Look at young Eustace, the man of honour! He came up to town last year with a good dress, a good address, and letters of introduction to half a dozen great men. He made his bow to each of them, spent a week with each of them, offended each of them, and is now starving in a garret upon independence and cold mutton. What is the meaning of all this? Eustace never learned how to say “Yes!” “_Virtus post nummos!_ Eh! young man?” says old Discount, the usurer. “I can’t say I think so,” said Eustace. “Here! Eustace, boy,” says Lord Fanny, “read over these scenes, and let me have your opinion! Fit for the boards, I think! Eh?” “You’ll excuse me if I don’t think they are,” says Eustace. “Well! my young friend,” cries Mr. Pliant, “we must have you in Parliament I suppose; make an orator of you! You’re on the right side, I hope?” “I should vote with my conscience, Sir,” says Eustace. See the finale. Eustace is enlisted for life in the Grub Street Corps, where he learns by sad experience how dangerous it is to say “No” to the avarice of a usurer, the vanity of a rhymer, or the party spirit of a politician. How unlucky that he cannot say “Yes.” Godfrey is a lover, and he has every qualification for the office except one. He cannot say “Yes.” Nobody, without this talent, should presume to be in love. “Mr. Godfrey,” says Chloe, “don’t you think this feather pretty?” “Absurd!” says Godfrey. “Mr. Godfrey!” says the lady, “don’t you think this necklace becoming?” “Never saw anything less so!” says Godfrey. “Mr. Godfrey,” says the coquette, “don’t you think I’m divine to-night?” “You never looked worse, by Jove!” says the gentleman. Godfrey is a man of fashion, a man of fortune, and a man of talent, but he will die a bachelor. What a pity! We can never look on such a man without a smile for his caprice and a tear for its consequences. How unlucky that he cannot say “Yes!”