I took a fancy to the man, he was so vast a humbug.

I began to see a kind of beauty in him, his _aplomb_ was so majestic.

I never knew a rogue to cut so fat; his villainy was ample, like his belly, and I could scarce find it in my heart to hold him responsible for either.

He was good enough to drop into the autobiographical; telling me how the farm, in spite of the war and the high prices, had proved a disappointment; how there was 'a sight of cold, wet land as you come along the 'igh-road'; how the winds and rains and the seasons had been misdirected, it seemed 'o' purpose'; how Mrs.Fenn had died--'I lost her coming two year agone; a remarkable fine woman, my old girl, sir! if you'll excuse me,' he added, with a burst of humility.

In short, he gave me an opportunity of studying John Bull, as I may say, stuffed naked--his greed, his usuriousness, his hypocrisy, his perfidy of the back-stairs, all swelled to the superlative--such as was well worth the little disarray and fluster of our passage in the hall..