es--attraction drives us away--humiliation supports our
energies. Thus do we recede into the present, and shudder at the Elysium
of posterity."

_A._ I have written all that down, Barnstaple; but I cannot understand
it, upon my soul!

_B._ If you had understood one particle, that particle I would have
erased. This is your true philosophy of a fashionable novel, the extreme
interest of which consists in its being unintelligible. People have such
an opinion of their own abilities, that if they understood you, they
would despise you; but a dose like this strikes them with veneration for
your talents.

_A._ Your argument is unanswerable; but you said that I must describe
the dressing-room.

_B._ Nothing more easy; as a simile, compare it to the shrine of some
favoured saint in a richly-endowed Catholic church. Three tables at
least, full of materials in methodised confusion--all tending to the
beautification of the human form divine. Tinted perfumes in every
variety of cut crystal receivers, gold and silver. If at a loss, call at
Bayley's and Blew's, or Smith's in Bond Street. Take an accurate survey
of all you see, and introduce your whole catalogue. You cannot be too
minute. But, Arthur, you must not expect me to write the whole book for
you.

_A._ Indeed I am not so exorbitant in my demands upon your good-nature;
but observe, I may get up four or five chapters already with the hints
you have given me, but I do not know how to move such a creation of the
brain--so ethereal, that I fear he will melt away; and so fragile, that
I am in terror lest he fall to pieces. Now only get him into the
breakfast-room for me, and then I ask no more for the present. Only
dress him, and bring him _down stairs_.

_B._ There again you prove your incapability. Bring him down stairs!
Your hero of a fashionable novel never ascends to the first floor.
Bed-room, dressing-room, breakfast-room, library, and boudoir, all are
upon a level. As for his dressing, you must only describe it as perfect
when finished; but not enter into a regular detail, except that, in
conversation with his valet, he occasionally asks for something
unheard-of, or fastidious to a degree. You must not walk him from one
chamber to another, but manage it as follows:--"It was not until the
beautiful airs of the French clock that decorated the mantel-piece had
been thrice played, with all their variations, that the Honourable
Augustus Bouverie entered his library, where