that was needful; that they had neither lust nor leisure for longer
instructions. And this saffron bag,--it came down with such a whack, at
every round in the argument! You would have thought my father one of
the old plebeian combatants in the popular ordeal, who, forbidden to use
sword and lance, fought with a sand-bag tied to a flail: a very stunning
weapon it was when filled only with sand; but a bag filled with saffron,
it was irresistible! Though my father had two to one against him, they
could not stand such a deuce of a weapon. And after tats and pishes
innumerable from Mr. Trevanion, and sundry bland grimaces from Sir
Sedley Beaudesert, they fairly gave in, though they would not own they
were beaten.

"Enough," said the member, "I see that you don't comprehend me; I must
continue to move by my own impulse."

My father's pet book was the Colloquies of Erasmus; he was wont to say
that those Colloquies furnished life with illustrations in every page.
Out of the Colloquies of Erasmus he now answered the member.

"Rabirius, wanting his servant Syrus to get up," quoth my father, "cried
out to him to move. 'I do move,' said Syrus. 'I see you move,' replied
Rabirius, 'but you move nothing.' To return to the saffron bag--"

"Confound the saffron bag!" cried Trevanion, in a rage; and then
softening his look as he drew on his gloves, he turned to my mother and
said, with more politeness than was natural to, or at least customary
with, him,--

"By the way, my dear Mrs. Caxton, I should tell you that Lady Ellinor
comes to town to-morrow on purpose to call on you. We shall be here