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Updated: June 14, 2025
And pertinent to what does my father reply, by words so sceptical, to an assertion so seldom disputed? Reader, Mr. Trevanion has been half an hour seated in our little drawing-room. He has received two cups of tea from my mother's fair hand; he has made himself at home. With Mr. Trevanion has come another friend of my father's, whom he has not seen since he left college, Sir Sedley Beaudesert.
No, you are the enviable man, you, who have only one grief in the world, and that so absurd a one that I will make you blush by disclosing it. Hear, O sage Austin! O sturdy Roland! Olivares was haunted by a spectre, and Sedley Beaudesert by the dread of old age!"
Trevanion insisted, and Sir Sedley Beaudesert mildly put in his own claims; both boasted acquaintance with literary men whom my father would, at all events, be pleased to meet. My father doubted whether he could meet any literary men more eloquent than Cicero, or more amusing than Aristophanes; and observed that if such did exist, he would rather meet them in their books than in a drawing-room.
"Don't say any such thing; let me once more hear the grateful sound of Sedley Beaudesert. Shut the door, Thomas to Gracechurch Street, Messrs. Fudge & Fidget." The carriage drove on. "A sad affliction has befallen me," said the marquis, "and none sympathize with me!" "Yet all, even unacquainted with the late lord, must have felt shocked at the death of one so young and so full of promise."
"Poor fellow!" he would say, "it must be so painful to him to pass his life in saying 'No." So little did he know about that class of promisers, as if a man dunned ever said 'No'! As Beau Brummell, when asked if he was fond of vegetables, owned that he had once eat a pea, so Sir Sedley Beaudesert owned that he had once played high at piquet.
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