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the lofty scorn of all deceit； the entire absence of mean curiosity
in the sex； or never； never would you libel us so！〃 Ah； Delia！
dear； dear Delia！ It is because I fancy I DO know something about
you （not all； mindno； no； no man knows that）。Ah； my bride； my
ringdove； my rose； my poppetchoose； in fact； whatever name you
likebulbul of my grove； fountain of my desert； sunshine of my
darkling life； and joy of my dungeoned existence； it is because I
DO know a little about you that I conclude to say nothing of that
private closet； and keep my key in my pocket。 You take away that
closet key then； and the house key。 You lock Delia in。 You keep
her out of harm's way and gadding； and so she never CAN be found
out。
* The Cornhill。editor。
And yet by little strange accidents and coincidents how we are
being found out every day。 You remember that old story of the Abbe
Kakatoes； who told the company at supper one night how the first
confession he ever received wasfrom a murderer； let us say。
Presently enters to supper the Marquis de Croquemitaine。
〃Palsambleu； abbe！〃 says the brilliant marquis； taking a pinch of
snuff； 〃are you here？ Gentlemen and ladies！ I was the abbe's
first penitent； and I made him a confession； which I promise you
astonished him。〃
To be sure how queerly things are found out！ Here is an instance。
Only the other day I was writing in these Roundabout Papers about a
certain man； whom I facetiously called Baggs； and who had abused me
to my friends； who of course told me。 Shortly after that paper was
published another friendSacks let us call himscowls fiercely at
me as I am sitting in perfect good humor at the club； and passes on
without speaking。 A cut。 A quarrel。 Sacks thinks it is about him
that I was writing： whereas； upon my honor and conscience； I never
had him once in my mind； and was pointing my moral from quite
another man。 But don't you see； by this wrath of the guilty…
conscienced Sacks； that he had been abusing me too？ He has owned
himself guilty； never having been accused。 He has winced when
nobody thought of hitting him。 I did but put the cap out； and
madly butting and chafing； behold my friend rushes out to put his
head into it！ Never mind； Sacks； you are found out； but I bear you
no malice； my man。
And yet to be found out； I know from my own experience； must be
painful and odious； and cruelly mortifying to the inward vanity。
Suppose I am a poltroon； let us say。 With fierce mustache； loud
talk； plentiful oaths； and an immense stick； I keep up nevertheless
a character for courage。 I swear fearfully at cabmen and women；
brandish my bludgeon； and perhaps knock down a little man or two
with it： brag of the images which I break at the shooting gallery；
and pass among my friends for a whiskery fire…eater； afraid of
neither man nor dragon。 Ah me！ Suppose some brisk little chap
steps up and gives me a caning in St。 James's Street； with all the
heads of my friends looking out of all the club windows。 My
reputation is gone。 I frighten no man more。 My nose is pulled by
whipper…snappers； who jump up on a chair to reach it。 I am found
out。 And in the days of my triumphs； when people were yet afraid
of me； and were taken in by my swagger； I always knew that I was a
lily liver； and expected that I should be found out some day。
That certainty of being found out must haunt and depress many a
bold braggadocio spirit。 Let us say it is a clergyman； who can
pump copious floods of tears out of his own eyes and those of his
audience。 He thinks to himself； 〃I am but a poor swindling；
chattering rogue。 My bills are unpaid。 I have jilted several
women whom I have promised to marry。 I don't know whether I
believe what I preach； and I know I have stolen the very sermon
over which I have been sniveling。 Have they found me out？〃 says
he； as his head drops down on the cushion。
Then your writer； poet； historian； novelist； or what not？ The
Beacon says that 〃Jones's work is one of the first order。〃 The
Lamp declares that Jones's tragedy surpasses every work since the
days of Him of Avon。〃 The Comet asserts that 〃J's 'Life of Goody
Twoshoes' is a ＇Greek text omitted＇； a noble and enduring monument
to the fame of that admirable Englishwoman；〃 and so forth。 But
then Jones knows that he has lent the critic of the Beacon five
pounds； that his publisher has a half share in the Lamp； and that
