on; and of these two the author does not respect one, but
struggles not to laugh in his face; whilst he apparently speaks
of another in a tone of religious reverence, because the lady is a
countess, and because he (the author) is a sneak. So reader, author,
characters, are rogues all. Be there any honest men left, Hal? About
Printing-house Square, mayhap you may light on an honest man, a
squeamish man, a proper moral man, a man that shall talk you Latin by
the half-column if you will but hear him.

And what a style it is, that great man's! What hoighth of foine language
entoirely! How he can discoorse you in English for all the world as
if it was Latin! For instance, suppose you and I had to announce the
important news that some writers published what are called Christmas
books; that Christmas books are so called because they are published
at Christmas: and that the purpose of the authors is to try and amuse
people. Suppose, I say, we had, by the sheer force of intellect, or
by other means of observation or information, discovered these great
truths, we should have announced them in so many words. And there it is
that the difference lies between a great writer and a poor one; and we
may see how an inferior man may fling a chance away. How does my friend
of the Times put these propositions? "It has been customary," says he,
"of late years for the purveyors of amusing literature to put forth
certain opuscules, denominated Christmas books, with the ostensible
intention of swelling the tide of exhilaration, or other expansive
emotions, incident upon the exodus of the old or the inauguration of the
new year." That is something like a sentence; not a word scarcely but's
in Latin, and the longest and handsomest out of the whole dictionary.
That is proper economy--as you see a buck from Holywell Street put
every pinchbeck pin, ring, and chain which he possesses about his shirt,
hands, and waistcoat, and then go and cut a dash in the Park, or swagger
with his order to the theatre. It costs him no more to wear all his
ornaments about his distinguished person than to leave them at home. If
you can be a swell at a cheap rate, why not? And I protest, for my
part, I had no idea what I was really about in writing and submitting
my little book for sale, until my friend the critic, looking at the
article, and examining it with the eyes of a connoisseur, pronounced
that what I had fancied simply to be a book was in fact "an opuscule
deno