We do our best to polish--polish--polish!" He sat down beside me, taking some pains to sit on the form, I thought, in imitation of the print of his illustrious model on the sofa.

And really he did look very like it.
"To polish--polish--polish!" he repeated, taking a pinch of snuff and gently fluttering his fingers.

"But we are not, if I may say so to one formed to be graceful both by Nature and Art--" with the high-shouldered bow, which it seemed impossible for him to make without lifting up his eyebrows and shutting his eyes "-- we are not what we used to be in point of deportment." "Are we not, sir ?" said I.
"We have degenerated," he returned, shaking his head, which he could do to a very limited extent in his cravat.

"A levelling age is not favourable to deportment.

It develops vulgarity.