I have been to three to night, and all on 'em was mobs--regular mobs.

The English are horrid fond of mobs, and I wonder at it too; for of all the cowardly, miserable, scarry mobs, that ever was seen in this blessed world, the English is the wust.
Two dragoons will clear a whole street as quick as wink, any time.

The instant they see 'em, they jist run like a flock of sheep afore a couple of bull dogs, and slope off properly skeered.

Lawful heart, I wish they'd send for a dragoon, all booted, and spurred, and mounted, and let him gallop into a swoi-ree, and charge the mob there.

He'd clear 'em out _I_ know, double quick: he'd chase one quarter of 'em down stairs head over heels, and another quarter would jump out o' the winders, and break their confounded necks to save their lives, and then the half that's left, would he jist about half too many for comfort.
"My first party to-night wus a conversation one; that is for them that _could_ talk; as for me I couldn't talk a bit, and all I could think was, 'how infarnal hot it is! I wish I could get in!' or, 'oh dear, if I could only get out!' It was a scientific party, a mob o' men.