It is altogether a most delicate morsel.

REV. DR. FOLLIOTT. Why, in that sense, perhaps, it is as delicate
as whitebait in July. But the attitude, sir, the attitude.

MR. CROTCHET. Nothing can be more natural, sir.

REV. DR. FOLLIOTT. That is the very thing, sir. It is too
natural: too natural, sir: it lies for all the world like--I make
no doubt, the pious cheesemonger, who recently broke its plaster
facsimile over the head of the itinerant vendor, was struck by a
certain similitude to the position of his own sleeping beauty, and
felt his noble wrath thereby justly aroused.

MR. CROTCHET. Very likely, sir. In my opinion, the cheesemonger
was a fool, and the justice who sided with him was a greater.

REV. DR. FOLLIOTT. Fool, sir, is a harsh term: call not thy
brother a fool.

MR. CROTCHET. Sir, neither the cheesemonger nor the justice is a
brother of mine.

REV. DR. FOLLIOTT. Sir, we are all brethren.

MR. CROTCHET. Yes, sir, as the hangman is of the thief; the squire
of the poacher; the judge of the libeller; the lawyer of his
client; the statesman of his colleague; the bubble-blower of the
bubble-buyer; the slave-driver of the negro; as these are brethren,
so am I and the worthies in question