THERE are many thin-skinned people in the world: but Simon Techy seemed to have no skin at all. Every person alive is vulnerable at some one point or another: a cuticle of the texture of parchment has a tender place somewhere, which will quiver at a breath; but Techy was sensitive all over; and as for a cuticle, it was as if Nature had left him unprovided with any such garment, and sent him to walk about the world in his cutis. He would wince at an accidental word or look, which might mean nothing, as though you had tickled him with the tip of a red-hot poker. You were never safe with him; he seldom parted from you without leaving an impression on your mind that you had given him pain or offence, though wondering what about; and, be as cautious in your conduct towards him as you could, fifty to one you had done so. Address him as 66 Techy," he would complain that it was to mark his inferiority, as a tradesman, that you addressed him so familiarly. Call him "Sir," he could at once see through this sort of mockrespect." Say to him, in passing, "How d'ye do, Mr. Techy?" and within an hour he would write you a long letter, complaining of your very marked coldness, and requesting you would inform him what he had done to deserve it. Indeed, the very effort to please him, or to avoid the opposite consequence, would not unfrequently provoke his displeasure. He was not quite so dull (he would tell you) as to be insensible to the rebuke; yet he really did not know why he was to be treated with such PUNCTILIOUS CONSIDERATION. However, he was not offended-not in the least; on the contrary, he thanked you for the LESSON; and when he had DULY PROFITED by it he trusted he should be allowed to renew his intercourse with you, but upon easier terms. Till then, he thought it best for both parties that he should decline, &c. &c.-And all this he would utter (as a printer would say) in italics and small capitals. Not only was the whole human race-men, women, and children-continually and purposely, as he fancied, treading upon the toes of his dignity, or (to use his own favourite phrase) "the proper respect which he entertained for himself;"-the brute creation, nay, the very elements, seemed, to him, in league to treat him discourteously. No dog barked, not a cat mewed, at his approach, but had some offensive motive for the act: a sudden shower of rain was a premeditated insult; a north-east wind a gross personal affront. He has even been known to sulk with his fire; and to sit for a whole evening in the cold, because it resisted his first two or three insinuating attempts to rouse it into a blaze with the poker: "To any one but me," he would mutter, "this would not have happened."

Simon Techy had been-(“I am afraid of this gunpowder Percy though he be dead.") However, since he is no longer of this world, I will venture to utter the word, although I do so at the risk of causing him to turn in his coffin. Simon Techy had been-a tradesman; but his trade being that of a printseller in an extensive way, it led him into an intimacy with most of the eminent artists and virtuosi of his time, and, generally, introduced him to a higher grade of society than shop

keepers of many other descriptions can aspire to. For a man tempered as he was, and one whose mind was not sufficiently ballasted with good sense, (as may be inferred from his character,) this was perhaps an unlucky circumstance: it placed him in a false position. Being a shopkeeper, he was not, in one particular acceptation of the term, a gentleman; and as the occasional associate of gentlemen, he was above being looked upon as a tradesman. He reminded one, in his way, of Molière's Monsieur Jourdain : he was not a print-seller; he was only so generous as to make presents of fine engravings to his friends and the public, whilst the public and his friends were so liberal as to make him presents of money in return for them. He never alluded to his business except through some such mollifying circumlocution, as "the particular occupation in which I happen to be engaged;" he called his shop an office, his customers clients, his clerk a secretary, his shopmen his deputies, and his errand-boy a messenger. By degrees he grew rich, and more than in proportion with his wealth his self-importance increased. At his outset in the business, in which he succeeded his uncle, his spacious window exhibited a large number of choice engravings, and you walked from the street directly into his shop. Gradually the window was diminished in size, and fewer prints were paraded; till, at length, a passage with an inner door was constructed, which door, always closed, was ornamented with a large brass plate, bearing the word Office; and the once well-stocked window now gave "the world assurance of a" print-shop, by only one print of George the Third on horseback, (for it was in the days of that good king that Mr. Techy flourished,) and this was surrounded with gauze blinds. Even this very faint "smell of the shop" was too exciting for poor Simon's nerves, and, after a time, he consulted a friend upon the possibility of inventing some mode of suppressing it. He talked long, and in a roundabout style, (as a man does who, having mystified his own understanding, tries to do the same by his auditors!) about his being not exactly what you would call a shop-keeper," and his shop being "not altogether what is called a shop;" and concluded with-“ And, now, what would you recommend me to do with that window of mine to prevent the public supposing that I keep a mere print-shop?"

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Nothing in the world easier," laughingly replied his friend; remove George the Third, and exhibit some soap and candles in his place, and, instead of a print-shop, the devil himself would never guess it to be anything but a tallow-chandler's."

