Mr. Phileas Fogg lived,
           in 1872,
         at No. 7,
           Saville Row,
         Burlington Gardens,
           the house
             in which Sheridan
                died in 1814.

    He was one of the
           most noticeable members
               of the Reform Club,
           though he
            seemed always to avoid
                 attracting attention;
        an enigmatical personage,
           about whom little was known,
         except that
             he was a polished man
                   of the world.

    People said
         that he resembled Byron
          --at least
             that his head was Byronic;
        but he was a bearded,
           tranquil Byron,
         who might
              live on a thousand years
             without growing old.

    Certainly an Englishman,
           it was more doubtful
             whether Phileas Fogg
                was a Londoner.

    He was never seen on
         'Change,
               nor at the Bank,
             nor in the counting-rooms
                   of the "City";
            no ships ever
                came into London docks
                 of which
                     he was the owner;
            he had no public employment;
               he had never
                been entered
                       at any
                           of the Inns of Court,
               either at the Temple,
             or Lincoln's Inn,
               or Gray's Inn;
            nor had his voice ever
                  resounded in the Court
                       of Chancery,
               or in the Exchequer,
             or the Queen's Bench,
               or the Ecclesiastical Courts.

    He certainly
        was not a manufacturer;
           nor was
             he a merchant
                  or a gentleman farmer.

    His name
        was strange
               to the scientific and
              learned societies,
           and he never
            was known to take
                   part in the sage
                     deliberations
                        of the Royal Institution
                      or the London Institution,
         the Artisan's Association,
           or the Institution
               of Arts and Sciences.

    He belonged,
           in fact,
         to none
               of the numerous societies
              which swarm
                   in the English capital,
           from the Harmonic to
             that of the Entomologists,
         founded mainly
               for the purpose
                   of abolishing pernicious insects.

    Phileas Fogg
        was a member
               of the Reform,
           and that was all.

    The way
         in which
             he got admission
                   to this exclusive club
                was simple enough.

    He was
          recommended by the Barings,
           with whom
             he had an open credit.

    His cheques
        were regularly
              paid at sight
                   from his account current,
           which was always flush.

    Was Phileas Fogg rich?

    Undoubtedly.

    But those
         who knew him best
            could not imagine
         how he
            had made his fortune,
           and Mr. Fogg
            was the last person
             to whom
                  to apply for the information.

    He was not lavish,
           nor,
         on the contrary,
           avaricious;
        for,
           whenever he knew
             that money
                was needed for a noble,
         useful,
           or benevolent purpose,
         he supplied it quietly
               and sometimes anonymously.

    He was,
           in short,
         the least communicative of men.

    He talked very little,
           and seemed
               all the more mysterious
             for his taciturn manner.

    His daily habits
        were quite open to observation;
           but whatever
             he did
                was so exactly
                       the same thing
             that he
                had always done before,
           that the wits
               of the curious
            were fairly puzzled.

    Had he travelled?

    It was likely,
           for no one
            seemed to know
                   the world more familiarly;
        there was
               no spot so secluded
             that he
                did not appear
                      to have an intimate
                         acquaintance
                            with it.

    He often corrected,
           with a few clear words,
         the thousand conjectures
              advanced by members
                   of the club
                 as to lost
                       and unheard-of travellers,
           pointing out the true probabilities,
         and seeming
             as if gifted
                   with a sort
                       of second sight,
           so often
            did events justify his predictions.