But I digress: of all appeals,—although

I grant the power of pathos, and of gold,

Of beauty, flattery, threats, a shilling,—no

Method's more sure at moments to take hold[FA]Of the best feelings of mankind, which grow

More tender, as we every day behold,

Than that all-softening, overpowering knell,

The Tocsin of the Soul—the dinner-bell.