She was delighted with your work; and I can tell you it is not with every man's writing that Mrs.Timmins is pleased," he added, with a knowing air.
"It's capital," broke in Clive.

"I say, that part, you know, where Walter runs away with Neaera, and the General can't pursue them, though he has got the postchaise at the door, because Tim O'Toole has hidden his wooden leg! By Jove, it's capital!--All the funny part--I don't like the sentimental stuff, and suicide, and that; and as for poetry, I hate poetry." "Pen's is not first chop," says Warrington.

"I am obliged to take the young man down from time to time, Colonel Newcome.

Otherwise he would grow so conceited there would be no bearing him." "I say," says Clive.
"What were you about to remark ?" asks Mr.Warrington, with an air of great interest.
"I say, Pendennis," continued the artless youth, "I thought you were a great swell.

When we used to read about the grand parties in the Pall Mall Gazette, the fellows used to say you were at every one of them, and you see, I thought you must have chambers in the Albany, and lots of horses to ride, and a valet and a groom, and a cab at the very least." "Sir," says the Colonel, "I hope it is not your practice to measure and estimate gentlemen by such paltry standards as those.