"A man _may_, however, maintain the suit of his near kinsman, servant, or POOR NEIGHBOR, out of _charity and compassion_, with impunity; _otherwise_, the punishment is," &c. &c.[6] Now, it seemed to Mr. Quirk, that the words which I have placed in italics and small capitals, met the case of poor Tittlebat Titmouse exactly. He stuck to that view of the case, till he _almost_ began to think that he really had a kind of a sort of a charity and compassion for poor Tittlebat--kept out of his rights--tyrannized over by a vulgar draper in Oxford Street--where, too, no doubt, he was half starved.--"It's a great blessing that one's got the means--and the inclination, to serve one's poor neighbors"--thought Quirk, as he swallowed glass after glass of the _wine that maketh glad the heart of man_--and also _softens_ it;--for the more he drank, the more and more pitiful became his mood--the more sensitive was he to compassionate suggestions; and by the time that he had finished the decanter, he was all but in tears! These virtuous feelings brought their own reward, too--for, from time to time, they conjured up, as it were, the faint rainbow image of a bond conditioned for the payment of TEN THOUSAND POUNDS! To change the metaphor a little--by the time that old Quirk had reached his office in the morning, the heated iron had cooled. If his heart _had_ retained any of the maudlin softness of the preceding evening, the following pathetic letter from Titmouse might have made a very deep impression upon it, and fixed him, in the benevolent and disinterested mind of the old lawyer, as indeed his "poor neighbor." The following is an exact copy of that lucid and eloquent composition. It had been written by Mr. Titmouse, all out of his own head; and with his own hand had he left it at the office, at a late hour on the preceding evening. "_To Messrs._ QUERK, GAMON, _and_ SNAPE. "GENTS,