about Queens, and Dukes, and actresses, and, in the end, you have
put us off with a wretched story about the _parvenu_ DABCHICK. For
my part, I refuse to admit your authority until you prove, in greater
detail, that you really know something of the subject on which you
presumed to write." "Sir," I reply, "you are brusque, and somewhat
offensive in the style you use towards me. For my part I do not admit
that you are entitled to an answer from me, and I have felt disposed
to pass you by in silence. But since there may be other weak vessels
of your sort, I will do violence to myself, and pen another letter."
And thus, my dear SOCIAL AMBITION, I once more take the liberty of
addressing you, not without an inward tremor lest you should pounce
upon me unawares, and cause me to expiate my rashness by driving me
from the calm seclusion in which I spend my days, to mingle with the
feverish throng who wrangle for place and precedence, myself the most
feverish wrangler of them all. But, on the principle that we are both,
in some sort, hawks, I think I may trust you to spare my eyes, while I
remind you of one or two incidents in which you bore a part.

And first BLENKINSOP knocks at the door of my memory. I bid him
enter, and I see a tall slim youth, not ill-favoured, wearing well-cut
clothes, and carrying a most beautiful, gold-topped Malacca cane
delicately in his hand. He is smoking a cigar, and complains to me
that his life is a succession of aimless days, and that he cannot find
any employment to turn his hand to. That very night, I remember, he
dined with me. We went to the play together, and afterwards looked in
at Lady ALICIA PARBOIL's dance. Dear Lady ALICIA, how plump she was,
and how good-natured, and how well she married her fiddle-headed
daughters. Her husband too, that clumsy, heavy-witted oaf, how
cunningly and how successfully withal she schemed for his advancement.
_Quid plura?_ you knew her well, she was devoted to you. I only speak