s duly posted and faithfully
discharged by the postman into his letter-box in Lamb Court, and thence
carried by the laundress to his writing-table with the rest of his
lordship's correspondence; into which room, have we not seen a picture
of him, entering from his little bedroom adjoining, as Mrs. Flanagan,
his laundress, was in the act of drinking his gin?

Those kind readers who have watched Mr. Arthur's career hitherto, and
have made, as they naturally would do, observations upon the moral
character and peculiarities of their acquaintance, have probably
discovered by this time what was the prevailing fault in Mr. Pen's
disposition, and who was that greatest enemy, artfully indicated in the
title-page, with whom he had to contend. Not a few of us, my beloved
public, have the very same rascal to contend with: a scoundrel who takes
every opportunity of bringing us into mischief, of plunging us into
quarrels, of leading us into idleness and unprofitable company, and what
not. In a word, Pen's greatest enemy was himself: and as he had been
pampering, and coaxing, and indulging that individual all his life,
the rogue grew insolent, as all spoiled servants will be; and at
the slightest attempt to coerce him, or make him do that which was
unpleasant to him, became frantically rude and unruly. A person who is
used to making sacrifices--Laura, for instance, who had got such a habit
of giving up her own pleasure for others--can do the business quite
easily; but Pen, unaccustomed as he was to any sort of self-denial,
suffered woundily when called on to pay his share, and savagely grumbled
at being obliged to forgo anything he liked.

He had resolved in his mighty mind then that he would not see Fanny; and
he wouldn't. He tried to drive the thoughts of that fascinating
little person out of his head, by constant occupation, by exercise, by
dissipation and society. He worked then too much; he walked and rode too
much; he ate, drank, and smoked too much: nor could all the cigars and
the punch of which he partook drive little Fanny's image out of
his inflamed brain, and at the end of a week of this discipline and
self-denial our young gentleman was in bed with a fever. Let the reader
who has never had a fever in chambers pity the wretch who is bound to
undergo that calamity.

A committee of marriageable ladies, or of any Christian persons
interested in the propagation of the domestic virtues, should employ a
Cruikshank or a Leech,