“Well,” said he, taking up a newspaper, “let us read this paragraph again. What a beautiful sensation it is to see one’s name in print. ‘We understand that Richard Crauford, Esq., M. P. for ----, is to be raised to the dignity of the peerage. There does not perhaps exist in the country a gentleman more universally beloved and esteemed’ (mark that, Dicky Crauford). ‘The invariable generosity with which his immense wealth has been employed, his high professional honour, the undeviating and consistent integrity of his political career’ (ay, to be sure, it is only your honest fools who are inconsistent: no man can deviate who has one firm principle, self-interest), ‘his manly and energetic attention to the welfare of religion’ (he! he! he!), ‘conjoined to a fortune almost incalculable, render this condescension of our gracious Sovereign no less judicious than deserved! We hear that the title proposed for the new peer is that of Viscount Innisdale, which, we believe, was formerly in the noble family of which Mr. Crauford is a distant branch.’ “He! he! he! Bravo! bravo! Viscount Innisdale, noble family, distant branch,--the devil I am! What an ignoramus my father was not to know that! Why, rest his soul, he never knew who his grandfather was; but the world shall not be equally ignorant of that important point. Let me see, who shall be Viscount Innisdale’s great-grandfather? Well, well, whoever he is, here’s long life to his great-grandson! ‘Incalculable fortune!’ Ay, ay, I hope at all events it will never be calculated. But now for my letters. Bah! this wine is a thought too acid for the cellars of Viscount Innisdale! What, another from Mother H----! Dark eyes, small mouth, sings like an angel, eighteen! Pish! I am too old for such follies now: ‘t is not pretty for Viscount Innisdale. Humph! Lisbon, seven hundred pounds five shillings and seven-pence--half-penny, is it, or farthing? I must note that down. Loan for King of Prussia. Well, must negotiate that to-morrow. Ah, Hockit, the wine-merchant, pipe of claret in the docks, vintage of 17--. Bravo! all goes smooth for Viscount Innisdale! Pish! from my damnable wife! What a pill for my lordship! What says she?”