Look over The Times or the 'Directory,' walk down Regent Street or Fleet Street any day--see what houses advertise most, and put yourself into communication with their proprietors.

With your rings, your chains, your studs, and the tip on your chin, I don't know any greater swell than Bob Snooks.

Walk into the shops, I say, ask for the principal, and introduce yourself, saying, 'I am the great Snooks; I am the author of the "Mysteries of May Fair;" my weekly sale is 281,000; I am about to produce a new work called "The Palaces of Pimlico, or the Curse of the Court," describing and lashing fearlessly the vices of the aristocracy; this book will have a sale of at least 530,000; it will be on every table--in the boudoir of the pampered duke, as in the chamber of the honest artisan.

The myriads of foreigners who are coming to London, and are anxious to know about our national manners, will purchase my book, and carry it to their distant homes.

So, Mr.Taylor, or Mr.Haberdasher, or Mr.Jeweller, how much will you stand if I recommend you in my forthcoming novel ?' You may make a noble income in this way, Snooks.
"For instance, suppose it is an upholsterer.