rget our usual amenity,
and that tone of playfulness and sentiment with which the beloved
reader and writer have pursued their mutual reflections hitherto. Well,
Snobbishness pervades the little Social Farce as well as the great State
Comedy; and the self-same moral is tacked to either.

There was, for instance, an account in the papers of a young lady who,
misled by a fortune-teller, actually went part of the way to India (as
far as Bagnigge Wells, I think,) in search of a husband who was promised
her there. Do you suppose this poor deluded little soul would have left
her shop for a man below her in rank, or for anything but a darling of
a Captain in epaulets and a red coat. It was her Snobbish sentiment
that misled her, and made her vanities a prey to the swindling
fortune-teller.

Case 2 was that of Mademoiselle de Saugrenue, 'the interesting young
Frenchwoman with a profusion of jetty ringlets,' who lived for nothing
at a boardinghouse at Gosport, was then conveyed to Fareham gratis: and
being there, and lying on the bed of the good old lady her entertainer,
the dear girl took occasion to rip open the mattress, and steal a
cash-box, with which she fled to London. How would you account for the
prodigious benevolence exercised towards the interesting young French
lady? Was it her jetty ringlets or her charming face?--Bah! Do ladies
love others for having faces and black hair?--she said SHE WAS A
RELATION OF de Saugrenue: talked of her ladyship her aunt, and of
herself as a De Saugrenue. The honest boarding-house people were at her
feet at once. Good, honest, simple, lord-loving children of Snobland.

Finally, there was the case of 'the Right Honourable Mr. Vernon,' at
York. The Right Honourable was the son of a nobleman, and practised
on an old lady. He procured from her dinners, money, wearing-apparel,
spoons, implicit credence, and an entire refit of linen. Then he cast
his nets over a family of father, mother, and daughters, one of whom he
proposed to marry. The father lent him money, the mother made jams and
pickles for him, the daughters vied with each other in cooking dinners
for the Right Honourable--and what was the end? One day the traitor
fled, with a teapot and a basketful of cold victuals. It was the 'Right
Honourable' which baited the hook which gorged all these greedy, simple
Snobs. Would they have been taken in by a commoner? What old lady is
there, my dear sir, who would take in you and me, were we e