the Cornet comes repeatedly to dine with him。 It is all very well。
Jones is immortal until he is found out； and then down comes the
extinguisher； and the immortal is dead and buried。 The idea （dies
irae！） of discovery must haunt many a man； and make him uneasy； as
the trumpets are puffing in his triumph。 Brown； who has a higher
place than he deserves； cowers before Smith； who has found him out。
What is the chorus of critics shouting 〃Bravo〃？a public clapping
hands and flinging garlands？ Brown knows that Smith has found him
out。 Puff； trumpets！ Wave； banners！ Huzza； boys； for the
immortal Brown！ This is all very well；〃 B。 thinks （bowing the
while； smiling； laying his hand to his heart）； 〃but there stands
Smith at the window： HE has measured me； and some day the others
will find me out too。〃 It is a very curious sensation to sit by a
man who has found you out； and who； as you know； has found you out；
or； vice versa； to sit with a man whom YOU have found out。 His
talent？ Bah！ His virtue？ We know a little story or two about his
virtue； and he knows we know it。 We are thinking over friend
Robinson's antecedents； as we grin； bow and talk； and we are both
humbugs together。 Robinson a good fellow； is he？ You know how he
behaved to Hicks？ A good…natured man； is he？ Pray do you remember
that little story of Mrs。 Robinson's black eye？ How men have to
work； to talk； to smile； to go to bed； and try and sleep； with this
dread of being found out on their consciences！ Bardolph； who has
robbed a church； and Nym； who has taken a purse； go to their usual
haunts； and smoke their pipes with their companions。 Mr。 Detective
Bullseye appears； and says； 〃Oh； Bardolph！ I want you about that
there pyx business！〃 Mr。 Bardolph knocks the ashes out of his
pipe； puts out his hands to the little steel cuffs； and walks away
quite meekly。 He is found out。 He must go。 〃Good…by； 'Doll
Tearsheet！ Good…by； Mrs。 Quickly； ma'am！〃 The other gentlemen and
ladies de la societe look on and exchange mute adieux with the
departing friends。 And an assured time will come when the other
gentlemen and ladies will be found out too。
What a wonderful and beautiful provision of nature it has been
that； for the most part； our womankind are not endowed with the
faculty of finding us out！ THEY don't doubt； and probe； and weigh；
and take your measure。 Lay down this paper； my benevolent friend
and reader； go into your drawing…room now； and utter a joke ever so
old； and I wager sixpence the ladies there will all begin to laugh。
Go to Brown's house； and tell Mrs。 Brown and the young ladies what
you think of him； and see what a welcome you will get！ In like
manner； let him come to your house； and tell YOUR good lady his
candid opinion of you； and fancy how she will receive him！ Would
you have your wife and children know you exactly for what you are；
and esteem you precisely at your worth？ If so； my friend； you will
live in a dreary house； and you will have but a chilly fireside。
Do you suppose the people round it don't see your homely face as
under a glamour； and； as it were； with a halo of love round it？
You don't fancy you ARE as you seem to them？ No such thing； my
man。 Put away that monstrous conceit； and be thankful that THEY
have not found you out。
The Notch on the Ax
A Story a la Mode*
* （Here Thackeray reduces to an absurdity the literary fashion of
the daythe vogue for startling stories and 〃Tales of Terror；〃
which was high in his time； and which influenced several of the
stories which precede in this volume。 But while Dickens made fun；
with mental reservations； while Bulwer Lytton tried to explain by
rising to the heights of natural philosophy； and Maturin did not
explain at all； but let his extravagant genius roam between heaven
and earthThackeray's keen wit saw mainly one chance for exquisite
literary satire and parody。 At one point or another in this skit；
the style of each principal sensational novelist of the day is
delightfully imitated。EDITOR。）
I
Every one remembers in the Fourth Book of the immortal poem of your
Blind Bard （to whose sightless orbs no doubt Glorious Shapes were
apparent； and Visions Celestial）； how Adam discourses to Eve of the
Bright Visitors who hovered round their Eden
'Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth；
Unseen； both when we wake and when we sleep。'
〃'How often；' says Father Adam； 'from the s