13. (S.)

Dressing at a coffee-house, in a great hurry, to dine out, and on your arrival at your friend's house, suddenly finding that you have nothing in any of your pockets;-then, the flash of horror that runs through you, as you recollect that you have involuntarily confided your watch, pocket-book, loveletters, and uncounted cash and notes, to the care of the public, by leaving them on the table of the coffee-room in which you hastily changed your 'coat and waistcoat.

14. (S.)

On your entrance at a formal dinner-partyin reaching up your hat to a high peg in the hall, bursting your coat, from the arm-hole to the pocket.

Teş. Aye-that comes of "appetens nimis ardua," you see.

15. (T.)

On leaving the house at which you have been visiting, finding that a rascal has taken your new hat, and left you his old one; which, on the one hand, either cuts to your skull, if you press it down, or barely perches on the tip of your head, if you

do not-or, on the other hand, wabbles over your eyes and ears, and keeps bobbing on your nose ;to say nothing of wearing another man's hat, even if it fitted like a glove.

At night-after having long lain awake, nervous, restless, and unwell, with an ardent desire to know the hour, and the state of the weather, being, at last, delighted by hearing the watchman begin his cry-from which, however, he allows you to extract no more information than "past clock

morning!"-Then, after impatiently lingering through another hour for the sound of your own clock, (which had before been roared down by the watchman,) being roused to listen by its preparatory click, and purr, followed by one stroke-which you are to make the most of-the rest being cut short by a violent fit of coughing, with which you are seized at the instant.

17. (S.)

In attempting to pay money in the street-emptying your purse into the kennel—the wind taking care of all the paper-money :

Ned Tes. «The trembling notes ascend the sky!"

Alex. Feast.

1

18. (S.)

Standing off and on in the street, for half an hour, (though in the utmost haste,) while the friend with whom you are walking talks to his friend, whom you meet, and to whose conversation you are delicately doubtful whether you ought to be a party.

19. (S.)

At a London breakfast-snail-cream; not to mention the bread that accompanies it, which, if it be dry, chalky, musty, bitter, salt, and sour, leaves you, however, the consolation, that it is made of the "finest wheat-flour!"

20. (S.)

The unintermitting fever into which you are thrown by being obliged to linger the whole morning long, amongst a crew of "greasy rogues," in the outer-room of a public office, from which you are called out the last-if, indeed, you are called out at all!

21. (S.)

Chasing your hat (just blown off in a high wind,) through a muddy street-a fresh gust always whisking it away at the moment of seizing it; when you have at last caught it, deliberately putting it on,

with all its sins upon your head, amidst the jeers of the populace.

22. (S.)

Going to the House of Commons, in high expectation of an animated debate; and after standing, like an ideot, five hours in the lobby, and sitting five more in the gallery,—no business done!—Also; being repeatedly and roughly turned out of the gallery (like a dirty dog out of a parlour) on a motion for a division; and, as often, shifted, on your return, to a worse place than you had before.

23. (S.)

Running the gauntlet through Thames-street, from Blackfriars to the Tower.

24. (S.)

Ditto through a long London market, in the dog-days--the odours of the meat acting as a thermometer to the nose.

25. (S.)

Accosting a person in the street with the utmost familiarity, shaking him long and cordially by the hand, &c. and at length discovering by his cold (or, if he is a fool, angry) stare, that he is not the man you took him for.

Or,-what is a somewhat similar source of

agony

26. (S.)

Finding that the person with whom you thus claim acquaintance has entirely forgotten you, though you perfectly remember him.

Tes. Aye-as Persius says,

"Scire tuum nihil est, nisi te

--

sciat alter."

27. (S.)

On a sultry day, in London-being compelled by the heat to sit with the windows of a ground-room wide open, while an organ-grinder, or ballad-singer of the basest degree, are exhausting their whole stock of dissonance within two or three yards of your ill-starr'd ears;-yet you cannot drive, or even fee them away, as they are paid for torturing you by some barbarians at the next door.

28. (S.)

On going in a hackney coach to the inn from which you are to set out on a long journey, being asked by the coachman three or four times more than his fare, which he knows you must pay, as you have not a moment's leisure to summon him