Here are but fifty-two bricks--and a pyramid to build.

It is best to stop.

As Jones always quits the room as soon as he has said his good thing,--as Cincinnatus and General Washington both retired into private life in the height of their popularity,--as Prince Albert, when he laid the first stone of the Exchange, left the bricklayers to complete that edifice and went home to his royal dinner,--as the poet Bunn comes forward at the end of the season, and with feelings too tumultuous to describe, blesses his KYIND friends over the footlights: so, friends, in the flush of conquest and the splendour of victory, amid the shouts and the plaudits of a people--triumphant yet modest--the Snob of England bids ye farewell.
But only for a season.

Not for ever.

No, no.