I have it from Carling, worthy man; and lawyers can be brought to untruss a point over a cup of claret.

He's a bit of a "Mackenzie Man," as old aunts of mine used to say at home--a Man of Feeling.

Thinks he knows the world, from having sifted and sorted a lot of our dustbins; as the modern Realists imagine it's an exposition of positive human nature when they've pulled down our noses to the worst parts--if there's a worse where all are useful: but the Realism of the dogs is to have us by the nose:--excite it and befoul it, and you're fearfully credible! You don't read that olfactory literature.

However, friend Carling is a conciliatory carle.

Three or four days of the week the lady, he says, drives to her chemist's, and there she sits in the shop; round the corner, as you enter; and sees all Charing in the shop looking-glass at the back; herself a stranger spectacle, poor lady, if Carling's picture of her is not overdone; with her fashionable no-bonnet striding the contribution chignon on the crown, and a huge square green shade over her forehead.