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His house was his patent castle...
The loss of his fortune did not shake Tackleboy's devotion to patents; they became at once the joy and torment of his life. At anything new his eyes would brighten like an antiquary's at anything old. His house was his patent castle, so full of conveniences and contrivances that nobody but himself could have lived in it, and even he lost himself at times in complications to secure simplicity, and facilities that defeated expedition. It was pleasant to see him dine. His table was a torment by reason of its patented aids to enjoyment. What with his radial carver, iris spoon-warmer, and folding cruets; his self-acting gravyhelper, excelsior asparagus-tongs, and duplex plate-warmer; his royal potato-parer, imperial cucumber-slicer, and oriental digester, to say nothing of patent wine-lifts, corkscrews, oxygen-generators, appetite-stimulators, and the rest of it, dining became a burden, and dessert a weariness of spirit. It is not too much to assert that Tackleboy never got his dinner, by reason of his innumerable appliances for getting it.
From "A Victim of Patents," Belgravia; A London Magazine, conducted by M.E. Braddon, Vol. IX, Oct. 1869, p. 53.
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