the Christian manner in which the
hero, Mr. Aubrey, bore his misfortunes. After making a display of the
most florid and grandiloquent resignation, and quitting his country
mansion, the writer supposes Aubrey to come to town in a post-chaise and
pair, sitting bodkin probably between his wife and sister. It is about
seven o'clock, carriages are rattling about, knockers are thundering,
and tears bedim the fine eyes of Kate and Mrs. Aubrey as they think that
in happier times at this hour--their Aubrey used formerly to go out to
dinner to the houses of the aristocracy his friends. This is the gist of
the passage--the elegant words I forget. But the noble, noble sentiment
I shall always cherish and remember. What can be more sublime than the
notion of a great man's relatives in tears about--his dinner? With a few
touches, what author ever more happily described A Snob?

We were reading the passage lately at the house of my friend, Raymond
Gray, Esquire, Barrister-at-Law, an ingenuous youth without the least
practice, but who has luckily a great share of good spirits, which
enables him to bide his time, and bear laughingly his humble position in
the world. Meanwhile, until it is altered, the stern laws of necessity
and the expenses of the Northern Circuit oblige Mr. Gray to live in a
very tiny mansion in a very queer small square in the airy neighbourhood
of Gray's Inn Lane.

What is the more remarkable is, that Gray has a wife there. Mrs.
Gray was a Miss Harley Baker: and I suppose I need not say THAT is
a respectable family. Allied to the Cavendishes, the Oxfords, the
Marrybones, they still, though rather DECHUS from their original
splendour, hold their heads as high as any. Mrs. Harley Baker, I know,
never goes to church without John behind to carry her prayer-book; nor
will Miss Welbeck, her sister, walk twenty yards a-shopping without the
protection of Figby, her sugar-loaf page; though the old lady is as ugly
as any woman in the parish and as tall and whiskery as a grenadier.
The astonishment is, how Emily Harley Baker could have stooped to marry
Raymond Gray. She, who was the prettiest and proudest of the family;
she, who refused Sir Cockle Byles, of the Bengal Service; she, who
turned up her little nose at Essex Temple, Q.C., and connected with
the noble house of Albyn; she, who had but 4,000L. POUR TOUT POTAGE,
to marry a man who had scarcely as much more. A scream of wrath and
indignation was uttered by the whole fa