It is not out of disrespect to my 'Peerage,' which I love and honour,
(indeed, have I not said before, that I should be ready to jump out of
my skin if two Dukes would walk down Pall Mall with me?)--it is not out
of disrespect for the individuals, that I wish these titles had never
been invented; but, consider, if there were no tree, there would be no
shadow; and how much more honest society would be, and how much more
serviceable the clergy would be (which is our present consideration), if
these temptations of rank and continual baits of worldliness were not in
existence, and perpetually thrown out to lead them astray.

I have seen many examples of their falling away. When, for instance, Tom
Sniffle first went into the country as Curate for Mr. Fuddleston (Sir
Huddleston Fuddleston's brother), who resided on some other living,
there could not be a more kind, hardworking, and excellent creature
than Tom. He had his aunt to live with him. His conduct to his poor was
admirable. He wrote annually reams of the best-intentioned and vapid
sermons. When Lord Brandyball's family came down into the country, and
invited him to dine at Brandyball Park, Sniffle was so agitated that he
almost forgot how to say grace, and upset a bowl of currant-jelly sauce
in Lady Fanny Toffy's lap.

What was the consequence of his intimacy with that noble family? He
quarrelled with his aunt for dining out every night. The wretch forgot
his poor altogether, and killed his old nag by always riding over to
Brandyball; where he revelled in the maddest passion for Lady Fanny.
He ordered the neatest new clothes and ecclesiastical waistcoats from
London; he appeared with corazza-shirts, lackered boots, and perfumery;
he bought a blood-horse from Bob Toffy: was seen at archery meetings,
public breakfasts,--actually at cover; and, I blush to say, that I saw
him in a stall at the Opera; and afterwards riding by Lady Fanny's side
in Rotten Row. He DOUBLE-BARRELLED his name, (as many poor Snobs do,)
and instead of T. Sniffle, as formerly, came out, in a porcelain card,
as Rev. T. D'Arcy Sniffle, Burlington Hotel.

The end of all this may be imagined: when the Earl of Brandyball was
made acquainted with the curate's love for Lady Fanny, he had that fit
of the gout which so nearly carried him off (to the inexpressible grief
of his son, Lord Alicompayne), and uttered that remarkable speech to
Sniffle, which disposed of the claims of the latter:--' If I didn't