'And eggs,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'even they have their moral. See how they
come and go! Every pleasure is transitory. We can't even eat, long.
If we indulge in harmless fluids, we get the dropsy; if in exciting
liquids, we get drunk. What a soothing reflection is that!'

'Don't say WE get drunk, Pa,' urged the eldest Miss Pecksniff.

'When I say we, my dear,' returned her father, 'I mean mankind in
general; the human race, considered as a body, and not as individuals.
There is nothing personal in morality, my love. Even such a thing as
this,' said Mr Pecksniff, laying the fore-finger of his left hand upon
the brown paper patch on the top of his head, 'slight casual baldness
though it be, reminds us that we are but'--he was going to say 'worms,'
but recollecting that worms were not remarkable for heads of hair, he
substituted 'flesh and blood.'

'Which,' cried Mr Pecksniff after a pause, during which he seemed to
have been casting about for a new moral, and not quite successfully,
'which is also very soothing. Mercy, my dear, stir the fire and throw up
the cinders.'

The young lady obeyed, and having done so, resumed her stool, reposed
one arm upon her father's knee, and laid her blooming cheek upon
it. Miss Charity drew her chair nearer the fire, as one prepared for
conversation, and looked towards her father.

'Yes,' said Mr Pecksniff, after a short pause, during which he had been
silently smiling, and shaking his head at the fire--'I have again been
fortunate in the attainment of my object. A new inmate will very shortly