He seemed entirely unconscious that each step he now took wakened peals.
For such is the fate of a man who has come to be dogged by the humourist for the provision he furnishes; and, as it happens, he is the more laughable if not in himself a laughable object.

The earl's handsome figure, fine style, and contrasting sobriety heightened the burlesque of his call to admiration of a shop where Whitechapel would sit in state-according to the fiction so closely under the lee of fact that they were not strictly divisible.

Moreover, Sarah Winch, whom Chumley Potts drew into conversation, said, he vowed, she came up West from Whitechapel.

She said it a little nervously, but without blushing.
Always on the side of the joke, he could ask: 'Who can doubt ?' Indeed, scepticism poisoned the sport.
The Old Buccaneer has written: Friends may laugh; I am not roused.

My enemy's laugh is a bugle blown in the night.
Our enemy's laugh at us rouses to wariness, he would say.