Hoping to be forgiven for this, perhaps misplaced, levity, we proceed to
Act III., in which we find that, fortune having shuffled the cards, and
the judge and jury cut them, _Mr. Titmouse_ turns up possessor of Yatton
and ten thousand a-year; while _Aubrey_, quite at the bottom of the pack,
is in a state of destitution. To show the depth of distress into which he
has fallen, a happy expedient is hit upon: he is described as turning his
attention and attainments to literature; and that the unfathomable straits
he is put to may be fully understood, he is made a reviewer! Thus the
highest degree of sympathy is excited towards him; for everybody knows
that no person would willingly resort to criticism (literary or dramatic)
as a means of livelihood, if he could command a broom and a crossing to
earn a penny by, or while there exists a Mendicity Society to get soup
from.

We have yet to mention one character; and considering that he is the
main-spring of the whole matter, we cannot put it off any longer. _Mr.
Gammon_ is a lawyer--that is quite enough; we need not say more. You all
know that stage solicitors are more outrageous villains than even their
originals. _Mr. Gammon_ is, of course, a "fine speciment of the specious,"
as Mr. Hood's Mr. Higgings says. It is he who, finding out a flaw in
_Aubrey's_ title, angled per advertisement for the heir, and caught a
_Tittlebat--Titmouse_. It is he who has so disinterestedly made that
gentleman's fortune.--"Only just merely for the sake of the costs?" one
naturally asks. Oh no; there is a stronger reason (with which, however,
reason has nothing to do)--love! _Mr. Gammon_ became desperately enamoured
of _Miss Aubrey_; but she was silly enough to prefer the heir to a
peerage, _Mr. Delamere. Mr. Gammon_ never forgave her, and so ruins her
brother.

Having brought the whole family to a state in which he supposes they will