"O, that's your opinion, Sir, is it?" said Simon; and away he went. The next morning his friend, who was also one of his most valuable clients, received his bill, or, as Techy termed it, "a memorandum of the mutual transactions between them," inclosed in a letter consisting of seven closely-written pages for thin-skinned people are prone to indulge in the writing of what they consider to be fine letters on any the slightest presumed cause of offence. In four different places in his dignified epistle, and in as many various forms of phrase, did Techy complain that, "Did you not, Sir, owing to the occupation in which I am for the present (and for the present ONLY) engaged, consider me, Sir, as your inferior in society, you never, Sir, would have ventured," &c. ;-five times did he assure his friend that his "dignity as a man, and that respect which every man (whatever, Sir, may be his STATION in life) is bound to entertain for himself," rendered it imperatively necessary that all inter

course between them must then, and there, and for ever cease; and in these emphatic words did he conclude:-" And now, Sir, I am willing to throw myself upon the opinion of the universe, and to stand or fall by its decision, whether, Sir, the annals of the intercourse between man and man, from time immemorial, can furnish another instance, Sir, of so unpardonable an affront being put by one gentleman upon another, (and allow me to say, Sir, that notwithstanding the occupation in which I happen to be engaged, I consider myself as such)-as your advising soap and candles to be exhibited in the windows of, Sir, your very obedient, &c."

But Mr. Techy took nothing by his motion. A few hours after this magnificent explosion of offended dignity, I chanced to be in his office. His countenance, which was always more or less tinged with a bilious hue, was, upon this occasion (doubtless from the excessive irritation of the [ill]humours) as yellow as a guinea.

*

"You appear to be indisposed," said I.

Indisposed, Sir!" exclaimed he, at the same time twitching his shirt collar, and twisting his cravat; "indisposed! that's very odd-very! Pray-allow me-pray allow me to ask, do you mean anything by that question ?"

"I mean exactly what I say. I be mistaken; but may you appear to be a little indisposed; to be suffering a little from a bilious attack." "Bilious! Now, really, if I didn't well know that you wouldn't wilfully affront me, I should fancy that--No, Sir, I know how to resent any attack upon my dignity as a man; but that once done, I never suffer it to worry me-to prey upon my temper; in short, to excite my bile, as you would insinuate."

"Indeed I meant to insinuate nothing."

"Come, come, my dear Sir, you know what I allude to. You have heard you must have heard-it must be the town-talk by this timeall London must be ringing with it. Me bilious! It was a letter to make somebody look bilious, I admit; though not exactly me. However, he brought it upon himself, and has nobody but himself to thank for whatever its effects upon him may be."

"You are speaking to me in riddles. I don't understand a word of all you have been saying."

"No! Indeed! O, then, I'll tell you the whole story, and read you my letter. You may then give me your opinion." Hereupon he told his story about nothing with such extraordinary gravity, and at so unconscionable a length, that I nearly fell asleep under the operation; and, that ended, he read his letter with an air of such ludicrous importance -looking at me whenever he came to any point which he considered to be overwhelmingly powerful, or as if each sentence had been a thunderbolt hurled at his offender's head-that it was with great difficulty I could refrain from laughing outright.

"And now that the thing is done," said he, as he folded up the brouillon of his terrible epistle-(accompanying his words with a sigh

* Some one remarking to Major O'D—— that a mutual friend of theirs was looking as yellow as a guinea; " Is it a guinea he is looking like?" exclaimed the Major; 66 you should have seen the poor fellow, as I saw him, in India; there he was looking as yellow as five guineas at least."

and a shake of the head expressive of his regret at having thus remorselessly annihilated a fellow-creature)" and now that the thing is done, I wish I had not been quite so severe, for he used, generally, to treat me with respect. However," and here came another sigh,- however, his best friends will admit that, as I said before, he brought it upon himself. Yet I wonder he has not sent me an answer! Some sort of an excuse he must make; don't you think so?"

Before I had time to reply, Colonel S, the party in question, entered the place: much to the astonishment, and no little to the disappointment of Simon Techy, who, by this visit, was deprived of a written reply, which would infallibly have provoked a rejoinder, and, perhaps, led to a protracted paper-war :-a mode of hostility in which he, like most thin-skinned people, took especial delight.

The Colonel shook me by the hand, nodded good-humouredly to Techy, deliberately drew a huge letter from his pocket, and laughed. Techy, who had drawn himself up at the rate of fifteen inches to the foot, and put on an awfully-pompous look, (which, by-the-by, it was hardly possible to behold and yet maintain one's gravity,) was utterly disconcerted by this unexpected movement of the Colonel's: it entirely deranged his plan of battle.

