“Come, Trumbull, this is too bad⁠—you’ve been putting some old maid’s rubbish into the sale,” murmured Mr. Toller, getting close to the auctioneer. “I want to see how the prints go, and I must be off soon.”

“ Im mediately, Mr. Toller. It was only an act of benevolence which your noble heart would approve. Joseph! quick with the prints⁠—Lot 235. Now, gentlemen, you who are connoiss ures , you are going to have a treat. Here is an engraving of the Duke of Wellington surrounded by his staff on the Field of Waterloo; and notwithstanding recent events which have, as it were, enveloped our great Hero in a cloud, I will be bold to say⁠—for a man in my line must not be blown about by political winds⁠—that a finer subject⁠—of the modern order, belonging to our own time and epoch⁠—the understanding of man could hardly conceive: angels might, perhaps, but not men, sirs, not men.”