He's jillous of ye, my bhoy: that's the rale, undoubted thruth; and it's only to keep you out of litherary life that he's palavering you in this way.

I'll tell you what--Plush ye blackguard,--my honorable frind the mimber there has told me a hunder times by the smallest computation, of his intense admiration of your talents, and the wonderful sthir they were making in the world.

He can't bear a rival.

He's mad with envy, hatred, oncharatableness.

Look at him, Plush, and look at me.