There is no need to go over the twenty-times-told tale of an election. I
rescued the borough of Tippleton from the hands of Lord Tiptoff and his
son, Lord George. I had a savage sort of satisfaction, too, in forcing
my wife (who had been at one time exceedingly smitten by her kinsman,
as I have already related) to take part against him, and to wear and
distribute my colours when the day of election came. And when we spoke
at one another, I told the crowd that I had beaten Lord George in
love, that I had beaten him in war, and that I would now beat him in
Parliament; and so I did, as the event proved: for, to the inexpressible
anger of the old Marquess, Barry Lyndon, Esquire, was returned member of
Parliament for Tippleton, in place of John Rigby, Esquire, deceased; and
I threatened him at the next election to turn him out of BOTH his seats,
and went to attend my duties in Parliament.

It was then I seriously determined on achieving for myself the Irish
peerage, to be enjoyed after me by my beloved son and heir.

CHAPTER XVIII. MY GOOD FORTUNE BEGINS TO WAVER

And now, if any people should be disposed to think my history immoral
(for I have heard some assert that I was a man who never deserved that
so much prosperity should fall to my share), I will beg those cavillers
to do me the favour to read the conclusion of my adventures; when they
will see it was no such great prize that I had won, and that wealth,
splendour, thirty thousand per annum, and a seat in Parliament, are
often purchased at too dear a rate, when one has to buy those enjoyments
at the price of personal liberty, and saddled with the charge of a
troublesome wife.

They are the deuce, these troublesome wives, and that is the truth. No
man knows until he tries how wearisome and disheartening the burthen of
one of them is, and how the annoyance grows and strengthens from year
to year, and the courage becomes weaker to bear it; so that that trouble
which seemed light and trivial the first year, becomes intolerable
ten years after. I have heard of one of the classical fellows in the
dictionary who began by carrying a calf up a hill every day, and so
continued until the animal grew to be a bull, which he still easily
accommodated upon his shoulders; but take my word for it, young
unmarried gentlemen, a wife is a very much harder pack to the back than
the biggest heifer in Smithfield and, if I can prevent one of you from
marrying, the 'Memoirs of Barry L