There's a case for you.

Sure he acknowledges himself to be a member of the hell-fire club!" "He's a reprobate, my friend--impenitent, hopeless.

I have myself tried him, spoke with him, reasoned with him, but never was my humility, my patience, so strongly tried.

His language I will not repeat--but canting knave, hypocrite, rascal attor--no, it is useless and unedifying to repeat it.

Now go, my friend, and do not forget that precious tract which you have thrust so disrespectfully into your pocket." Darby, after a shrewd wink at one of the apprentices, which was returned, passed out, and left Mr.M'Slime to the pursuit of his salvation.
In the mean time, as we authors have peculiar "privileges," as Mr.
M'Slime would say, we think if only due to our readers to let them have a peep at M'Slime's note to our friend Valentine M'Clutchy.
"My dear friend--I felt as deep an interest in the purport of your note as you yourself possibly could.