"This rich man is invisible
In the crowd of his gay society;
But the poor man's delight
Is a sore in the sight
And a stench in the nose of piety."

Against dandy footmen he is particularly severe. He hates idlers,
pretenders, boasters, and punishes these fellows as best he may. Who
does not recollect the famous picture, "What IS taxes, Thomas?" What
is taxes indeed; well may that vast, over-fed, lounging flunky ask the
question of his associate Thomas: and yet not well, for all that Thomas
says in reply is, "I DON'T KNOW." "O beati PLUSHICOLAE," what a charming
state of ignorance is yours! In the "Sketch-Book" many footmen make
their appearance: one is a huge fat Hercules of a Portman Square porter,
who calmly surveys another poor fellow, a porter likewise, but out of
livery, who comes staggering forward with a box that Hercules might lift
with his little finger. Will Hercules do so? not he. The giant can carry
nothing heavier than a cocked-hat note on a silver tray, and his labors
are to walk from his sentry-box to the door, and from the door back to
his sentry-box, and to read the Sunday paper, and to poke the hall
fire twice or thrice, and to make five meals a day. Such a fellow does
Cruikshank hate and scorn worse even than a Frenchman.

The man's master, too, comes in for no small share of our artist's
wrath. There is a company of them at church, who humbly designate
themselves "miserable sinners!" Miserable sinners indeed! Oh, what
floods of turtle-soup, what tons of turbot and lobster-sauce must have
been sacrificed to make those sinners properly miserable. My lady with
the ermine tippet and draggling feather, can we not see that she lives
in Portland Place, and is the wife of an East India Director? She has