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'pray, sir, what accident may have drawn the ring off again ?'

"You see, sir,' said George Tomata, arranging his hair by an opposite mirror,' my prospects lay in India-in India, sir. Now Lotty-'

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'Who, sir?' exclaimed Pigeon, wrathfully.

'Charlotte,' answered Tomata. 'I used to call her Lotty, and she-he! he!—she used to call me ' Love-apple.' You may judge how far we were both gone. For when a woman begins to play tricks with a man's name you may be sure she begins to look upon it as her future property.' “You are always right, sir, no doubt,' observed Pigeon, 'but you were about to state the particular hindrance to your marriage with'

"To be sure, Lotty-as I was going to observe, was a nice little sugar-plum, a very nice little sugar-plum-as you will doubtless allow.'

"It was with much difficulty that Pigeon possessed himself of sufficient coolness to admit the familiar truth of the simile; he however admitted the wife of his bosom to be a nice little sugar-plum.

"Very nice indeed, but I saw it-I felt convinced of it, and the truth went like twenty daggers to my soul—but I discovered-'

"Good heavens,' exclaimed Pigeon, 'discovered what?' "That her complexion,' replied Tomata, 'beautiful as it was would not stand Trincomalee.'

"And was that your sole objection to the match ?' inquired Pigeon solemnly.

"I give you my honour as a gentleman that I had no other motive for breaking off the marriage. Sir, I should have despised myself, if I had; for, as I observed, we were both gone-very far gone indeed.'

"No doubt, sir,' answered Pigeon, burning to avow himself. 'But as a friend of Mr. Pigeon, allow me to assure you that the lady was not found too far gone to admit of a perfect recovery.'

"I'm glad of it; hope it is so. By the way what sort of a fellow is Pigeon? Had I been in London-I only came up yesterday-I should have looked into the match before it took place. Lotty could expect no less of me. What kind of an animal is this Pigeon?'

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'Kind of an animal, sir?' stammered Pigeon. Why, sir, he'

"Ha! that will do,' said the abrupt Tomata, ‘as you're his friend I'll not press you on that point. Poor Lottysacrificed I see!'

The Genteel Pigeons.

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After more amusing dialogue he throws his card on the table and says he shall call, adding,

"If Pigeon makes my Lotty a good husband, I'll take him by the hand; if, however, I find him no gentlemanfind that he shall use the girl of my heart with harshness, or even with the least unkindness

"Well, sir!'-Pigeon thrusting his hands into his pockets swaggered to Tomata-'what will you do then, sir?'

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'Then, sir. I shall again think the happiness of the lady placed in my hands and thrash him-thrash him severely.""

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CHAPTER XVII.

Thackeray-His Acerbity-The Baronet-The ParsonMedical Ladies-Glorvina-" A Serious Paradise."

T

HACKERAY resembled Lamb in the

all-pervading character of his humour. He adorned with it almost everything he touched, but did not enter into it hart and soul, like a man of really joyous mirth-loving disposition. His pages teem with sly hits and insinuations, but he never develo›es a comic scene, and we can scarcely find a single really laughable episode in the whole course of his works. So little did he grasp or finish suh pictures that we rarely select a passage from Thackeray for recitation. He thought more of plot and stratagem than of humour, and usel the latter, not for its own sake, but mostly t give brilliance to his narrative, to make his figures prominent, and his remarks salient. He thus silvers unpalatable truths, and although he disowns being a moralist, we generally see some substratum of earnestness peeping through the eddies of his fancy. With him, humour is

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subservient. And he speaks from his inner self, when he exclaims, "Oh, brother wearers of motley! Are there not moments when one grows sick of grinning and tumbling, and the jingling of the cap and bells."

We may say that much of Thackeray's humour is more inclined to produce a grin than a smile-merely to cause a grimace, owing to the bitterness from which it springs. (It must be remembered, however, that the greater part of modern wit consists of sarcastic criticism, though it is not generally severe.

In Thackeray we do not find any of that consciousness of the imbecility of man, which made some French writers call the humour of Democritus "melancholy." The "Vanity" of which he speaks is not that universal emptiness alluded to by the surfeited author of Ecclesiastes, nor has it even the ordinary signification of personal conceit. No; he implies something more culpable, such immorality as covetous. ness, deception, vindictiveness, and hypocrisy. He approaches the Roman Satirists in the relentless hand with which he exposes. vice. Some of his characters are monstrous, and almost grotesque in selfishness, as that of Becky Sharp, to whom he does not allow one good quality. Cunning and unworthy

motives add considerably to the zest of his humour. He says—

"This history has Vanity Fair for a title, and Vanity Fair is a very vain foolish place, full of all sorts of humbugs and falseness and pretentions. One is bound to speak the truth, as one knows it, whether one mounts a cap and bells, or a shovel hat; and a deal of disagreeable matter must come out in the course of such an undertaking.”

Here is his description of a baronet, Sir Pitt Crawley ;

"The door was opened by a man in dark breeches and gaiters with a dirty coat, a foul old neck cloth lashed round his bristly neck, a shining bald head, a leering red face, a pair of twinkling grey eyes, and a mouth perpetually on the grin.

"This Sir John Pitt Crawley's ?' says John, from the box.

"Ees,' says the man at the door, with a nod.

"Hand down these ere trunks then,' said John. "Hand 'n down yourself,' said the porter.

"Don't you see I can't leave my horses? Come bear a hand, my fine feller, and Miss will give you some beer,' said John, with a hoase laugh.

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"The bald-headed man, taking his hands out of his breeches pockets, advanced on this summons, and throwing Miss Sharp's trunk over his shoulder, carried it into the house.

"On entering the dining room by the orders of the individual in gaiters, Rebecca found that apartment not more cheerful than such rooms usually are when genteel families are out of town Two kitchen chairs and a round table and an attenuated old poker and tongs were however gathered round the fire place, as was a saucepan over a feeble sputtering fire. There was a bit of cheese and bread, and a tin candlestick on the table, and a little black porter in a pint pot.

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Had your dinner, I suppose? It is too warm for you ? Like a drop of beer?'

"Where is Sir Pitt Crawley ?' said Miss Sharp majestically.

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He, he! I'm Sir Pitt Crawley. Reclect you owe me a pint for bringing down your luggage. He, he! Ask Tinker if I ayn't. Mrs. Tinker, Miss Sharp, Miss Governess, Mrs. Charwoman, ho ho!'

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