But only for a season. Not for ever. No, no. There is one celebrated
author whom I admire very much--who has been taking leave of the public
any time these ten years in his prefaces, and always comes back again
when everybody is glad to see him. How can he have the heart to be
saying good-bye so often? I believe that Bunn is affected when he
blesses the people. Parting is always painful. Even the familiar bore is
dear to you. I should be sorry to shake hands even with Jawkins for
the last time. I think a well-constituted convict, on coming home
from transportation, ought to be rather sad when he takes leave of
Van Diemen's Land. When the curtain goes down on the last night of a
pantomime, poor old clown must be very dismal, depend on it. Ha! with
what joy he rushes forward on the evening of the 26th of December
next, and says--'How are you?--Here we are!' But I am growing too
sentimental:--to return to the theme.
THE NATIONAL MIND IS AWAKENED TO THE SUBJECT OF SNOBS. The word Snob
has taken a place in our honest English vocabulary. We can't define it,
perhaps. We can't say what it is, any more than we can define wit, or
humour, or humbug; but we KNOW what it is. Some weeks since, happening
to have the felicity to sit next to a young lady at a hospitable table,
where poor old Jawkins was holding forth in a very absurd pompous
manner, I wrote upon the spotless damask 'S--B,' and called my
neighbour's attention to the little remark.
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