REV. DR. FOLLIOTT. It is not mine, sir: the more is the pity; yet
is it so far well, that the owner is my good friend, and a highly
respectable gentleman.

THE STRANGER. Good and respectable, sir, I take it, means rich?

REV. DR. FOLLIOTT. That is their meaning, sir.

THE STRANGER. I understand the owner to be a Mr. Crotchet. He has
a handsome daughter, I am told.

REV. DR. FOLLIOTT. He has, sir. Her eyes are like the fish-pools
of Heshbon, by the gate of Bethrabbim; and she is to have a
handsome fortune, to which divers disinterested gentlemen are
paying their addresses. Perhaps you design to be one of them?

THE STRANGER. No, sir; I beg pardon if my questions seem
impertinent; I have no such design. There is a son too, I believe,
sir, a great and successful blower of bubbles?

REV. DR. FOLLIOTT. A hero, sir, in his line. Never did angler in
September hook more gudgeons.

THE STRANGER. To say the truth, two very amiable young people,
with whom I have some little acquaintance, Lord Bossnowl, and his
sister, Lady Clarinda, are reported to be on the point of
concluding a double marriage with Miss Crotchet and her brother; by
way of putting a new varnish on old nobility. Lord Foolincourt,
their father, is terribly poor for a lord who owns a borough.