Strangers in distress, who appealed to the rich retired merchant for help, found in their excellent references to character the worst form of persuasion that they could have adopted.

Paupers without a rag of reputation left to cover them, were the objects of charity whom Mr.Henley relieved.

When he was asked to justify his conduct, he said: "I have a sympathy with bad characters---I am one of them myself." With the arrival of the dinner hour the doctor appeared, in no very amiable humour, at the inn.
"Another hard day's work," he said; "I should sink under it, if I hadn't a prospect of getting rid of my practice here.

London--or the neighbourhood of London--there's the right place for a man like Me.
Well?
Where's the wonderful wine?
Mind! I'm Tom-Tell-Truth; if I don't like your French tipple, I shall say so." The inn possessed no claret glasses; they drank the grand wine in tumblers as if it had been vin ordinaire.
Mr.Vimpany showed that he was acquainted with the formalities proper to the ceremony of tasting.

He filled his makeshift glass, he held it up to the light, and looked at the wine severely; he moved the tumbler to and fro under his nose, and smelt at it again and again; he paused and reflected; he tasted the claret as cautiously as if he feared it might be poisoned; he smacked his lips, and emptied his glass at a draught; lastly, he showed some consideration for his host's anxiety, and pronounced sentence on the wine.
"Not so good as you think it, sir.