, bloated, and other pretty names.
You state, in the simplest possible terms, that we shall go to the
deuce. You bid us rot in loneliness, and deny us all claims to honesty,
conduct, decent Christian life. Who are you, Mr. Snob, to judge us. Who
are you, with your infernal benevolent smirk and grin, that laugh at all
our generation?

'I will tell you my case,' says Essex Temple; 'mine and my sister
Polly's, and you may make what you like of it; and sneer at old maids,
and bully old bachelors, if you will.

'I will whisper to you confidentially that my sister was engaged to
Serjeant Shirker--a fellow whose talents one cannot deny, and be hanged
to them, but whom I have always known to be mean, selfish, and a prig.
However, women don't see these faults in the men whom Love throws in
their way. Shirker, who has about as much warmth as an eel, made up to
Polly years and years ago, and was no bad match for a briefless
barrister, as he was then.

Have you ever read Lord Eldon's Life? Do you remember how the sordid old
Snob narrates his going out to purchase twopence-worth of sprats, which
he and Mrs. Scott fried between them? And how he parades his humility,
and exhibits his miserable poverty--he who, at that time, must have been
making a thousand pounds a year? Well, Shirker was just as proud of his
prudence--just as thankful for his own meanness, and of course would not
marry without a competency. Who so honourable? Polly waited, and waited
faintly, from year to year. HE wasn't sick at heart; HIS passion never
disturbed his six hours' sleep, or kept his ambition out of mind. He
would rather have hugged an attorney any day than have kissed Polly,
though she was one of the prettiest creatures in the world; and while
she was pining alone upstairs, reading over the stock of half-a-dozen
frigid letters that the confounded prig had condescended to write
to her, HE, be sure, was never busy with anything but his briefs in
chambers--always frigid, rigid, self-satisfied, and at his duty. The
marriage trailed on year after year, while Mr. Serjeant Shirker grew to
be the famous lawyer he is.

'Meanwhile, my younger brother, Pump Temple, who was in the 120th
Hussars, and had the same little patrimony which fell to the lot of
myself and Polly, must fall in love with our cousin, Fanny Figtree, and
marry her out of hand. You should have seen the wedding! Six
bridesmaids in pink, to hold the fan, bouquet, gloves, scent-bottle,
and pock