I met your cousin Jack the other day, and his wife with seventy pounds on her back; and next door to paupers.

No; whilst you are a bachelor, like me, you are my favorite, and down in my will for a lump.
Once marry, and you join the noble army of foot-pads, leeches, vultures, paupers, gone coons, and babblers about brats--and I disown you." There was no hope from old Crusty.

Christopher left him, snubbed and heart-sick.

At last he met a sensible man, who made him see there was no short cut in that profession.

He must be content to play the up-hill game; must settle in some good neighborhood; marry, if possible, since husbands and fathers of families prefer married physicians; and so be poor at thirty, comfortable at forty, and rich at fifty--perhaps.
Then Christopher came down to his lodgings at Gravesend, and was very unhappy; and after some days of misery, he wrote a letter to Rosa in a moment of impatience, despondency, and passion.
Rosa Lusignan got worse and worse.