"Really, Sir," stammered Simon," really-aw-this unexpectedaw-I-aw-under the-aw-circumstances-aw

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During this time Colonel S had quietly torn the letter into quarters, and (not thrown it, but) let it drop into the fire."

"My dear Mr. Techy," said he, addressing, with imperturbable good humour, his would-have-been adversary, "that is the only notice I shall take of your very-very ill-considered letter. Any one less your friend than I am might have used it greatly to your disadvantage. But be under no alarm about it: I give you my word I have not shown it to a living soul; for you must know how much the laugh would have been against you had I taken so unfriendly a course-besides

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Techy now made an ineffectual attempt to rally his forces, but the Colonel pressed his advantage.

"Besides, my dear Mr. Techy, the injury it might have done you in your business!

The effect of this "besides upon Techy was like that of the last charge of the Guards at Waterloo upon Napoleon: Techy was defeated beyond all hope of recovery. There was no need of any more; yet the Colonel added, "As to your bill, which you have sent me, you may, if you please, have a cheque for it now; but as I don't intend to withdraw my custom from you, it may as well remain till Christmas.'

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These words fell unheeded on the ear of Techy, as fall the shouts of the multitude on that of the dying criminal. For a week after this encounter, the crest-fallen Simon, upon whose dignity the tables had been so unexpectedly and unmercifully turned, did not "show." Some reports went that he had gone into the country; but it was most generally believed that he had taken to his bed with a bilious attack. At about the period of his re-appearance, George the Third was deposed from his station in the office-window, and for his gracious presence was substituted a transparent blind bearing the dignified and respectable words, MR. TECHY'S GALLERY.

Men who are "above their business," or, to use a more vulgar phrase,

-(and it unfortunately happens that vulgar phrases are sometimes superlatively expressive,)-who " quarrel with their bread-and-butter," are seldom successful in their vocation. To most of those the breadand-butter is doled out in very thin slices-many of them get none at all. The case of Simon was no exception to this rule. In proportion as the irritation increased to which Mr. Techy's " dignity," and the respect which he owed to himself," rendered him liable, the number of his clients diminished. This defalcation, which his Christmas accounts insisted most disrespectfully upon his acknowledging, he attributed to unfair competition in the trade, to private malice, to public enmity, to everything, in short, but its true cause; till at length "the particular occupation in which he happened to be engaged" ceasing, from want of "clients," to be an occupation, he sold his "gallery," and retired into private life, upon three hundred a-year, which, luckily for him, he possessed, independently of his sho-that is to say his office.

He was now, to all intents and purposes, a gentleman; for he lived upon his means, and had nothing to do. Whether or not, no human being ever manifested the slightest intention to dispute his claim to the title. His dignity and self-respect were not likely to be invaded. Yet was Simon still less at his ease than before. His friends were either too warm or too cold with him, too distant or too familiar. Did you give him a friendly nod in passing-he was now as good as yourself, and could not understand why you should not have stopped to talk with him. Did you stop and shake him familiarly by the hand-he did not like that sort of patronage from any one who was now no more than his equal. If, when he made a morning call, he was invited to stay and dine-it was an offensive hint that they thought him not as well able, now, as formerly, to provide himself with a dinner. Was he allowed to depart uninvited-there was a time when he should not have been treated with such insulting neglect. He unceremoniously refused to dine with Lord R- one of his former "clients," because the invitation was for Sunday: "He saw through that: why did his lordship select that particular day? all days were at his disposal now: it was evidently in allusion to his late occupation,' and he would not submit to such disrespectful treatment from the best lord in the land." In fact, any allusion, intentional or not, to his "late occupation," was, of all offences, the gravest that could be offered to his dignity and self-respect. It was dangerous to talk about prints in his presence; and if a few engravings happened to be scattered upon a table in a room which he entered, he had no doubt on his mind they had been placed there purposely to remind him that he had been a print-seller.

No one can sit long at ease upon a barrel of gunpowder. As formerly his ill-conditioned spirit had driven his "clients" from him, so now did it gradually detach from him his friends. One by one they fell from him: for the task of quarrel and reconciliation, of apology and explanation for slights and offences which existed nowhere but in his own hyper-sensitive mind, became at length too irksome for their endurance. At last he quarrelled with me! me, the most inoffensive of heaven's creatures! I met him one day in Regent-street. "Mr. Techy," said I, “you, I dare say, can help to decide a wager for me: it is concerning the age of Raphael Morghen: pray how old- ?”

Sir," exclaimed he, with the fierceness of a bantam, " I understand