“Nonsense!” exclaimed my father, opening his eyes; “I am giving you the advice of Lord Bacon.—You want conviction—conviction comes from passion—passion from the spirits—spirits from a saffron bag. You, Beaudesert, on the other hand, want to keep youth. He keeps youth longest who lives longest. Nothing more conduces to longevity than a saffron bag, provided always it is worn at the”— “Sisty, my thimble!” said my mother. “You laugh at us justly,” said Beaudesert, smiling; “and the same remedy, I dare say, would cure us both!” “Yes,” said my father, “there is no doubt of that. In the pit of the stomach is that great central web of nerves called the ganglions; thence they affect the head and the heart. Mr Squills proved that to us, Sisty.” “Yes,” said I; “but I never heard Mr Squills talk of a saffron bag.” “Oh, foolish boy! it is not the saffron bag—it is the belief in the saffron bag. Apply BELIEF to the centre of the nerves, and all will go well,” said my father. CHAPTER XX. “But it is a devil of a thing to have too nice a conscience!” quoth the member of Parliament. “And it is not an angel of a thing to lose one’s front teeth!” sighed the fine gentleman. Therewith my father rose, and, putting his hand into his waistcoat, _more suo_, delivered his famous SERMON UPON THE CONNEXION BETWEEN FAITH AND PURPOSE. Famous it was in our domestic circle. But as yet, it has not gone beyond. And since the reader, I am sure, does not turn to the Caxton memoirs with the expectation of finding sermons, so to that circle let its fame be circumscribed. All I shall say about it is, that it was a very fine sermon, and that it proved indisputably, to me at least, the salubrious effects of a saffron bag applied to the great centre of the nervous system. But the wise Ali saith, that “a fool doth not know what maketh him look little, neither will he hearken to him that adviseth him.” I cannot assert that my father’s friends were fools, but they certainly came under this definition of Folly. CHAPTER XXI.