For my part, I am _ennuyee_, beyond measure, on that day, and find no little difficulty in getting through it without a fit of the horrors.
"What a legion of counter-coxcombs!" exclaimed she, as we passed Grosvenor-gate.

"Upon the plunder of the till, or by overcharging some particular article sold on the previous day, it is easy for these _once-a-week_ beaux to hire a tilbury, and an awkward groom in a pepper and salt, or drab coat, like the _incog._ of the royal family, to mix with their betters and sport their persons in the drive of fashion: some of the monsters, too, have the impudence of bowing to ladies whom they do not know, merely to give them an air, or pass off their customers for their acquaintance: its very distressing.

There!" continued she, "there goes my plumassier, with gilt spurs like a field-officer, and riding as importantly as if he were one of the Lords of the Treasury; or--ah! there, again, is my banker's clerk, so stiff and so laced up, that he might pass for an Egyptian mummy--the self-importance of these puppies is insufferable! What impudence! he has picked up some groom out of place, with a cockade in his hat, by way of imposing on the world for a _beau militaire_.

What will the world come to! I really have not common patience with these creatures.

I have long since left off going to the play on a Saturday night, because, independently of my preference for the Opera, these insects from Cornhill or Whitechapel, shut up their shops, cheat their masters, and commence their airs of importance about nine o'clock.