An Inebriated Elderly Gentleman In

A Smattering Of Everything, And A Knowledge Of Nothing.

Mr. Bazzard's Father, Being A Norfolk Farmer, Would Have Furiously Laid About Him With A Flail, A Pitch-fork, And Every Agricultural Implement Available For Assaulting Purposes, On The Slightest Hint Of His Son's Having Written A Play.

Eccentricities Of Genius.

He Was Touched In The Cavity Where His Heart Should Have Been, In That Nest Of Addled Eggs, Where The Birds Of Heaven Would Have Lived If They Had Not Been Whistled Away, By The Fervour Of This Reproach.

Detestation Of The High Is The Involuntary Homage Of The Low.