[55]
and clad in black, had the honour to be driven into Paris at nine o'clock at night, by a postilion in a tawny yellow jerkin turned up with red calamanco—crack, crack—crack, crack—crack, crack—I wish thy whip———
———But 'tis the spirit of thy nation; so crack—crack on.
Ha!—and no one gives the wall!—but in the School of Urbanity herself, if the walls are besh-t—how can you do otherwise?
And prithee when do they light the lamps? What?—never in the summer months!—Ho! 'tis the time of sallads.—O rare! sallad and soup—soup and sallad—sallad and soup, encore———
———'Tis
