bless-my-Soul
paid me a visit.

"Will you go to Almack's, pretty creature?" she said, tapping me under
the chin.

"Upon honor," said I.

"Nose and all?" she asked.

"As I live," I replied.

"Here then is a card, my life. Shall I say you will be there?"

"Dear Duchess, with all my heart."

"Pshaw, no!--but with all your nose?"

"Every bit of it, my love," said I: so I gave it a twist or two, and
found myself at Almack's. The rooms were crowded to suffocation.

"He is coming!" said somebody on the staircase.

"He is coming!" said somebody farther up.

"He is coming!" said somebody farther still.

"He is come!" exclaimed the Duchess. "He is come, the little
love!"--and, seizing me firmly by both hands, she kissed me thrice upon
the nose. A marked sensation immediately ensued.

"Diavolo!" cried Count Capricornutti.

"Dios guarda!" muttered Don Stiletto.

"Mille tonnerres!" ejaculated the Prince de Grenouille.

"Tousand teufel!" growled the Elector of Bluddennuff.

It was not to be borne. I grew angry. I turned short upon Bluddennuff.

"Sir!" said I to him, "you are a baboon."

"Sir," he replied, after a pause, "Donner und Blitzen!"

This was all that could be desired. We exchanged cards. At Chalk-Farm,
the next morning, I shot off his nose--and then called upon my friends.

"Bete!" said the first.

"Fool!" said the second.

"Dolt!" said the third.

"Ass!" said the fourth.

"Ninny!" said the fifth.

"Noodle!" said the sixth.

"Be off!" said the seventh.

At all this I felt mortified, and so called upon my father.

"Father," I asked, "what is the chief end of my existence?"

"My son," he replied, "it is still the study of Nosology; but in hitting
the Elector upon the nose you have overshot your mark. You have a fine
nose, it is true; but then Bluddennuff has none. You are damned, and
he has become the hero of the day. I grant you that in Fum-Fudge the
greatness of a lion is in proportion to the size of his proboscis--