to get an occasional word in edgewise--these are the true marks of
the genuine bore. He must know that you take no interest in him or his
story. Even if you did, his manner of telling it would flatten you,
yet he fascinates you with that glassy stare, that self-conscious
and self-admiring smirk, and distils his tale into your ears at the
very moment when you are burning to talk over old College-days with
CHALMERS, or to discuss an article in the _Field_ with SHABRACK.

I remember once finding myself, by some freak of mocking destiny, in
a house in which _two_ bores had established fortified camps. On the
first night, we all became so dazed with intolerable dulness, that
our powers of resistance faded away to the vanishing point. Both bores
sallied out from their ramparts, laid our little possessions waste,
and led, each his tale of captives back with him, gagged, bound, and
incapable of struggle.

So next day, when the accustomed train
Of things grew round our sense again,

we agreed together, those of us, I mean, who had suffered on the
previous night, that something must be done. What it was to be
we could not at first decide. We should have preferred "something
lingering, with boiling oil in it," but at last we decided on the
brilliant suggestion of SHABRACK, who was of the party, that we should
endeavour by some means or other to bring the two bores, as it were,
face to face in a kind of boring-competition in the smoking-room
that very night, to engage them in warfare against one another
and ourselves to sit by and watch them mutually extinguishing one
another; a result that, we were certain, could not fail to be brought
about, owing to the deadly nature of the weapons with which each was