a flagitious violator of the confidences of private life.

Miss Crotchet had become Lady Bossnowl, but Lady Clarinda had not
yet changed her name to Crotchet. She had, on one pretence and
another, procrastinated the happy event, and the gentleman had not
been very pressing; she had, however, accompanied her brother and
sister-in-law, to pass Christmas at Crotchet Castle. With these,
Mr. Mac Quedy, Mr. Philpot, Mr. Trillo, Mr. Skionar, Mr. Toogood,
and Mr. Firedamp were sitting at breakfast, when the Reverend
Doctor Folliott entered and took his seat at the table.

REV. DR. FOLLIOTT. Well, Mr. Mac Quedy, it is now some weeks since
we have met: how goes on the march of mind?

MR. MAC QUEDY. Nay, sir; I think you may see that with your own
eyes.

REV. DR. FOLLIOTT. Sir, I have seen it, much to my discomfiture.
It has marched into my rickyard, and set my stacks on fire, with
chemical materials, most scientifically compounded. It has marched
up to the door of my vicarage, a hundred and fifty strong; ordered
me to surrender half my tithes; consumed all the provisions I had
provided for my audit feast, and drunk up my old October. It has
marched in through my back-parlour shutters, and out again with my
silver spoons, in the dead of the night. The policeman who has
been down to examine says my house has been broken open on the most
scientific principles. All this comes of education.

MR. MAC QUEDY. I rather think it comes of poverty.