I may go out birding with Bob, who is about as lively as an old jackass, or meet the country boobies for a hunt, and be pointed at as the Frenchman, and left to ride alone; or there's mine own chamber, when the maids do not see fit to turn me out with their pails and besoms, as they do at least twice a weekI sit there in my cloak and furs (by the way, I am chidden for an effeminate fop if ever I am seen in them).

So you lose your temper, and come out in an article which you think is going to finish "Ananias," proving him a booby who doesn't know enough to understand even a lyceum-lecture, or else a person that tells lies.

Nonsense that poets write and callow boys swallow like so many boobies and try to transplant into real life!