sake!"--here he looked round with
agony--"give me a glass of bwandy-and-water, for this clawet is beginning
to disagwee with me."

Bullwig having concluded this spitch, very much to his own
sattasfackshn, looked round to the compny for aplaws, and then swigged
off the glass of brandy-and-water, giving a sollum sigh as he took the
last gulph; and then Doctor Ignatius, who longed for a chans, and, in
order to show his independence, began flatly contradicting his friend,
addressed me, and the rest of the genlmn present, in the following
manner:--

"Hark ye," says he, "my gossoon, doan't be led asthray by the nonsinse
of that divil of a Bullwig. He's jillous of ye, my bhoy: that's the
rale, undoubted thruth; and it's only to keep you out of litherary
life that he's palavering you in this way. I'll tell you what--Plush ye
blackguard,--my honorable frind the mimber there has told me a hunder
times by the smallest computation, of his intense admiration of your
talents, and the wonderful sthir they were making in the world. He can't
bear a rival. He's mad with envy, hatred, oncharatableness. Look at
him, Plush, and look at me. My father was not a juke exactly, nor aven
a markis, and see, nevertheliss, to what a pitch I am come. I spare no
ixpinse; I'm the iditor of a cople of pariodicals; I dthrive about in me
carridge: I dine wid the lords of the land; and why--in the name of the
piper that pleed before Mosus, hwy? Because I'm a litherary man. Because
I know how to play me cards. Because I'm Docther Larner, in fact, and
mimber of every society in and out of Europe. I might have remained
all my life in Thrinity Colledge, and never made such an incom as that
offered you by Sir Jan; but I came to London--to London, my boy, and now
see! Look again at me friend Bullwig. He IS a gentleman, to be sure, and
bad luck to 'im, say I; and what has been the result of his litherary
labor? I'll tell you what; and I'll tell this gintale society, by the
shade of Saint Patrick, they're going to make him a BARINET."

"A BARNET, Doctor!" says I; "you don't mean to say they're going to make
him a barnet!"

"As sure as I've made meself a docthor," says Larner.

"What, a baronet, like Sir John?"

"The divle a bit else."

"And pray what for?"

"What faw?" says Bullwig. "Ask the histowy of litwatuwe what faw? Ask
Colburn, ask Bentley, ask Saunders and Otley, ask the gweat Bwitish
nation, what faw? The blood in my veins comes puwified thwoug