I appeal to the experience of mankind--to the three hundred heirs of the
British peerage, whom their gouty fathers keep out of their honours and
estates--to the six hundred and sixty-eight candidates for seats in
parliament, which they must wait for till the present sitters die; or
turn rebellious to their noble patrons, or their borough patrons, or
their Jew patrons; or plunge into joint-stock ruin, and expatriate
themselves, for the astonishment of all other countries, and the benefit
of their own;--to the six thousand five hundred heroes of the half-pay,
longing for tardy war;--to the hundred thousand promissory excisemen
lying on the soul of the chancellor of the ex-chequer, and pining for
the mortality of every gauger from the Lizard to the Orkneys;--and, to
club the whole discomfort into one, to the entire race of the fine and
superfine, who breathe the vital air, from five thousand a year to
twenty times the rental, the unhappy population of the realms of
indolence included in Bond Street, St. James's, and the squares.
For my own part, in all my experience of European deficiencies, I have
never found any deficiency of time.
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