wear his
hat, or carry his umbrella, or mount his horse, without falling into
some error of snobbism before his hypercritical eyes. St. Michael would
have carried his armour amiss, and St. Cecilia have been snobbish as she
twanged her harp.

I fancy that a policeman considers that every man in the street would be
properly "run in," if only all the truth about the man had been known.
The tinker thinks that every pot is unsound. The cobbler doubts the
stability of every shoe. So at last it grew to be the case with
Thackeray. There was more hope that the city should be saved because of
its ten just men, than for society, if society were to depend on ten who
were not snobs. All this arose from the keenness of his vision into that
which was really mean. But that keenness became so aggravated by the
intenseness of his search that the slightest speck of dust became to his
eyes as a foul stain. Public[=o]la, as we saw, damned one poor man to a
wretched immortality, and another was called pitilessly over the coals,
because he had mixed a grain of flattery with a bushel of truth.
Thackeray tells us that he was born to hunt out snobs, as certain dogs
are trained to find truffles. But we can imagine that a dog, very
energetic at producing truffles, and not finding them as plentiful as
his heart desired, might occasionally produce roots which were not
genuine,--might be carried on in his energies till to his senses every
fungus-root became a truffle. I think that there has been something of
this with our author's snob-hunting, and that his zeal was at last
greater than his discrimination.

The nature of the task which came upon him made this fault almost
unavoidable. When a hit is made, say with a piece at a theatre, or with
a set of illustrations, or with a series of papers on this or the other
subject,--when something of this kind has suited the taste of the
moment, and gratified the public, there is a natural inclination on the
part of those who are interested to continue that which has been found
to be good. It pays and it pleases, and it seems to suit everybody. Then
it is continued usque ad nauseam. We see it in everything. When the king
said he liked partridges, partridges were served to him every day. The
world was pleased with certain ridiculous portraits of its big men. The
big men were soon used up, and the little men had to be added.

We can imagine that even _Punch_ may occasionally be at a loss for
subjects wherewit