I suppose there is no man in this Vanity Fair of ours so little

observant as not to think sometimes about the worldly affairs of his

acquaintances, or so extremely charitable as not to wonder how his

neighbour Jones, or his neighbour Smith, can make both ends meet at the

end of the year.

With the utmost regard for the family, for instance

(for I dine with them twice or thrice in the season), I cannot but own

that the appearance of the Jenkinses in the park, in the large barouche

with the grenadier-footmen, will surprise and mystify me to my dying

day: for though I know the equipage is only jobbed, and all the

Jenkins people are on board wages, yet those three men and the carriage

must represent an expense of six hundred a year at the very least--and

then there are the splendid dinners, the two boys at Eton, the prize

governess and masters for the girls, the trip abroad, or to Eastbourne

or Worthing, in the autumn, the annual ball with a supper from Gunter's

(who, by the way, supplies most of the first-rate dinners which J.

gives, as I know very well, having been invited to one of them to fill

a vacant place, when I saw at once that these repasts are very superior

to the common run of entertainments for which the humbler sort of J.'s

acquaintances get cards)--who, I say, with the most good-natured

feelings in the world, can help wondering how the Jenkinses make out

matters?

What is Jenkins? We all know--Commissioner of the Tape and

Sealing Wax Office, with 1200 pounds a year for a salary. Had his wife

a private fortune? Pooh!--Miss Flint--one of eleven children of a small

squire in Buckinghamshire. All she ever gets from her family is a

turkey at Christmas, in exchange for which she has to board two or

three of her sisters in the off season, and lodge and feed her brothers

when they come to town. How does Jenkins balance his income? I say, as

every friend of his must say, How is it that he has not been outlawed

long since, and that he ever came back (as he did to the surprise of

everybody) last year from Boulogne?

"I" is here introduced to personify the world in general--the Mrs.

Grundy of each respected reader's private circle--every one of whom can

point to some families of his acquaintance who live nobody knows how.

Many a glass of wine have we all of us drunk, I have very little doubt,

hob-and-nobbing with the hospitable giver and wondering how the deuce

he paid for it.




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