Moth.

By Woden, God of Saxons, From whence comes Wensday, that is, Wodnesday, Truth is a thing that I will ever keep Unto thylke day in which I creep into My sepulcre-- Cartwright's Ordinary.
Our young friend Lovel, who had received a corresponding invitation, punctual to the hour of appointment, arrived at Monkbarns about five minutes before four o'clock on the 17th of July.

The day had been remarkably sultry, and large drops of rain had occasionally fallen, though the threatened showers had as yet passed away.
Mr.Oldbuck received him at the Palmer's-port in his complete brown suit, grey silk stockings, and wig powdered with all the skill of the veteran Caxon, who having smelt out the dinner, had taken care not to finish his job till the hour of eating approached.
"You are welcome to my symposion, Mr.Lovel.And now let me introduce you to my Clogdogdo's, as Tom Otter calls them--my unlucky and good-for-nothing womankind--malae bestiae, Mr.Lovel." "I shall be disappointed, sir, if I do not find the ladies very undeserving of your satire." "Tilley-valley, Mr.Lovel,--which, by the way, one commentator derives from tittivillitium, and another from talley-ho--but tilley-valley, I say--a truce with your politeness.

You will find them but samples of womankind--But here they be, Mr.Lovel.I present to you in due order, my most discreet sister Griselda, who disdains the simplicity, as well as patience annexed to the poor old name of Grizzel; and my most exquisite niece Maria, whose mother was called Mary, and sometimes Molly." The elderly lady rustled in silks and satins, and bore upon her head a structure resembling the fashion in the ladies' memorandum-book for the year 1770--a superb piece of architecture, not much less than a modern Gothic castle, of which the curls might represent the turrets, the black pins the chevaux de frise, and the lappets the banners.
The face, which, like that of the ancient statues of Vesta, was thus crowned with towers, was large and long, and peaked at nose and chin, and bore, in other respects, such a ludicrous resemblance to the physiognomy of Mr.Jonathan Oldbuck, that Lovel, had they not appeared at once, like Sebastian and Viola in the last scene of the "Twelfth Night," might have supposed that the figure before him was his old friend masquerading in female attire.

An antique flowered silk gown graced the extraordinary person to whom belonged this unparalleled tete, which her brother was wont to say was fitter for a turban for Mahound or Termagant, than a head-gear for a reasonable creature, or Christian gentlewoman.