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
been to the Opera over-night (indeed her husband, on her right, with
his fat hand dangling over the pew-door, is at this minute thinking of
Mademoiselle Leocadie, whom he saw behind the scenes)--she has been
at the Opera over-night, which with a trifle of supper afterwards--a
white-and-brown soup, a lobster-salad, some woodcocks, and a little
champagne--sent her to bed quite comfortable. At half-past eight her
maid brings her chocolate in bed, at ten she has fresh eggs and muffins,
with, perhaps, a half-hundred of prawns for breakfast, and so can get
over the day and the sermon till lunch-time pretty well. What an odor of
musk and bergamot exhales from the pew!--how it is wadded, and stuffed,
and spangled over with brass nails! what hassocks are there for those
who are not too fat to kneel! what a flustering and flapping of gilt
prayer-books; and what a pious whirring of bible leaves one hears
all over the church, as the doctor blandly gives out the text! To be
miserable at this rate you must, at the very least, have four thousand a
year: and many persons are there so enamored of grief and sin, that they
would willingly take the risk of the misery to have a life-interest in
the consols that accompany it, quite careless about consequences, and
sceptical as to the notion that a day is at hand when you must fulfil
YOUR SHARE OF THE BARGAIN.

Our artist loves to joke at a soldier; in whose livery there appears
to him to be something almost as ridiculous as in the uniform of
the gentleman of the shoulder-knot. Tall life-guardsmen and fierce
grenadiers figure in many of his designs, and almost always in a
ridiculous way. Here again we have the honest popular English feeling
which jeers at pomp or pretension of all kinds, and is especially
jealous of all display of military authority. "Raw Recruit," "ditto
dressed," ditto "served up," as we see them in the "Sketch-Book,"