"I find that the noblest and best fellow I know is going to marry the handsomest woman, saving your presence, that I ever saw.

I myself have just come into an earldom, and twenty thousand a-year; and if, under these circumstances, I mayn't make that woman a handsome present, why then the deuce is in it, you know.

Sam, my boy, your hand.
Jim, your hand, my lad.

May you be as good a soldier as your father." "Ah!" said Jim.

"So you're an earl are you?
What does it feel like, eh?
Do you feel the blue blood of a hundred sires coursing in your veins?
Do you feel the hereditary class prejudices of the Norman aristocracy cutting you off from the sympathies of the inferior classes, and raising you above the hopes and fears of the masses?
How very comical it must be! So you are going to sit among the big-wigs in the House of Lords.