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peculiar kindness for Inns, I will
with a choice sample of satisfactions in that walk of enjoyment.
GROAN 1. (S.) In the room of an inn to which you are confined by the rain, or by sudden indisposition, the whole day, inding yourself reduced to the following delassemens de coeur ;-and first for the Morning :examining the scrawled window-panes, in hopes of curious verses, &c. and finding nothing more piquant than “ I love pretty Sally Appleby of Chipping-Norton."_“Sweet Dolly Meadows!"_“A. B.
” G. M. T. S. &c. &c. dined here July the 4th, 1739.”_“I am very unappy. Sam. Jennings." « Life at best is but a jest.” _" Wm. Wilkins is a fool;"_with “ So are you," written under it.“ dam pit," &c. &c. together with sundry halffinished initials scratched about.
Then for your Evening recreations :--After have ing, for the twentieth time, held a candle to the wretched prints, or ornaments, with which the room is hung—such as female personifications of the Four Seasons, or the Cardinal Virtues, daubed over, any how, with purple, red, and raspberrycream colours-or a series of halfpenny prints, called “Going out in the Morning,”—“ Starting a Hare," _ Coming in at the Death," &c.-ora
Jemmy Jessamy lover in a wood, in new boots, but without spurs, whip, horse, or hat, with his hair full dressed, on one knee, in the dirt, before a coy May-pole Miss in an old-fashioned riding-dress; both figures partly coloured, and partly plain—or a goggling wax Queen bolt upright in a deep glass case, among the minikin pillars of a tawdry temple, wreathed with red foil, tinsel, and bright green varnished leaves or the map of England, with only about four counties, and no towns in it, worked in a sampler by the landlady's youngest daughter, “aged 10 years,"-or a little fat plaster-man on the chimney-piece, with his gilt cocked hat at the back of his head, and a pipe in his mouth; being the centre figure to a china Shakspeare and Milton, in Harlequin jackets, at the two extremities-after getting all this by heart, I say, asking, in despair, for some books; which, when brought, turn out to be Bracken's Farriery-three or four wrecks of different spelling books—Gauging made easy—a few odd vols. of the Racing Calendar-an abridged Abridgment of the History of England in question and answer, with half the leaves torn out, and the other half illegible with greasy thumbing—An old list of Terms, Transfer days, &c. with Tax Tables, &c.---in each of which you try a few pages, nod over them till nine o'clock, and then stumble to bed in a cloud of disgust.
Tes. “ O, horror, horror, horror, horror, horror !”I can never hope to go beyond this, and so you must take the will for the deed-and yet the following would have made no bad figure, had it stood by itself; you shall hear :
2. (T.) In riding against the wind-feeling a great insect dash into your eye-(“ subitô oculis objicitur monstrum !)—then, after carrying it home in an agony, and sitting for an hour to have the socket rummaged with the corner of an handkerchief-your eye
left sorer than ever, the animal seeming considerably grown, since he first took shelter under your " pent-house lid.”
3. (S.) Starting for a long ride, on a dinner engagement, without a great coat, in a mist, which successively becomes a mizzle, a drizzle, a shower, a rain, a torrent:mon arriving at the house, at last, completely drenched, you have to beg the favour of making yourself look like a full or an empty sack, by wearing your host's intractable clothes-he being either a dwarf or a giant, and you the contrary.
Tes. O, I can dine out as provokingly as you can:
4. (T.) Riding out to dinner, many miles off, on a beast that will not quit his walk, while you know that nothing short of a full gallop will save your time: -no spurs, and nothing in your hand but a weak stick, which you presently break into a flail; and this (for fear of being reduced to the stump) you are obliged to use more gently than before, though the animal would take more beating, (if you had it to give,) than ever.
5. (S.) On your return from an excursion to North Wales, the Lakes, &c. being asked by the first friend
meet whether you saw , naming the most celebrated spot in the whole tour--the only place, however, which, by some villainous mischance, you did not see.
6. (T.) On packing up your own clothes for a journey, because your servant is a fool--the burning fever into which you are thrown, when, after all your standing, stamping, lying, kneeling, tugging, and kicking, at the lid of your trunk, it still peremp
torily refuses to approach nearer than half a yard to the lock.
7. (T.) The flap of a limber saddle rolling up, and gall
а ing, and pinching your calf, just above the halfboot, through a long day's ride.
8. (T.) A very high, hard-trotting horse, who sets off before
you have discovered that the stirrups are. too long to assist you in humouring his jolt; then, trying in vain to stop him.
9. (T.) Beguiling a long distance in a carriage, at night, over an execrable road, with a drunken coachman, jaded horses, and frightened ladies.
10. (T.) At an inn, after pulling off your boots,--the option of going barefoot the rest of the evening, or expatiating in a pair of boundless slippers that have been tenanted by a thousand feet; and which, when you do wear then, (as you must in going up to bed over the wet stairs,) are stumbled off, and to be stopped for, when you are dead asleep, at every stair, from the ground to the garret.