hers pouring their gallons through it
unlimitedly; never crying out, which he can't; only swelling, which he's
obliged to do, with a non-nutritious inflation; and that's his
intellectual enjoyment; bearing a likeness to the horrible old torture of
the baillir d'eau; and he's doomed to perish in the worst book-form of
dropsy. You, my dear Colney, have offended his police or excise, who
stand by the funnel, in touch with his palate, to make sure that nothing
above proof is poured in; and there's your misfortune. He's not half a
bad fellow, you find when you haven't got to serve him.'

'Superior to his official parasites, one supposes!' Colney murmured.

The celebrities were unaffectedly interested in a literary failure having
certain merits; they discussed it, to compliment the crownless author;
and the fervider they, the more was he endowed to read the meanness
prompting the generosity. Publication of a book, is the philosopher's
lantern upon one's fellows.

Colney was caught away from his private manufactory of acids by hearing
Simeon Fenellan relate to Victor some of the recent occurrences at
Brighton. Simeon's tone was unsatisfying; Colney would have the word; he
was like steel on the grindstone for such a theme of our national
grotesque-sublime.

'That Demerara Supple-jack, Victor! Don't listen to Simeon; he's a man of
lean narrative, fit to chronicle political party wrangles and such like
crop of carcase prose: this is epical. In DRINK we have Old England's
organic Epic; Greeks and Trojans; Parliamentary Olympus, ennobled
brewers, nasal fanatics, all the machinery to hand. Keep a straight eye
on the primary motives of man, you'll own the English produce the
material for proud verse; they're alive there! Dartrey's Demerara makes a
pretty episode of the battle. I haven't seen it--if it's possible to look
on it: but I hear it is flexible, of a vulgar appearance in repose,
Jove's lightning at one time, the thong of AEacus at another. Observe
Dartrey marching off to the Station, for the purpose of laying his
miraculous weapon across the shoulders of a son of Mars, who had
offended. But we have his name, my dear Victor! His name,
Simeon?--Worrell; a Major Worrell: his offence being probably, that he
obtained military instruction in the Service, and left it at his
convenience, for our poor patch and tatter British Army to take in his
place another young student, who'll grow up to do similarly. And Dartrey,
we assume, i