He IS a gentleman, to be sure, and bad luck to 'im, say I; and what has been the result of his litherary labor?
I'll tell you what; and I'll tell this gintale society, by the shade of Saint Patrick, they're going to make him a BARINET." "A BARNET, Doctor!" says I; "you don't mean to say they're going to make him a barnet!" "As sure as I've made meself a docthor," says Larner.
"What, a baronet, like Sir John ?" "The divle a bit else." "And pray what for ?" "What faw ?" says Bullwig.

"Ask the histowy of litwatuwe what faw?
Ask Colburn, ask Bentley, ask Saunders and Otley, ask the gweat Bwitish nation, what faw?
The blood in my veins comes puwified thwough ten thousand years of chivalwous ancestwy; but that is neither here nor there: my political principles--the equal wights which I have advocated--the gweat cause of fweedom that I have celebwated, are known to all.

But this, I confess, has nothing to do with the question.

No, the question is this--on the thwone of litewature I stand unwivalled, pwe-eminent; and the Bwitish government, honowing genius in me, compliments the Bwitish nation by lifting into the bosom of the heweditawy nobility, the most gifted member of the democwacy." (The honrabble genlm here sunk down amidst repeated cheers.) "Sir John," says I, "and my lord duke, the words of my rivrint frend Ignatius, and the remarks of the honrabble genlmn who has just sate down, have made me change the detummination which I had the honor of igspressing just now.
"I igsept the eighty pound a year; knowing that I shall ave plenty of time for pursuing my littery career, and hoping some day to set on that same bentch of barranites, which is deckarated by the presnts of my honrabble friend.
"Why shooden I?
It's trew I ain't done anythink as YET to deserve such an honor; and it's very probable that I never shall.

But what then ?--quaw dong, as our friends say?
I'd much rayther have a coat-of-arms than a coat of livry.