text:  One of the professed diners-out discovers for the twentieth time an inscription in dead silver on the pedestal and enquires with well-affected ignorance whether that is a _present_; the gentility-monger asks the diner-out to wine as he deserves then enters into a long apologetical self-laudation of his exertions in behalf of the CANNIBAL ISLANDS ABORIGINES PROTECTION AND BRITISH SUBJECT TRANSPORTATION SOCIETY (some emigration crimping scheme in short ) in which his humble efforts to diffuse civilization and promote Christianity however unworthy ("No no!" from the diner-out ) gained the esteem of his fellow-labourers and the approbation of his own con----"Shall I send you some fish sir?" says the man at the foot of the table addressing himself to the Honourable Sniftky and cutting short the oration