“To be before the footlights,” continued the dismal man, “is like sitting at a grand court show, and admiring the silken dresses of the gaudy throng; to be behind them is to be the people who make that finery, uncared for and unknown, and left to sink or swim, to starve or live, as fortune wills it.”

“Certainly,” said Mr. Snodgrass: for the sunken eye of the dismal man rested on him, and he felt it necessary to say something.

“Go on, Jemmy,” said the Spanish traveller, “like black-eyed Susan⁠—all in the Downs⁠—no croaking⁠—speak out⁠—look lively.”

“Will you make another glass before you begin, Sir?” said Mr. Pickwick.